Our trumpet called you
to this gentle parle
King John
As Griffith and his
compantions rushed from the offices of St. Ruth, into the open air, they
encountered no one to intercept their flight, or communicate the alarm. Warned
by the experience of the earlier part of the same night, they avoided the
points where they knew the sentinels were posted, though fully prepared to bear
down all resistance, and were soon beyond the probability of immediate
detection. They proceded, for the distance of half a mile, with rapid strides,
and with the stern and sullen silence of men who expected to encounter
immediate danger, resolved to breast it with desperate resolution; but, as they
plunged into a copse, that clustered around the ruin which has already been
mentioned, they lessened their exertions to a more deliberate pace; and a short
but guarded dialogue ensued.
“We have had a timely escape,”
said Griffith; “I would much rather have endured captivity, than have been the
cause of introducing confusion and bloodshed into the peaceful residence of
Colonel Howard.”
“I would, sir, that you
had been of this opinion some hours earlier,” returned the pilot, with a
severity in his tones that even conveyed more meaning than his words.
“I may have forgotten
my duty, sir, in my anxiety to inquire into the condition of a family in whom I
feel a particular interest,” returned Griffith, in a manner in which pride
evidently struggled with respect; “but this is not a time for regrets; I
apprehend that we follow you on an errand of some moment, where actions would
be more acceptable than any words of apology. What is your pleasure now?”
“I much fear that our
project will be defeated,” said the pilot, gloomily; “the alarm will spread
with the morning fogs, and there will be musterings of the yeomen, and
consultations of the gentry, that will drive all thoughts of amusement from
their minds. The rumour of a descent will, at any time, force sleep from the
shores of this island, to at least ten leagues inland.”
“Ay, you have probably
passed some pleasant nights, with your eyes open, among them, yourself, Master
Pilot,” said Manual; “they may thank the Frenchman, Thurot, in the old business
of ’56, and our own dare-devil, the bloody Scotchman, as the causes of their
quarters being so often beaten up. After all, Thurot, with his fleet, did no
more than bully them a little, and the poor fellow was finally extinguished by
a few small cruisers, like a drummer’s boy under a grenadier’s cap; but honest
Paul sung a different tune for his countrymen to dance to, and--”
“I believe you will
shortly dance yourself, Manual,” interrupted Griffith, quickly, “and in very pleasure
that you have escaped an English prison.”
“Say, rather, an
English gibbet,” continued the elated marine; “for had a court-martial or a
court-civil discussed the manner of our entrance into this island, I doubt
whether we should have fared better than the dare-devil himself, honest--”
“Pshaw!” exclaimed the
impatient Griffith, “enough of this nonsense, Captain Manual; we have other
matters to discuss now;--what course have you determined to pursue, Mr. Gray?”
The pilot started, like
a man aroused from a deep musing at this question, and after a pause of a
moment, he spoke in a low tone of voice, as if still under the influence of
deep and melancholy feeling--
“The night has already
run into the morning watch, but the sun is backward to show himself in this
latitude in the heart of a winter--I must leave you, my friends, to rejoin you
some ten hours hence; it will be necessary to look deeper into our scheme
before we hazard any thing, and no one can do the service but myself--where
shall we meet again?”
“I have reason to think
that there is an unfrequented ruin, at no great distance from us,” said
Griffith; “perhaps we might find both shelter and privacy among its deserted
walls.”
“The thought is good,”
returned the pilot, “and ’twill answer a double purpose. Could you find the
place where you put the marines in ambush, Captain Manual?”
“Has a dog a nose! and
can he follow a clean scent!” exclaimed the marine; “do you think, Signior
Pilota, that a general ever puts his forces in an ambuscade where he can’t find
them himself? ’Fore God! I knew well enough where the rascals lay snoring on
their knapsacks, some half-an-hour ago, and I would have given the oldest
majority in Washington’s army to have had them where a small intimation from
myself could have brought them in line ready dressed for a charge. I know not
how you fared, gentlemen, but with me, the sight of twenty such vagabonds would
have been a joyous spectacle; we would have tossed that Captain Borroughcliffe
and his recruits on the points of our bayonets, as the devil would pitch--”
“Come, come, Manual,”
said Griffith, a little angrily, “you constantly forget our situation and our
errand; can you lead your men hither without discovery, before the day dawns?”
“I want but the
shortest half-hour that a bad watch ever travelled over to do it in.”
“Then follow, and I
will appoint a place of secret rendezvous,” rejoined Griffith; “Mr. Gray can
learn our situation at the same time.”
The pilot was seen to
beckon, through the gloom of the night, for his companions to move forward,
when they proceeded, with cautious steps, in quest of the desired shelter. A
short search brought them in contact with a part of the ruinous walls that
spread over a large surface, and which, in places, reared their black fragments
against the sky, casting a deeper obscurity across the secret recesses of the
wood.
“This will do,” said
Griffith, when they had skirted for some distance the outline of the crumbling
fabric; “bring up your men to this point, where I will meet you, and conduct
them to some more secret place, for which I shall search during your absence.”
“A perfect paradise,
after the cable-tiers of the Ariel!” exclaimed Manual; “I doubt not but a good
spot might be selected among these trees for a steady drill; a thing my soul
has pined after for six long months.”
“Away, away!” cried
Griffith; “here is no place for idle parades; if we find shelter from discovery
and capture until you shall be needed in a deadly struggle, ’twill be well.”
Manual was slowly retracing
his steps to the skirts of the wood, when he suddenly turned, and asked--
“Shall I post a small
picquet, a mere corporal’s guard, in the open ground in front, and make a chain
of sentinels to our works?”
“We have no works--we
want no sentinels,” returned his impatient commander; “our security is only to
be found in secrecy. Lead up your men under the cover of the trees, and let
those three bright stars be your landmarks--bring them in a range with the
northern corner of the wood--”
“Enough, Mr. Griffith,”
interrupted Manual; “a column of troops is not to be steered like a ship, by
compass, and bearings, and distances;-- trust me, sir, the march shall be
conducted with proper discretion, though in a military manner.”
Any reply or
expostulation was prevented by the sudden disappearance of the marine, whose
retreating footsteps were heard, for several moments, as he moved at a
deliberate pace through the underwood. During this short interval, the pilot
stood reclining against a corner of the ruins in profound silence, but when the
sounds of Manual’s march were no longer audible, he advanced from under the
deeper shadows of the wall, and approached his youthful companion.
“We are indebted to the
marine for our escape,” he said; “I hope we are not to suffer by his folly.”
“He is what Barnstable
calls a rectangular man,” returned Griffith, “and will have his way in matters
of his profession, though a daring companion in a hazardous expedition. If we
can keep him from exposing us by his silly parade, we shall find him a man who
will do his work like a soldier, sir, when need happens.”
“’Tis all I ask; until
the last moment he and his command must be torpid; for if we are discovered,
any attempt of ours, with some twenty bayonets and a half-pike or two, would be
useless against the force that would be brought to crush us.”
“The truth of your
opinion is too obvious,” returned Griffith; “these fellows will sleep a week at
a time in a gale at sea, but the smell of the land wakes them up, and I fear ’twill
be hard to keep them close during the day.”
“It must be done, sir,
by the strong hand of force,” said the pilot sternly, “if it cannot be done by
admonition; if we had no more than the recruits of that drunken martinet to
cope with, it would be no hard task to drive them into the sea; but I learned
in my prison that horse are expected on the shore with the dawn; there is one
they call Dillon who is on the alert to do us mischief.”
“The miscreant!”
muttered Griffith; “then you also have had communion, sir, with some of the
inmates of St. Ruth?”
“It behooves a man who
is embarked in a perilous enterprise to seize all opportunities to learn his
hazard,” said the pilot, evasively; “if the report be true, I fear we have but
little hopes of succeeding in our plans.”
“Nay, then, let us take
the advantage of the darkness to regain the schooner; the coasts of England
swarm with hostile cruisers, and a rich trade is flowing into the bosom of this
island from the four quarters of the world; we shall not seek long for a foe
worthy to contend with, nor for the opportunities to cut up the Englishman in
his sinews of war--his wealth.”
“Griffith,” returned
the pilot in his still, low tones, that seemed to belong to a man who never
knew ambition, nor felt human passion, “I grow sick of this struggle between
merit and privileged rank. It is in vain that I scour the waters which the King
of England boastingly calls his own, and capture his vessels in the very mouths
of his harbours, if my reward is to consist only of violated promises, and
hollow professions;--but your proposition is useless to me; I have at length
obtained a ship of a size sufficient to convey my person to the shores of
honest, plain-dealing America, and I would enter the hall of congress, on my
return, attended by a few of the legislators of this learned isle, who think
they possess the exclusive privilege to be wise, and virtuous, and great.”
“Such a retinue might
doubtless be grateful both to your own feelings and those who would receive
you,” said Griffith, modestly; “but would it affect the great purposes of our
struggle, or is it an exploit, when achieved, worth the hazard you incur?”
Griffith felt the hand
of the pilot on his own, pressing it with a convulsive grasp, as he replied, in
a voice, if possible, even more desperately calm than his former tones--
“There is glory in it,
young man; if it be purchased with danger, it shall be rewarded by fame! It is
true, I wear your republican livery, and call the Americans my brothers, but it
is because you combat in behalf of human nature. Were your cause less holy, I
would not shed the meanest drop that flows in English veins to serve it; but
now, it hallows every exploit that is undertaken in its favour, and the names
of all who contend for it shall belong to posterity. Is there no merit in
teaching these proud islanders that the arm of liberty can pluck them from the
very empire of their corruption and oppression?”
“Then let me go and
ascertain what we most wish to know; you have been seen there, and might attract--”
“You little know me,”
interrupted the pilot; “the deed is my own. If I succeed, I shall claim the
honour, and it is proper that I incur the hazard; if I fail, it will be buried
in oblivion, like fifty others of my schemes, which, had I power to back me,
would have thrown this kingdom in consternation, from the look-outs on the
boldest of its head-lands, to those on the turrets of Windsor-Castle. But I was
born without the nobility of twenty generations to corrupt my blood and deaden
my soul, and am not trusted by the degenerate wretches who rule the French
marine.”
“’Tis said that ships
of two decks are building from our own oak,” said Griffith; “and you have only
to present yourself in America, to be employed most honourably.”
“Ay! the republics cannot
doubt the man who has supported their flag, without lowering it an inch, in so
many bloody conflicts! I do go there, Griffith, but my way lies on this path;
my pretended friends have bound my hands often, but my enemies, never--neither
shall they now. Ten hours will determine all I wish to know, and with you I
trust the safety of the party till my return; be vigilant, but be prudent.”
“If you should not
appear at the appointed hour,” exclaimed Griffith, as he beheld the pilot
turning to depart, “where am I to seek, and how serve you?”
“Seek me not, but
return to your vessel; my earliest years were passed on this coast, and I can
leave the island, should it be necessary, as I entered it, aided by this
disguise and my own knowledge; look to your charge, in such an event, and
forget me entirely.”
Griffith could
distinguish the silent wave of his hand when the pilot concluded, and the next
instant he was left alone. For several minutes the young man continued where he
had been standing, musing on the singular endowments and restless enterprise of
the being with whom chance had thus brought him, unexpectedly, in contact, and
with whose fate and fortunes his own prospects had, by the intervention of
unlooked-for circumstances, become so intimately connected. When the
reflections excited by recent occurrences had passed away, he entered within
the sweeping circle of the ruinous walls, and after a very cursory survey of
the state of the dilapidated building, he was satisfied that it contained
secret places enough to conceal all his men, until the return of the pilot
should warn them that the hour had come when they must attempt the seizure of
the devoted sportsmen, or darkness should again facilitate their return to the
Ariel. It was now about the commencement of that period of deep night which
seamen distinguish as the morning watch, and Griffith ventured to the edge of
the little wood, to listen if any sounds or tumult indicated that they were
pursued. On reaching a point where his eye could faintly distinguish distant
objects, the young man paused, and bestowed a close and wary investigation on
the surrounding scene.
The fury of the gale
had sensibly abated, but a steady current of sea air was rushing through the
naked branches of the oaks, lending a dreary and mournful sound to the gloom of
the dim prospect. At the distance of a short half mile, the confused outline of
the pile of St. Ruth rose proudly against the streak of light which was
gradually increasing above the ocean, and there were moments when the young
seaman even fancied he could discern the bright caps that topped the waves of
his own disturbed element. The long, dull roar of the surf, as it tumbled
heavily on the beach, or dashed with unbroken violence against the hard
boundary of rocks, was borne along by the blasts distinctly to his ears. It was
a time and a situation to cause the young seaman to ponder deeply on the
changes and chances of his hazardous profession. Only a few short hours had
passed since he was striving with his utmost skill, and with all his collected
energy, to guide the enormous fabric, in which so many of his comrades were now
quietly sleeping on the broad ocean, from that very shore on which he now stood
in cool indifference to the danger. The recollection of home, America, his
youthful and enduring passion, and the character and charms of his mistress,
blended in a sort of wild and feverish confusion, which was not, however,
without its pleasures, in the ardent fancy of the young man, and he was slowly
approaching, step by step, towards the abbey, when the sound of footsteps,
proceeding evidently from the measured tread of disciplined men, reached his
ears. He was instantly recalled to his recollection by this noise, which
increased as the party deliberately approached, and in a few moments he was
able to distinguish a line of men, marching in order towards the edge of the
wood from which he had himself so recently issued. Retiring rapidly under the
deeper shadow of the wood, he waited until it was apparent the party intended
to enter under its cover also, when he ventured to speak--
“Who comes, and on what
errand?” he cried.
“A skulker, and to
burrow like a rabbit, or jump from hole to hole, like a wharf-rat!” said
Manual, sulkily; “here have I been marching, within half-musket shot of the
enemy, without daring to pull a trigger on their out-posts even, because our
muzzles are plugged with that universal extinguisher of gunpowder, called
prudence. ’Fore God! Mr. Griffith, I hope you may never feel the temptation to
do an evil deed which I felt just now to throw a volley of small shot into that
dog-kennel of a place, if it were only to break its windows and let in the
night air upon the sleeping sot who is dozing away the fumes of some as good,
old, south-side--harkye, Mr. Griffith, one word in your ear.”
A short conference took
place between the two officers, apart from the men, at the close of which, as
they rejoined the party, Manual might be heard urging his plans on the
reluctant ears of Griffith, in the following words:--
“I could carry the old
dungeon without waking one of the snorers; and, consider, we might get a stock
of as rich cordial from its cellars as ever oiled the throat of a gentleman!”
“’Tis idle, ’tis idle,”
said Griffith, impatiently; “we are not robbers of hen-roosts, nor
wine-gaugers, to be prying into the vaults of the English gentry, Captain
Manual, but honourable men, employed in the sacred cause of liberty and our
country. Lead your party into the ruin, and let them seek their rest; we may
have work for them with the dawn.”
“Evil was the hour when
I quitted the line of the army, to place a soldier under the orders of an
awkward squad of tarry jackets!” muttered Manual, as he proceeded to execute an
order that was delivered with an air of authority that he knew must be obeyed. “As
pretty an opportunity for a surprise and a forage thrown away, as ever crossed
the path of a partisan! but, by all the rights of man! I’ll have an encampment
in some order. Here, you sergeant, detail a corporal and three men for a
picket, and station them in the skirts of this wood. We shall have a sentinel
in advance of our position, and things shall be conducted with some air of
discipline.”
Griffith heard this
order with great inward disgust; but as he anticipated the return of the pilot
before the light could arrive to render this weak exposure of their situation
apparent, he forbore exercising his power to alter the arrangement. Manual had,
therefore, the satisfaction of seeing his little party quartered as he thought in
a military manner, before he retired with Griffith and his men into one of the
vaulted apartments of the ruin, which, by its open and broken doors invited
their entrance. Here the marines disposed themselves to rest, while the two
officers succeeded in passing the tedious hours, without losing their
characters for watchfulness, by conversing with each other, or, at whiles,
suffering their thoughts to roam in the very different fields which fancy would
exhibit to men of such differing characters. In this manner, hour after hour
passed, in listless quiet, or sullen expectation, until the day had gradually
advanced, and it became dangerous to keep the sentinels and picket in open
view, where they would be liable to be seen by any straggler who might be passing
near the wood. Manual remonstrated against any alteration, as being entirely
unmilitary, for he was apt to carry his notions of tactics to extremes whenever
he came in collision with a sea-officer, but in this instance his superior was
firm, and the only concession the captain could obtain was liberty to place a
solitary sentinel within a few feet of the vault, and under cover of the
crumbling walls of the building itself. With this slight deviation in their
arrangements, the uneasy group remained for several hours longer, impatiently
awaiting the period when they should be required to move.
The guns first fired
from the Alacrity had been distinctly audible, and were pronounced by Griffith,
whose practised ear detected the weight of metal carried by the piece that was
used, as not proceeding from the schooner. When the rapid though distant
rumbling of the spirited cannonade became audible, it was with difficulty that
Griffith could restrain either his own feelings or the conduct of his
companions within those bounds that prudence and their situation required. The
last gun was, however, fired, and not a man had left the vault, and conjectures
as to the result of the fight, succeeded to those which had been previously
made on the character of the combatants during the action. Some of the marines
would raise their heads from the fragments of the building, that served them as
pillows on which they were seeking disturbed and stolen slumbers, and after
listening to the cannon, would again compose themselves to sleep, like men who
felt no concern in a contest in which they did not participate. Others, more
alive to events, and less drowsy, lavishly expended their rude jokes on those
who were engaged in the struggle, or listened with a curious interest to mark
the progress of the battle, by the uncertain index of its noise. When the fight
had been concluded some time, Manual indulged his ill-humour more at length--
“There has been a party
of pleasure, within a league of us, Mr. Griffith,” he said, “at which, but for
our present subterraneous quarters, we might have been guests, and thus laid
some claim to the honour of sharing in the victory. But it is not too late to
push the party on as far as the cliffs, where we shall be in sight of the
vessels, and we may possibly establish a claim to our share of the prize-money.”
“There is but little
wealth to be gleaned from the capture of a king’s cutter,” returned Griffith, “and
there would be less honour were Barnstable encumbered with our additional and
useless numbers.”
“Useless!” repeated
Manual; “there is much good service to be got out of twenty-three welldrilled
and well-chosen marines; look at those fellows, Mr. Griffith, and then tell me
if you would think them an encumbrance in the hour of need?”
Griffith smiled, and
glanced his eye over the sleeping group, for when the firing had ceased the
whole party sought their repose, and he could not help admiring the athletic
and sinewy limbs that lay scattered around the gloomy vault, in every posture
that ease or whim dictated. From the stout frames of the men, his glance was
directed to the stack of fire-arms, from whose glittering tubes and polished
bayonets, strong rays of light were reflected, even in that dark apartment.
Manual followed the direction of his eyes, and watched the expression of his
countenance, with inward exultation, but he had the forbearance to await his
reply before he manifested his feelings more openly.
“I know them to be true
men,” said Griffith, “when needed, but--hark! what says he?”
“Who goes there? what
noise is that?” repeated the sentinel who was placed at the entrance of the
vault.
Manual and Griffith
both sprang from their places of rest, and stood, unwilling to create the
slightest sounds, listening with the most intense anxiety to catch the next
indications of the cause of their guardian’s alarm. A short stillness, like
that of death, succeeded, during which Griffith whispered--
“’Tis the pilot; his
hour has been long passed.”
The words were hardly
spoken, when the clashing of steel in fierce and sudden contact was heard, and
at the next instant the body of the sentinel fell heavily along the stone steps
that led to the open air, and rolled lifelessly at their feet, with the bayonet
that had caused his death projecting from a deep wound in his breast.
“Away, away! sleepers
away!” shouted Griffith.
“To arms!” cried
Manual, in a voice of thunder.
The alarmed marines,
suddenly aroused from their slumbers at these thrilling cries, sprang on their
feet in a confused cluster, and at that fatal moment a body of living fire
darted into the vault, which re-echoed with the reports of twenty muskets. The
uproar, the smoke, and the groans which escaped from many of his party, could
not restrain Griffith another instant; his pistol was fired through the cloud
which concealed the entrance of the vault, and he followed the leaden
messenger, trailing a half-pike, and shouting to his men--
“Come on! follow, my
lads; they are nothing but soldiers.”
Even while he spoke,
the ardent young seaman was rushing up the narrow passage, but as he gained the
open space, his foot struck the writhing body of the victim of his shot, and he
was precipitated headlong into a group of armed men.
“Fire! Manual, fire!”
shouted the infuriated prisoner; “fire, while you have them in a cluster.”
“Ay, fire, Mr. Manual,”
said Borroughcliffe, with great coolness, “and shoot your own officer; hold him
up, boys! hold him up in front; the safest place is nighest to him.”
“Fire!” repeated
Griffith, making several desperate efforts to release himself from the grasp of
five or six men; “fire, and disregard me.”
“If he do, he deserves
to be hung,” said Borroughcliffe; “such fine fellows are not sufficiently
plenty to be shot at like wild beasts in chains. Take him from before the mouth
of the vault, boys, and spread yourselves to your duty.”
At the time Griffith
issued from the cover, Manual was mechanically employed in placing his men in
order, and the marines, accustomed to do every thing in concert and array, lost
the moment to advance. The soldiers of Borroughcliffe reloaded their muskets,
and fell back behind different portions of the wall, where they could command
the entrance to the vault with their fire, without much exposure to themselves.
This disposition was very coolly reconnoitred by Manual in person, through some
of the crevices in the wall, and he hesitated to advance against the force he
beheld, while so advantageously posted. In this situation several shot were
fired by either party, without effect, until Borroughcliffe, perceiving the
inefficacy of that mode of attack, summoned the garrison of the vault to a
parly.
“Surrender to the
forces of his majesty, King George the Third,” he cried, “and I promise you
quarter.”
“Will you release your
prisoner, and give us free passage to our vessels?” asked Manual; “the garrison
to march out with all the honours of war, and officers to retain their
side-arms?”
“Inadmissible,”
returned Borroughcliffe, with great gravity; “the honour of his majesty’s arms,
and the welfare of the realm, forbids such a treaty; but I offer you safe
quarter, and honourable treatment.”
“Officers to retain
their side-arms, your prisoner to be released, and the whole party to return to
America, on parole, not to serve until exchanged?”
“Not granted,” said
Borroughcliffe. “The most that I can yield, is a good potation of the generous
south-side, and if you are the man I take you for, you will know how to prize
such an offer.”
“In what capacity do
you summon us to yield? as men entitled to the benefit of the laws of arms, or
as rebels to your king?”
“Ye are rebels all,
gentlemen,” returned the deliberate Borroughcliffe, “and as such ye must yield;
though so far as good treatment and good fare goes, you are sure of it while in
my power; in all other respects you lie at the mercy of his most gracious
majesty.”
“Then let his majesty
show his gracious face, and come and take us, for I’ll be--”
The asseveration of the
marine was interrupted by Griffith, whose blood had sensibly cooled, and whose
generous feelings were awakened in behalf of his comrades, now that his own
fate seemed decided.
“Hold, Manual,” he
cried, “make no rash oaths; Captain Borroughcliffe, I am Edward Griffith, a
lieutenant in navy of the United American States, and I pledge you my honour,
to a parole--”
“Release him,” said
Borroughcliffe.
Griffith advanced
between the two parties, and spoke so as to be heard by both--
“I propose to descend
to the vault and ascertain the loss and present strength of Captain Manual’s
party; if the latter be not greater than I apprehend, I shall advise him to a
surrender on the usual conditions of civilized nations.”
“Go,” said the soldier;
“but stay; is he a half-and-half--an amphibious--pshaw! I mean a marine?”
“He is, sir, a captain
in that corps--”
“The very man,”
interrupted Borroughcliffe; “I thought I recollected the liquid sounds of his
voice. It will be well to speak to him of the good fare of St. Ruth’s, and you
may add, that I know my man; I shall besiege instead of storming him, with the
certainty of his surrendering when his canteen is empty. The vault he is in
holds no such beverage as the cellars of the abbey.”
Griffith smiled, in
spite of the occasion and his vexation, and making a slight inclination of his
head, he passed into the vault, giving notice to his friends, by his voice, in
order to apprize them who approached.
He found six of the
marines, including the sentinel, lying dead on the ragged pavement, and four
others wounded, but stifling their groans, by the order of their commander,
that they might not inform the enemy of his weakness. With the remainder of his
command Manual had intrenched himself behind the fragment of a wall that
intersected the vault, and regardless of the dismaying objects before him,
maintained as bold a front, and as momentous an air, as if the fate of a walled
town depended on his resolution and ingenuity.
“You see, Mr. Griffith,”
he cried, when the young sailor approached this gloomy but really formidable
arrangement, “that nothing short of artillery can dislodge me; as for that
drinking Englishman above, let him send down his men by platoons of eight or
ten, and I’ll pile them up on those steps, four and five deep.”
“But artillery can and
will be brought, if it should be necessary,” said Griffith, “and there is not
the least chance of your eventual escape; it may be possible for you to destroy
a few of the enemy, but you are too humane to wish to do it unnecessarily.”
“No doubt,” returned
Manual, with a grim smile; “and yet methinks I could find present pleasure in
shooting seven of them--yes, just seven, which is one more than they have
struck off my roster.”
“Remember your own
wounded,” added Griffith; “they suffer for want of aid, while you protract a
useless defence.”
A few smothered groans,
from the sufferers, seconded this appeal, and Manual yielded, though with a
very ill grace, to the necessity of the case.
“Go, then, and tell him
that we will surrender as prisoners of war,” he said, “on the conditions that
he grants me my side-arms, and that suitable care shall be taken of the
sick--be particular to call them sick--for some lucky accident may yet occur
before the compact is ratified, and I would not have him learn our loss.”
Griffith, without
waiting for a second bidding, hastened to Borroughcliffe with his intelligence.
“His side-arms!”
repeated the soldier, when the other had done; “what are they, I pray thee, a
marlingspike! for if his equipments be no better than thine own, my worthy
prisoner, there is little need to quarrel about their ownership.”
“Had I but ten of my
meanest men, armed with such half-pikes, and Captain Borroughcliffe with his
party were put at deadly strife with su,” retorted Griffith, “he might find
occasion to value our weapons more highly.”
“Four such fiery gentlemen
as yourself would have routed my command,” returned Borroughcliffe, with
undisturbed composure; “I trembled for my ranks when I saw you coming out of
the smoke like a blazing comet from behind a cloud, and I shall never think of
somersets without returning inward thanks to their inventor. But our treaty is
made; let your comrades come forth and pile their arms.”
Griffith communicated
the result to the captain of marines, when the latter led the remnant of his
party our of his sunken fortress into the open air.
The men, who had
manifested throughout the whole business that cool subordination and unyielding
front, mixed with the dauntless spirit that to this day distinguishes the corps
of which they were members, followed their commander in sullen silence, and
stacked their arms, with as much regularity and precision as if they had been
ordered to relieve themselves after a march. When this necessary preliminary
had been observed, Borroughcliffe unmasked his forces, and our adventurers
found themselves once more in the power of the enemy, and under circumstances
which rendered the prospects of a speedy release from their captivity nearly
hopeless.
“If your Father will do me any honour, so; If not, let him kill the next Percy himself;
I look to be either
Earl or Duke, I can assure you.”
Falstaff Manual cast several
discontented and sullen looks from his captors to the remnant of his own
command, while the process of pinioning the latter was conducted, with much
discretion, under the directions of Sergeant Drill, when meeting, in one of his
dissatisfied glances, with the pale and disturbed features of Griffith, he gave
vent to his ill-humour, by saying--
“This results from
neglecting the precautions of military discipline. Had the command been with
me, who, I may say, without boasting, have been accustomed to the duties of the
field, proper picquets would have been posted, and instead of being caught like
so many rabbits in a burrow, to be smoked out with brimstone, we should have
had an open field for the struggle, or we might have possessed ourselves of
these walls, which I could have made good for two hours at least, against the
best regiment that ever wore King George’s facings.”
“Defend the outworks
before retreating to the citadel!” cried Borroughcliffe; “’tis the game of war,
and shows science; but had you kept closer to your burrow, the rabbits might
now have all been frisking about in that pleasant abode. The eyes of a timid
hind were greeted this morning, while journeying near this wood, with a passing
sight of armed men, in strange attire, and as he fled, with an intent of
casting himself into the sea, as fear will sometimes urge one of his kind to
do, he luckily encountered me on the cliffs, who humanely saved his life, by
compelling him to conduct us hither. There is often wisdom in science, my
worthy contemporary in arms, but there is sometimes safety in ignorance.”
“You have succeeded,
sir, and have a right to be pleasant,” said Manual, seating himself gloomily on
a fragment of the ruin, and fastening his looks on the melancholy spectacle of
the lifeless bodies, as they were successively brought from the vault and
placed at his feet; “but these men have been my own children, and you will
excuse me if I cannot retort your pleasantries. Ah! Captain Borroughcliffe, you
are a soldier, and know how to value merit. I took those very fellows, who
sleep on these stones so quietly, from the hands of nature, and made them the
pride of our art. They were no longer men, but brave lads, who ate and drank,
wheeled and marched, loaded and fired, laughed or were sorrowful, spoke or were
silent, only at my will. As for soul, there was but one among them all, and
that was in my keeping! Groan, my children, groan freely now; there is no
longer a reason to be silent. I have known a single musket-bullet cut the
buttons from the coats of five of them in a row, without raising the skin of a
man. I could ever calculate, with certainty, how many it would be necessary to
expend in all regular service, but this accursed banditti business has robbed
me of the choicest of my treasures. You ‘stand at ease’
“That are not weakened
by undue burthens of this nature,” interrupted his captain, significantly; “if
we let the news of this affair reach the ears of those hungry dragoons, they
would charge upon us, open mouthed, like a pack of famished beagles, and claim
at least half the credit, and certainly all the profit.”
“But, your honour,
there was not a man of them even--”
“No matter, Drill; I’ve
known troops that have been engaged, and have suffered, cheated out of their
share of victory by a well-worded despatch. You know, fellow, that in the smoke
and confusion of a battle, a man can only see what passes near him, and common
prudence requires that he only mention in his official letters what he knows
can’t be easily contradicted. Thus your Indians, and, indeed, all allies, are
not entitled to the right of a general order, any more than to the right of a
parade. Now, I dare say, you have heard of a certain battle of Blenheim?”
“Lord! your honour, ’tis
the pride of the British army, that and the Culloden! ’Twas when the great
Corporal John beat the French king, and all his lords and nobility, with half
his nation in arms to back him!”
“Ay! there is a little
of the barrack readings in the account, but it is substantially true; know you
how many French were in the field, that day, Mister Drill?”
“I have never seen the
totals of their muster, sir, in print, but judging by the difference betwixt
the nations, I should suppose some hundreds of thousands.”
“And yet, to oppose
this vast army, the duke had only some ten or twelve thousand well-fed
Englishmen! You look astounded, sergeant!”
“Why, your honour, that
does seem rather an over-match for an old soldier to swallow; the random shot
would sweep away so small a force.”
“And yet the battle was
fought, and the victory won! but the Duke of Marlborough had a certain Mr.
Eugene, with some fifty or sixty thousand High-Dutchers, to back him. You never
heard of Mr. Eugene?”
“Not a syllable, your
honour; I always thought that Corporal John--”
“Was a gallant and
great general; you thought right, Mister Drill. So would a certain nameless
gentleman be also, if his majesty would sign a commission to that effect.
However, a majority is on the high road to a regiment, and with even a regiment
a man is comfortable! In plain English, Mister Drill, we must get our prisoners
into the abbey with as little noise as possible, in order that the horse may
continue their gambols along the coast, without coming to devour our meal. All
the fuss must be made at the war-office. For that trifle you may trust me; I
think I know who holds a quill that is as good in its way as the sword he
wears. Drill is a short name, and can easily be written within the folds of a
letter.”
“Lord, your honour!”
said the gratified halberdier, “I’m sure such an honour is more--but your
honour can ever command me.”
“I do; and it is, to be
close, and to make your men keep close, until it shall be time to speak, when,
I pledge myself, there shall be noise enough.” Borroughcliffe shook his head,
with a grave air, as he continued--“It has been a devil of a bloody fight,
sergeant! look at the dead and wounded; a wood on each flank--supported by a
ruin in the centre. Oh! ink! ink! can be spilt on the details with great
effect. Go, fellow, and prepare to march.”
Thus enlightened on the
subject of his commander’s ulterior views, the non-commissioned agent of the
captain’s wishes proceeded to give suitable instructions to the rest of the
party, and to make the more immediate preparations for a march. The
arrangements were soon completed. The bodies of the slain were left
unsheltered, the seclusion of the ruin being deemed a sufficient security
against the danger of any discovery, until darkness should favour their
removal, in conformity with Borroughcliffe’s plan, to monopolize the glory. The
wounded were placed on rude litters, composed of the muskets and blankets of
the prisoners, when the conquerors and vanquished moved together in a compact
body from the ruin, in such a manner as to make the former serve as a mask to
conceal the latter from the curious gaze of any casual passenger. There was but
little, indeed, to apprehend on this head, for the alarm and the terror consequent
on the exaggerated reports that flew through the country, effectually prevented
any intruders on the usually quiet and retired domains of St. Ruth.
The party was emerging
from the wood, when the cracking of branches, and rustling of dried leaves, announced,
however, that an interruption of some sort was about to occur.
“If it should be one of
their rascally patroles!” exclaimed Borroughcliffe, with very obvious
displeasure; “they trample like a regiment of cavalry! but, gentlemen, you will
acknowledge yourselves, that we were retiring from the field of battle when we
met the reinforcement, if it should prove to be such.”
“We are not disposed,
sir, to deny you the glory of having achieved your victory single handed,” said
Griffith, glancing his eyes uneasily in the direction of the approaching
sounds, expecting to see the pilot issue from the thicket in which he seemed to
be entangled, instead of any detachment of his enemies.
“Clear the way, Cćsar!”
cried a voice at no great distance from them;” “break through the accursed
vines, on my right, Pompey!--press forward, my fine fellows, or we may be too
late to smell even the smoke of the fight.”
“Hum!” ejaculated the
captain with his philosophic indifference of manner entirely re-established, “this
must be a Roman legion just awoke from a trance of some seventeen centuries,
and that the voice of a Centurion. We will halt, Mister Drill, and view the
manner of an ancient march!”
While the captain was
yet speaking, a violent effort disengaged the advancing party from the thicket
of brambles in which they had been entangled, when two blacks, each bending
under a load of fire-arms, preceded Colonel Howard into the clear space where
Borroughcliffe had halted his detachment. Some little time was necessary to enable
the veteran to arrange his disordered dress, and to remove the perspiring
effects of the unusual toil from his features, before he could observe the
addition to the captain’s numbers.
“We heard you fire,”
cried the old soldier, making, at the same time, the most diligent application
of his bandanna, “and I determined to aid you with a sortie, which, when
judiciously timed, has been the means of raising many a siege; though, had
Montcalm rested quietly within his walls, the plains of Abram might never have
drunk his blood.”
“Oh! his decision was
soldierly, and according to all the rules of war,” exclaimed Manual, “and had I
followed his example, this day might have produced a different tale!”
“Why, who have we here!”
cried the colonel in astonishment; “who is it that pretends to criticise
battles and sieges, dressed in such a garb!”
“’Tis a dux
incognitorum, my worthy host,” said Borroughcliffe, “which means, in our
English language, a captain of marines in the service of the American Congress.”
“What! have you then
met the enemy! ay! and by the fame of the immortal Wolfe you have captured
them!” cried the delighted veteran; “I was pressing on with a part of my
garrison to your assistance, for I had seen that you were marching in this
direction, and even the report of a few muskets were heard.”
“A few!” interrupted
the conqueror; “I know not what you call a few, my gallant and ancient friend;
you may possibly have shot at each other by the week in the days of Wolfe, and
Abercrombie, and Braddock, but I too have seen smart firing, and can hazard an
opinion in such matters. There was as pretty a roll made by firearms at the
battles on the Hudson, as ever rattled from a drum; it is all over, and many
live to talk of it; but this has been the most desperate affair, for the
numbers, I ever was engaged in! I speak always with a reference to the numbers.
The wood is pretty well sprinkled with dead, and we have contrived to bring off
a few of the desperately wounded with us, as you may perceive.”
“Bless me!” exclaimed
the surprised veteran, “that such an engagement should happen within musket
shot of the Abbey, and I know so little of it! My faculties are on the wane, I
fear, for the time has been when a single discharge would rouse me from the
deepest sleep.”
“The bayonet is a
silent weapon,” returned the composed captain, with a significant wave of his
hand; “’tis the Englishman’s pride, and every
“The Cacique is a man
of discretion,” observed the captain, with his usual dryness of manner, “and
will doubtless recollect his obligations to posterity and himself, though he be
found entangled in the mazes of a combat. But I marvel that he does not return,
for some time has now elapsed since the schooner struck her flag, as my own
eyes have witnessed.”
“You will pardon me,
gentlemen,” said Griffith, advancing towards them with uncontrollable interest;
“but I have unavoidably heard part of your discourse, and cannot think you will
find it necessary to withhold the whole truth from a disarmed captive; say you
that a schooner has been captured this morning?”
“It is assuredly true,”
said Borroughcliffe, with a display of nature and delicacy in his manner that
did his heart infinite credit; “but I forbore to tell you, because I thought
your own misfortunes would be enough for one time. Mr. Griffith, this gentleman
is Colonel Howard, to whose hospitality you will be indebted for some favours
before we separate.”
“Griffith!” echoed the
colonel, in quick reply, “Griffith! what a sight for my old eyes to witness!--the
child of worthy, gallant, loyal Hugh Griffith a captive, and taken in arms
against his prince! Young man, young man, what would thy honest father, what
would his bosom friend, my own poor brother Harry, have said, had it pleased
God that they had survived to witness this burning shame and lasting stigma on
thy respectable name?”
“Had my father lived,
he would now have been upholding the independence of his native land,” said the
young man, proudly; “I wish to respect even the prejudices of Colonel Howard,
and beg he will forbear urging a subject on which I fear we never shall agree.”
like yours,” returned Griffith; “this war must soon terminate.”
“This war!” echoed the
Colonel, shaking loose the grasp which Griffith held on his arm; “ay! what of
this war, young man? Is it not an accursed attempt to deny the rights of our
gracious sovereign, and to place tyrants, reared in kennels, on the throne of
princes! a scheme to elevate the wicked at the expense of the good! a project
to aid unrighteous ambition, under the mask of sacred liberty and the popular
cry of equality! as if there could be liberty without order! or equality of
rights, where the privileges of the sovereign are not as sacred as those of the
people!”
“You judge us harshly,
Colonel Howard,” said Griffith--
“I judge you!”
interrupted the old soldier, who, by this time, thought the youth resembled any
one rather than his friend Hugh; “it is not my province to judge you at all; if
it were! but the time will come, the time will come. I am a patient man, and
can wait the course of things; yes, yes, age cools the blood, and we learn to
suppress the passions and impatience of youth; but if the ministry would issue
a commission of justice for the colonies, and put the name of old George Howard
in it, I am a dog, if there should be a rebel alive in twelve months. Sir,”
turning sternly to Borroughcliffe, “in such a cause, I could prove a Roman, and
hang--hang! yes, I do think, sir, I could hang my kinsman, Mister Christopher
Dillon!”
“Spare the Cacique such
an unnatural elevation, before his time,” returned the captain, with a grave
wave of the hand; “but, sir,” pointing towards the wood, “there is a more
befitting subprudent prudent to halt; nay, by heaven, they counter-march to the
rear. Holla! Colonel Howard, my worthy host, fall back on your reinforcements;
the wood is full of armed men; they cannot escape us; I only wait for the horse
to cut off the retreat.”
The veteran, who had
advanced to within a short distance of the single man, who thus deliberately
awaited the attack, halted at this summons, and, by a glance of his eye,
ascertained that he stood alone. Believing the words of Borroughcliffe to be
true, he slowly retired, keeping his face manfully towards his enemy, until he
gained the support of the captain.
“Recall the troops,
Borroughcliffe!” he cried, “and let us charge into the wood; they will fly
before his majesty’s arms like guilty scoundrels, as they are. As for the
negroes, I’ll teach the black rascals to desert their master at such a moment.
They say Fear is pale, but d--e, Borroughcliffe, if I do not believe his skin
is black.”
“I have seen him of all
colours; blue, white, black, and party-coloured,” said the captain; “I must
take the command of matters on myself, however, my excellent host; let us
retire into the Abbey, and trust me to cut off the remainder of the rebels.”
In this arrangement,
the colonel reluctantly acquiesced, and the three followed the soldier to the
dwelling, at a pace that was adapted to the infirmities of its master. The
excitement of the onset, and the current of his ideas, had united, however, to
banish every amicable thought from the breast of the Colonel, and he entered
the Abbey with a resolute determination of seeing that justice was dealt to
Griffith and his companions, even though it should push them to the foot of the
gallows.
As the gentlemen
disappeared from his view, among the shrubbery of the grounds, the Pilot
replaced the weapon that was hanging from his hand, in his bosom, and, turning
with a saddened and thoughtful brow, he slowly re-entered the wood.
--“When these prodigies
Do so conjointly meet,
let not men say,
These are their
reasons,--They are natural;
For, I believe they are
portentous things
Unto the climate that
they point upon.”
Casca The reader will discover, by
referring to the time consumed in the foregoing events, that the Ariel, with
her prize, did not anchor in the bay, already mentioned, until Griffith and his
party, had been for several hours in the custody of their enemies. The supposed
capture of the rebel schooner, was an incident that excited but little
interest, and no surprise, among a people who were accustomed to consider their
seamen as invincible; and Barnstable had not found it a difficult task to
practise his deception on the few rustics whom curiosity induced to venture
along-side the vessels during the short continuance of daylight. When, however,
the fogs of evening began to rise along the narrow basin, and the curvatures of
its margin were lost in the single outline of its dark and gloomy border, the
young seaman thought it time to apply himself in earnest to his duty. The
Alacrity, containing all his own crew, together with the Ariel’s wounded, was
gotten silently under way, and driving easily before the heavy air that swept
from the land, she drifted from the harbour, until the open sea lay before her,
when her sails were spread, and she told him that he was a ‘know-nothing,’ and
asked him if the Dutchman was a more unlikely thing, than that there should be
places where the inhabitants split the year in two watches, and had day for six
months, and night the rest of the time, the green-horn laughed in my face, and
I do believe he would have told me I lied, but for one thing.”
“And what might that
be?” asked Barnstable, gravely.
“Why, sir,” returned
Tom, stretching his bony fingers, as he surveyed his broad palm, by the little
light that remained, “though I am a peaceable man, I can be roused.”
“And you have seen the
Flying Dutchman?”
“I never doubled the
east cape; though I can find my way through Le Maire in the darkest night that
ever fell from the heavens; but I have seen them that have seen her, and spoken
her too.”
“Well, be it so; you
must turn flying Yankee, yourself, to-night, Master Coffin. Man your boat at
once, sir, and arm your crew.”
The cockswain paused a
moment, before he proceeded to obey this unexpected order, and, pointing
towards the battery, he inquired, with infinite phlegm--
“For shore-work, sir?
Shall we take the cut-lashes and pistols? or shall we want the pikes?”
“There may be soldiers
in our way, with their bayonets,” said Barnstable, musing; “arm as usual, but
throw a few long pikes into the boat, and harkye, Master Coffin, out with your
tub and whale-line; for I see you have rigged yourself anew in that way.”
The cockswain, who was
moving from the forecastle, turned short at this new mandate, and, with an air
of remonstrance, ventured to say-- and may suggest something advantageous.” The
gratified midshipman swelled with the conscious pleasure of possessing his
commander’s confidence, and followed to the taffrail, over which Barnstable
leaned, while he delivered the remainder of his communication. “I have gathered
from the ’long-shore-men who have come off, this evening, to stare at the
vessel which the rebels have been able to build, that a party of seamen and
marines have been captured in an old ruin near the Abbey of St. Ruth, this very
day.”
“’Tis Mr. Griffith!”
exclaimed the boy.
“Ay! the wit of your
cousin Katherine is not necessary to discover that. Now, I have proposed to
this gentleman with the Savannah face, that he should go into the Abbey, and
negotiate an exchange. I will give him for Griffith, and the crew of the
Alacrity for Manual’s command and the Tigers.”
“The Tigers!” cried the
lad, with emotion; “have they got my Tigers, too! would to God that Mr.
Griffith had permitted me to land!”
“It was no boy’s work
they were about, and room was scarcer in their boat than live-lumber. But this
Mr. Dillon has accepted my proposition, and has pledged himself that Griffith
shall return within an hour after he is permitted to enter the Abbey: will he
redeem his honour from the pledge?”
“He may,” said Merry,
musing a moment, “for I believe he thinks the presence of Mr. Griffith under
the same roof with Miss Howard, a thing to be prevented, if possible; he may be
true in this instance, though he has a hollow look.”
“He has bad-looking
light-houses, I will own,” said Barnstable; “and yet he is a gentleman, and promises
fair; ’tis unmanly to suspect him in such a matter, and I will have faith! Now
listen, sir. The absence of older heads must throw great responsibility on your
young shoulders; watch that battery as closely as if you were at the mast-head
of your frigate, on the look-out for an enemy; the instant you see lights
moving in it, cut, and run into the offing; you will find me somewhere under
the cliffs, and you will stand off and on, keeping the Abbey in sight, until
you fall in with us.”
Merry gave an attentive
ear to these and divers other solemn injunctions that he received from his
commander, who, having sent the officer next to himself in authority in charge
of the prize, (the third in command being included in the list of the wounded,)
was compelled to intrust his beloved schooner to the vigilance of a lad whose
years gave no promise of the experience and skill that he actually possessed.
When his admonitory
instructions were ended, Barnstable stepped again to the opening in the
cabin-hood, and for a single moment before he spoke, once more examined the
countenance of his prisoner, with a keen eye. Dillon had removed his hands from
before his sallow features, and, as if conscious of the scrutiny his looks were
to undergo, had concentrated the whole expression of his forbidding aspect in a
settled gaze of hopeless submission to his fate. At least, so thought his
captor, and the idea touched some of the finer feelings in the bosom of the
generous young seaman. Discarding, instantly, every suspicion of his prisoner’s
honour, as alike unworthy of them both, Barnstable summoned him, in a cheerful
voice, to the boat. There was a flashing of the features of Dillon, at this
call, which gave an indefinable expression to his conntenance, that again
startled the sailor; but it was so very transient, and could so easily be
mistaken for a smile of pleasure at his promised liberation, that the doubts it
engendered passed away almost as speedily as the equivocal expression itself.
Barnstable was in the act of following his companion into the boat, when he
felt himself detained by a slight hold of his arm.
“What would you have?”
he asked of the midshipman, who had given him the signal.
“Do not trust too much
to that Dillon, sir,” returned the anxious boy, in a whisper; “if you had seen
his face, as I did, when the binnacle light fell upon it, as he came up the
cabin ladder, you would put no faith in him.”
“I should have seen no
beauty,” said the generous lieutenant, laughing; “now, there is long-Tom, as
hard-featured a youth of two score and ten as ever washed in brine, who has a
heart as big, ay, bigger than that of a kraaken. A bright watch to you, boy,
and remember, a keen eye on the battery.” As he was yet speaking, Barnstable
crossed the gunwale of his little vessel, and it was not until he was seated by
the side of his prisoner, that he continued, aloud--“Cast the stops off your
sails, Mr. Merry, and see all clear, to make a run of every thing; recollect,
you are short-handed, sir. God bless ye! and d’ye hear? if there is a man among
you who shuts more than one eye at a time, I’ll make him, when I get back, open
both wider than if Tom Coffin’s friend, the Flying Dutchman, was booming down
upon him. God bless ye, Merry, my boy; give ’em the square-sail, if this breeze
off-shore holds on till morning; shove off.”
As Barnstable gave the
last order, he fell back on his seat, and, drawing his boat-cloak around him,
maintained a profound silence, until they had passed the two small headlands
that formed the mouth of the harbour. The men pulled, with muffled oars, their
long, vigorous strokes, and the boat glided, with amazing rapidity, by the
objects that could be yet indistinctly seen along the dim shore. When, however,
they had gained the open ocean, and the direction of their little bark was
changed to one that led them in a line with the coast, and within the shadows
of the cliffs, the cockswain, deeming that the silence was no longer necessary
to their safety, ventured to break it, as follows--
“A square-sail is a good
sail to carry on a craft, dead afore it, and in a heavy sea; but if fifty years
can teach a man to know the weather, it’s my judgment that if the Ariel breaks
ground after the night turns at eight bells, she’ll need her main-sail to hold
her up to her course.”
The lieutenant started
at this sudden interruption to his musing, and casting his cloak from his
shoulders, he looked abroad on the waters, as if seeking those portentous omens
which disturbed the imagination of his cockswain.
“How now, Tom,” he said,
sharply, “have ye turned croaker in your old age? what see you, to cause such
an old woman’s ditty!”
“’Tis no song of an old
woman,” returned the cockswain, with solemn earnestness, “but the warning of an
old man; and one who has spent his days where there were no hills to prevent
the winds of heaven from blowing on him, unless they were hills of salt water
and foam. I judge, sir, there’ll be a heavy north-easter setting in upon us
afore the morning watch is called.”
Barnstable knew the
experience of his old messmate too well, to feel no uneasiness at such an
opinion, delivered in so portentous a manner; but after again surveying the
horizon, the heavens, and the ocean, he said, with a continued severity of
manner--
“Your prophecy is idle,
this time, Master Coffin; every thing looks like a dead calm. This swell is
what is left from the last blow; the mist over-head is nothing but the nightly
fog, and you can see, with your own eyes, that it is driving seaward; even this
land-breeze is nothing but the air of the ground mixing with that of the ocean;
it is heavy with dew and fog, but it’s as sluggish as a Dutch galliot.”
“Ay, sir, it is damp,
and there is little of it,” rejoined Tom; “but as it comes only from the shore,
so it never goes far on the water. It is hard to learn the true signs of the
weather, Captain Barnstable, and none get to know them well, but such as study
little else, or feel but little else. There is only One who can see the winds
of heaven, or who can tell when a hurricane is to begin, or where it will end.
Still, a man isn’t like a whale or a porpoise, that takes the air in his
nostrils, but never knows whether it is a south-easter or a north-wester that
he feeds upon. Look, broad-off to leeward, sir; see the streak of clear sky shining
under the mists; take an old sea-faring man’s word for it, Captain Barnstable,
that whenever the light shines out of the heavens in that way, ’tis never done
for nothing; besides, the sun set in a dark bank of clouds, and the little moon
we had was dry and windy.”
Barnstable listened
attentively, and with increasing concern, for he well knew that his cockswain
possessed a quick and almost unerring judgment of the weather, notwithstanding
the confused medley of superstitious omens and signs with which it was blended;
but, again throwing himself back in his boat, he muttered--
“Then let it blow;
Griffith is worth a heavier risk, and if the battery can’t be cheated, it can
be carried.”
Nothing further passed
on the state of the weather. Dillon had not ventured a single remark since he
entered the boat, and the cockswain had the discretion to understand that his
officer was willing to be left to his own thoughts. For near an hour they
pursued their way with diligence, the sinewy seamen, who wielded the oars,
urging their light boat along the edge of the surf with unabated velocity, and,
apparently, with untired exertions. Occasionally, Barnstable would cast an
inquiring glance at the little inlets that they passed, or would note, with a
seaman’s eye, the small portions of sandy beach that were scattered here and
there along the rocky boundaries of the coast. One, in particular, a deeper
inlet than common, where a run of fresh water was heard gurgling as it met the
tide, he pointed out to his cockswain, by significant, but silent gestures, as
a place to be especially noted. Tom, who understood the signal as intended for
his own eye alone, made his observations on the spot, with equal taciturnity,
but with all the minuteness that would distinguish one long accustomed to find
his way, whether by land or water, by land-marks, and the bearings of different
objects. Soon after this silent communication between the lieutenant and his
cockswain, the boat was suddenly turned, and was in the act of dashing upon the
spit of sand before it, when Barnstable checked the movement by his voice--
“Hold water!” he said; “’tis
the sound of oars!”
The seamen held their
boat at rest, while a deep attention was given to the noise that had alarmed
the ears of their commander.
“See, sir,” said the
cockswain, pointing towards the eastern horizon; “it is just rising into the
streak of light to seaward of us--now it settles in the trough--ah! here you
have it again!”
“By heavens!” cried
Barnstable, “’tis a man-of-war’s stroke it pulls; I saw its oar-blades as they
fell! and, listen to the sound! neither your fisherman nor your smuggler pulls
such a regular oar.”
Tom had bowed his head
nearly to the water, in the act of listening, and now, raising himself, he
spoke with confidence--
“That is the Tiger; I
know the stroke of her crew as well as I do of my own. Mr. Merry has made them
learn the new-fashioned jerk, as they dip their blades, and they feather with
such a roll in their rullocks! I could swear to the stroke.”
“Hand me the
night-glass,” said his commander, impatiently; “I can catch them, as they are
lifted into the streak. You are right, by every star in our flag, Tom!--but
there is only one man in her stern-sheets. By my good eyes, I believe it is
that accursed Pilot, sneaking from the land, and leaving Griffith and Manual to
die in English prisons. To shore with you--beach her at once.”
The order was no sooner
given, than it was obeyed, and in less than two minutes, the impatient
Barnstable, Dillon, and the cockswain, were standing together on the sands.
The impression he had
received, that his friends were abandoned to their fate by the Pilot, urged the
generous young seaman to hasten the departure of his prisoner, as he was
fearful every moment might interpose some new obstacle to the success of his
plans.
“Mr. Dillon,” he said,
the instant they were landed, “I exact no new promise--your honour is already
plighted”--
“If oaths can make it
stronger,” interrupted Dillon, “I will take them.”
“Oaths cannot--the
honour of a gentleman is, at all times, enough. I shall send my cockswain with
you to the Abbey, and you will either return with him, in person, within two
hours, or give Mr. Griffith and Captain Manual to his guidance. Proceed, sir;
you are conditionally free; there is an easy opening by which to ascend the
cliffs.”
Dillon, once more,
thanked his generous captor, and then proceeded to force his way up the rough
eminence.
“Follow, and obey his
instructions,” said Barnstable to his cockswain, aloud.
Tom, long accustomed to
implicit obedience, handled his harpoon, and was quietly following in the
footsteps of his new leader, when he felt the hand of the lieutenant on his
shoulder.
“You saw where the
brook emptied over the hillock of sand?” said Barnstable, in an under tone.
Tom nodded assent.
“You will find us
there, riding without the surf--’twill not do to trust too much to an enemy.”
The cockswain made a
gesture of great significance with his weapon, that was intended to indicate
the danger their prisoner would incur, should he prove false; and, applying the
wooden end of the harpoon to the rocks, he ascended the ravine at a rate that
soon brought him to the side of his companion.
“Ay, marry, let me have him to sit under: He’s like to be a cold soldier.”
Falstaff Barnstable lingered on
the sands for a few minutes, until the footsteps of Dillon and the cockswain
were no longer audible, when he ordered his men to launch their boat once more
into the surf. While the seamen pulled leisurely towards the place he had
designated, as the point where he would await the return of Tom, the lieutenant
first began to entertain serious apprehensions concerning the good faith of his
prisoner. Now, that Dillon was beyond his control, his imagination presented,
in very vivid colours, several little circumstances in the other’s conduct,
which might readily excuse some doubts of his good faith, and, by the time they
had reached the place of rendezvous, and had cast a light grapnel into the sea,
his fears had rendered him excessively uncomfortable. Leaving the lieutenant to
his reflections, on this unpleasant subject, we shall follow Dillon and his
fearless and unsuspecting companion, in their progress towards St. Ruth.
The mists, to which Tom
had alluded, in his discussion of the state of the weather with his commander,
appeared to be settling nearer to the earth, and assuming, more decidedly, the
appearance of a fog, hanging above them, in sluggish volumes, but little
agitated by the air. The consequent obscurity added deeply to the gloom of the
night, and it would have been difficult for one, less acquainted than Dillon
with the surrounding localities, to have found the path which led to the
dwelling of Colonel Howard. After some little search, this desirable object was
effected, and the civilian led the way, with rapid strides, towards the Abbey.
“Ay, ay!” said Tom, who
followed his steps, and equalled his paces, without any apparent effort, “you
shore-people have an easy way to find your course and distance, when you get
into the track. I was once left by the craft I belonged to, in Boston, to find
my way to Plymouth, which is a matter of fifteen leagues, or thereaway; and, so
finding nothing was bound up the bay, after lying-by for a week, I concluded to
haul aboard my land tacks. I spent the better part of another week in a search
for some hooker, on board which I might work my passage across the country, for
money was as scarce then with old Tom Coffin as it is now, and is likely to be,
unless the fisheries get a good luff soon; but it seems that nothing but your
horse-flesh, and horned cattle, and jack-asses, are privileged to do the
pulling and hauling in your shore-hookers; and I was forced to pay a week’s
wages for a birth, besides keeping a banyan on a mouthful of bread and cheese,
from the time we hove-up in Boston, ’till we came-to in Plymouth town.”
“It was certainly an
unreasonable exaction, on the part of the stage-owners, from a man in your
situation,” said Dillon, in a friendly, soothing tone of voice, that denoted a
willingness to pursue the conversation.
“My situation was that
of a cabin passenger,” returned the cockswain; “for there was but one hand
forward, beside the cattle I mentioned--that was he who steered--and an easy
birth he had of it; for there his course lay a-tween walls of stone, and
fences; and, as for his reckoning, why, they had stuck up bits of stone on-end,
with his day’s work footed up, ready to his hand, every half league or so.
Besides, the land-marks were so plenty, that a man, with half-an-eye, might
steer her, and no fear of getting to leeward.”
“You must have found
yourself, as it were, in a new world,” observed Dillon.
“Why, to me, it was
pretty much the same as if I had been set afloat in a strange country, though I
may be said to be a native of those parts, being born on the coast. I had often
heard shore-men say, that there was as much ’arth as water in the world, which
I always set down as a rank lie, for I’ve sailed with a flowing sheet months
an-end, without falling in with as much land or rock as would answer a gull to
lay its eggs on; but I will own, that a-tween Boston and Plymouth, we were
out-of-sight of water for as much as two full watches.”
Dillon pursued this
interesting subject with great diligence, and, by the time they reached the
wall, which enclosed the large paddock that surrounded the Abbey, the cockswain
was deeply involved in a discussion of the comparative magnitude of the
Atlantic Ocean and the Continent of America.
Avoiding the principal
entrance to the building, through the great gates which communicated with the
court in front, Dillon followed the windings of the wall until it led them to a
wicket, which he knew was seldom closed for the night, until the hour for
general rest had arrived. Their way now lay in the rear of the principal
edifice, and soon conducted them to the confused pile which contained the
offices. The cockswain followed his companion, with a confiding reliance on his
knowledge and good faith, that was a good deal increased by the freedom of
communication that had been maintained during their walk from the cliffs. He
did not perceive any thing extraordinary in the other’s stopping at the room,
which had been provided as a sort of barracks for the soldiers of Captain
Borroughcliffe. A conference which took place between Dillon and the sergeant,
was soon ended, when the former beckoned to the cockswain to follow, and,
taking a circuit round the whole of the offices, they entered the Abbey
together, by the door through which the ladies had issued, when in quest of the
three prisoners, as has been already related. After a turn or two among the
narrow passages of that part of the edifice, Tom, whose faith in the facilities
of land navigation began to be a little shaken, found himself following his
guide through a long, dark gallery, that was terminated at the end to which
they were approaching, by a half-open door, that admitted a glimpse into a
well-lighted and comfortable apartment. To this door, Dillon hastily advanced,
and, throwing it open, the cockswain enjoyed a full view of the very scene that
we described, in introducing Col. Howard to the acquaintance of the reader, and
under circumstances of great similitude. The cheerful fire of coal, the strong
and glaring lights, the tables of polished mahogany, and the blushing fluids,
were still the same in appearance, while the only perceptible change was in the
number of those, who partook of the cheer. The master of the mansion, and
Borroughcliffe, were seated opposite to each other, employed in discussing the
events of the day, and diligently pushing to and fro the glittering vessel,
that contained a portion of the generous liquor they both loved so well; a task
which each moment rendered lighter.
“If Kit would but
return,” exclaimed the veteran, whose back was to the opening door, “bringing
with him his honest brows encircled, as they will be, or ought to be, with
laurel, I should be the happiest old fool, Borroughcliffe, in his majesty’s
realm of Great Britain!”
The captain, who felt
the necessity for the unnatural restraint he had imposed on his thirst, to be
removed by the capture of his enemies, pointed towards the door with one hand,
while he grasped the sparkling reservoir of the “south side” with the other,
and answered--
“Lo! the Cacique
himself! his brow inviting the diadem--ha! who have we in his highness’ train?
By the Lord, sir Cacique, if you travel with a body guard of such grenadiers,
old Frederic of Prussia himself will have occasion to envy you the corps! a
clear six-footer in nature’s stockings! and the arms as unique as the armed!”
The colonel did not,
however, attend to half of his companion’s exclamations, but turning, he beheld
the individual he had so much desired, and received him with a delight
proportioned to the unexpectedness of the pleasure. For several minutes, Dillon
was compelled to listen to the rapid questions of his venerable relative, to
all of which he answered with a prudent reserve, that might, in some measure,
have been governed by the presence of the cockswain. Tom stood with infinite
composure, leaning on his harpoon, and surveying, with a countenance where
wonder was singularly blended with contempt, the furniture and arrangements of
an apartment that was far more splendid than any he had before seen. In the
mean time, Borroughcliffe entirely disregarded the private communications that
passed between his host and Dillon, which gradually became more deeply
interesting, and finally drew them to a distant corner of the apartment, but
taking a most undue advantage of the absence of the gentleman, who had so
lately been his boon companion, he swallowed one potation after another, as if
a double duty had devolved on him, in consequence of the desertion of the
veteran. Whenever his eye did wander from the ruby tints of his glass, it was
to survey, with unrepressed admiration, the inches of the cockswain, about
whose stature and frame there were numberless excellent points to attract the
gaze of a recruiting officer. From this double pleasure, the captain was,
however, at last summoned, to participate in the councils of his friends.
Dillon was spared the
disagreeable duty of repeating the artful tale he had found it necessary to
palm on the colonel, by the ardour of the veteran himself, who executed the task
in a manner that gave to the treachery of his kinsman, every appearance of a
justifiable artifice and of unshaken zeal in the cause of his prince. In
substance, Tom was to be detained as a prisoner, and the party of Barnstable
were to be entrapped, and of course to share a similar fate. The sunken eye of
Dillon cowered before the steady gaze which Borroughcliffe fastened on him, as
the latter listened to the plaudits the colonel lavished on his cousin’s
ingenuity; but the hesitation that lingered in the soldier’s manner vanished,
when he turned to examine their unsuspecting prisoner, who was continuing his
survey of the apartment, while he innocently imagined the consultations he
witnessed were merely the proper and preparatory-steps to his admission to the
presence of Mr. Griffith.
“Drill,” said
Borroughcliffe, aloud, “advance and receive your orders.” The cockswain turned
quickly, at this sudden mandate, and, for the first time, perceived that he had
been followed into the gallery by the orderly, and two files of the recruits,
armed. “Take this man to the guard-room, and feed him; and see that he dies not
of thirst.”
There was nothing
alarming in this order, and Tom was following the soldiers, in obedience to a
gesture from the captain, when their steps were arrested in the gallery, by the
cry of “Halt.”
“On recollection,
Drill,” said Borroughcliffe, in a tone from which all dictatorial sounds were
banished, “show the gentleman into my own room, and see him properly supplied.”
The orderly gave such an
intimation of his comprehending the meaning of his officer, as the latter was
accustomed to receive, when Borroughcliffe returned to his bottle, and the
cockswain followed his guide, with an alacrity and good will that were not a
little increased by the repeated mention of the cheer that awaited him.
Luckily for the
impatience of Tom, the quarters of the captain were at hand, and the promised
entertainment by no means slow in making its appearance. The former was an
apartment that opened from a lesser gallery, which communicated with the
principal one already mentioned; and the latter was a bountiful but ungarnished
supply of that staple of the British isles, called roast beef; of which the
kitchen of Colonel Howard was never without a due and loyal provision. The
sergeant, who certainly understood one of the signs of his captain to imply an
attack on the citadel of the cockswain’s brain, mingled, with his own hands, a
potation, that he styled a rummer of grog, and which he thought would have
felled the animal itself that Tom was so diligently masticating, had it been
alive, and in its vigour. Every calculation that was made on the infirmity of
the cockswain’s intellect, under the stimulus of Jamaica, was, however, futile.
He swallowed glass after glass, with prodigious relish, but, at the same time,
with immoveable steadiness; and the eyes of the sergeant, who felt it incumbent
to do honour to his own cheer, were already glistening in his head, when,
happily for the credit of his art, a tap at the door announced the presence of
his captain, and relieved him from the impending disgrace of being drunk blind
by a recruit.
As Borroughcliffe
entered the apartment, he commanded his orderly to retire, adding--
“Mr. Dillon will give
you instructions, which you are implicitly to obey.”
Drill, who had sense
enough remaining to apprehend the displeasure of his officer, should the latter
discover his condition, quickened his departure, and the cockswain soon found
himself alone with the captain. The vigour of Tom’s attacks on the remnants of
the sirloin was now much abated, leaving in its place that placid quiet which
is apt to linger about the palate, long after the cravings of the appetite have
been appeased. He had seated himself on one of the trunks of Borroughcliffe,
utterly disdaining the use of a chair, and, with the trencher in his lap, was
using his own jack-knife on the dilapidated fragment of the ox, with something
of that nicety with which the female goule, of the Arabian Tales, might be
supposed to pick her rice with the point of her bodkin. The captain drew a seat
nigh the cockswain, and, with a familiarity and kindness infinitely
coftdescending, when the difference in their several conditions is considered,
he commenced the following dialogue:
“I hope you have found
your entertainment to your liking, Mr.--I must own my ignorance of your name.”
“Tom,” said the
cockswain, keeping his eyes roaming over the contents of the trencher; “commonly
called long-Tom, by my shipmates.”
“You have sailed with
discreet men, and able navigators, it would seem, as they understand longitude
so well,” rejoined the captain; “but you have a patronymick--I would say,
another name?”
“Coffin,” returned the
cockswain; “I’m called Tom, when there is any hurry, such as letting go the
haulyards, or a sheet; long-Tom, when they want to get to windward of an old
seaman, by fair weather; and long-Tom Coffin, when they wish to hail me, so
that none of my cousins of the same name, about the islands, shall answer; for
I believe the best man among them can’t measure much over a fathom, taking him
from his head-works to his heel.”
“You are a most
deserving fellow,” cried Borroughcliffe, “and it is painful to think to what a
fate the treachery of Mr. Dillon has consigned you.”
The suspicions of Tom,
if he ever entertained any, were lulled to rest too effectually by the kindness
he had received, to be awakened by this equivocal lament; he, therefore, after
renewing his intimacy with the rummer, contented himself by saying, with a
satisfied simplicity--
“I am consigned to no
one, carrying no cargo but this Mr. Dillon, who is to give me Mr. Griffith in
exchange, or to go back to the Ariel himself, as my prisoner.”
“Ah! my good friend, I
fear you will find, when the time comes to make this exchange, that he will
refuse to do either.”
“But I’ll be d--d if he
don’t do one of them; my orders are to see it done, and back he goes; or Mr.
Griffith, who is as good a seaman, for his years, as ever trod a deck, slips
his cable from this here anchorage.”
Borroughcliffe affected
to eye his companion with great commiseration; an exhibition of compassion that
was, however, completely lost on the cockswain, whose nerves were strung to
their happiest tension, by his repeated libations, while his wit was, if any
thing, quickened by the same cause, though his own want of guile rendered him
slow to comprehend its existence in others. Perceiving it necessary to speak
plainly, the captain renewed the attack in a more direct manner--
“I am sorry to say that
you will not be permitted to return to the Ariel, and that your commander, Mr.
Barnstable, will be a prisoner within the hour; and in fact, that your schooner
will be taken, before the morning breaks.”
“Who’ll take her?”
asked the cockswain, with a grim smile, on whose feelings, however, this
combination of threatened calamities was beginning to make some impression.
“You must remember,
that she lies immediately under the heavy guns of a battery that can sink her
in a few minutes; an express has already been sent to acquaint the commander of
the work with the Ariel’s true character; and as the wind has already begun to
blow from the ocean, her escape is impossible.”
The truth, together
with its portentous consequences, now began to glare across the faculties of
the cockswain. He remembered his own prognostics on the weather, and the
helpless situation of the schooner, deprived of more than half her crew, and
left to the keeping of a boy, while her commander himself was on the eve of
captivity. The trencher fell from his lap to the floor, his head sunk on his
knees, his face was concealed between his broad palms, and in spite of every
effort the old seaman could make to conceal his emotion, he fairly groaned
aloud.
For a moment, the
better feelings of Borroughcliffe prevailed, and he paused, as he witnessed
this exhibition of suffering in one whose head was already sprinkled with the
marks of time; but his habits, and the impressions left by many years passed in
collecting victims for the wars, soon resumed their ascendancy, and the
recruiting officer diligently addressed himself to an improvement of his
advantage.
“I pity, from my heart,
the poor lads whom artifice or mistaken notions of duty may have led astray,
and who will thus be taken in arms against their sovereign; but, as they are
found in the very island of Britain, they must be made examples to deter
others. I fear, that unless they can make their peace with government, they
will all be condemned to death.”
“Let them make their
peace with God, then; your government can do but little to clear the
log-account of a man whose watch is up for this world.”
“But, by making their
peace with those who have the power, their lives may be spared,” said the
captain, watching, with keen eyes, the effect his words produced on the
cockswain.
“It matters but little
when a man hears the messenger pipe his hammock down for the last time; he
keeps his watch in another world, though he does not here. But to see wood and
iron, that has been put together after such moulds as the Ariel’s, go into
strange hands, is a blow that a man may remember long after the purser’s books
have been squared against his name for ever. I would rather that twenty shot
should strike my old carcass, than one should hull the schooner that didn’t pass
out above her water-line.”
Borroughcliffe replied,
somewhat carelessly, “I may be mistaken, after all; and, instead of putting any
of you to death, they may place you all on board the prison-ships, where you
may yet have a merry time of it, these ten or fifteen years to come.”
“How’s that, shipmate!”
cried the cockswain, with a start; “a prison-ship, d’ye say? you may tell them
that they can save the expense of one man’s rations, by shooting him, if they
please, and that is old Tom Coffin.”
“There is no answering
for their caprice; to-day, they may order a dozen of you shot for rebels;
to-morrow they may choose to consider you as prisoners of war, and send you to
the hulks for a dozen years.”
“Tell them, brother,
that I’m a rebel, will ye? and ye’ll tell ’em no lie--one that has fout them
since Manly’s time, in Boston bay, to this hour. I hope the boy will blow her
up! it would be the death of poor Richard Barnstable, to see her in the hands
of the English!”
“I know of one way,”
said Borroughcliffe, affecting to muse, “and but one, that will certainly avert
the prison-ship; for, on second thoughts, they will hardly put you to death.”
“Name it, friend,”
cried the cockswain, rising from his seat in evident perturbation, “and if it
lies in the power of man, it shall be done.”
“Nay,” said the
captain, dropping his hand familiarly on the shoulder of the other, who
listened with the most eager attention, “’tis easily done, and no dreadful
thing in itself; you are used to gun-powder, and know its smell from otto of
roses?”
“Ay, ay,” cried the
impatient old seaman; “I have had it flashing under my nose by the hour; what
then?”
“Why, then, what I have
to propose will be nothing to a man like you--you found the beef wholesome, and
the grog mellow?”
“Ay, ay, all well
enough; but what is that to an old sailor?” asked the cockswain, unconsciously
grasping the collar of Borroughcliffe’s coat, in his agitation; “what then?”
The captain manifested
no displeasure at this unexpected familiarity, but smiled, with suavity, as he
unmasked the battery, from behind which he had hitherto carried on his attacks.
“Why, then, you have
only to serve your King, as you have before served the Congress-- and let me be
the man to show you your colours.”
The cockswain stared at
the speaker intently, but it was evident he did not clearly comprehend the
nature of the proposition, and the captain pursued the subject--
“In plain English,
enlist in my company, my fine fellow,” he added, “and your life and liberty are
both safe.”
Tom did not laugh
aloud, for that was a burst of feeling in which he was seldom known to indulge,
but every feature of his weather-beaten visage contracted into an expression of
bitter, ironical contempt. Borroughcliffe felt the iron fingers, that still
grasped his collar, gradually tightening about his throat, like a vice, and, as
the arm slowly contracted, his body was drawn, by a power that it was in vain
to resist, close to that of the cockswain, who, when their faces were within a
foot of each other, gave vent to his emotions in words:--
“A messmate, before a
shipmate; a shipmate, before a stranger; a stranger, before a dog; but a dog
before a soldier!”
As Tom concluded, his
nervous arm was suddenly extended to the utmost, the fingers relinquishing
their grasp at the same time, and, when Borroughcliffe recovered his disordered
faculties, he found himself in a distant corner of the apartment, prostrate
among a confused pile of chairs, tables, and wearing apparel. In endeavouring
to rise from this humble posture, the hand of the captain fell on the hilt of
his sword, which had been included in the confused assemblage of articles
produced by his overthrow.
“How now, scoundrel!”
he cried, baring the glittering weapon, and springing on his feet; “you must be
taught your distance, I perceive.”
The cockswain seized
the harpoon which leaned against the wall, and dropped its barbed extremity
within a foot of the breast of his assailant, with an expression of the eye
that denoted the danger of a nearer approach. The captain, however, wanted not
for courage, and, stung to the quick by the insult he had received, he made a
desperate parry, and attempted to pass within the point of the novel weapon of
his adversary. The slight shock was followed by a sweeping whirl of the
harpoon, and Borroughcliffe found himself without arms, completely at the mercy
of his foe. The bloody intentions of Tom vanished with his success; for, laying
aside his weapon, he advanced upon his antagonist, and seized him with an open
palm. One more struggle, in which the captain discovered his incompetency to
make any defence against the strength of a man who managed him as if he had
been a child, decided the matter. When the captain was passive in the hands of
his foe, the cockswain produced sundry pieces of sennit, marline, and
ratlin-stuff, from pockets, which appeared to contain as great a variety of
small cordage as a boatswain’s store-room, and proceeded to lash the arms of
the conquered to the posts of his bed, with a coolness that had not been
disturbed since the commencement of hostilities, a silence that seemed
inflexible, and a dexterity that none but a seaman could equal. When this part
of his plan was executed, Tom paused a moment, and gazed around him as if in
quest of something. The naked sword caught his eye, and, with this weapon in
his hand, he deliberately approached his captive, whose alarm prevented his
discovering, that the cockswain had snapped the blade asunder from the handle,
and that he had already encircled the latter with marline.
“For God’s sake,”
exclaimed Borroughcliffe, “murder me not in cold blood!”
The silver hilt entered
his mouth as the words issued from it, and the captain found, while the line
was passed and repassed, in repeated involutions across the back of his neck,
that he was in a condition to which he often subjected his own men, when
unruly, and which is universally called, being ‘gagged.’ The cockswain now
appeared to think himself entitled to all the privileges of a conqueror; for,
taking the light in his hand, he commenced a scrutiny into the nature and
quality of the worldly effects that lay at his mercy. Sundry articles, that
belonged to the equipments of a soldier, were examined, and cast aside, with
great contempt, and divers garments of plainer exterior, were rejected as
unsuited to the frame of the victor. He, however, soon encountered two
articles, of a metal that is well understood by all. But the uncertainty as to
their use appeared greatly to embarrass him. The circular prongs of these
curiosities were applied to either hand, to the wrists, and even to the nose,
and the little wheels, at their opposite extremity, were turned and examined
with as much curiosity and care, as a savage would expend on a watch, until the
idea seemed to cross the mind of the honest seaman, that they formed part of
the useless trappings of a military man, and he cast them aside, also, as
utterly worthless. Borroughcliffe, who watched every movement of his conqueror,
with a good humour that would have restored perfect harmony between them, could
he but have expressed half what he felt, witnessed the safety of a favourite
pair of spurs, with much pleasure, though nearly suffocated, by mirth that was
unnaturally repressed. At length, the cockswain found a pair of handsomely mounted
pistols, a sort of weapon, with which he seemed quite familiar. They were
loaded, and the knowledge of that fact appeared to remind Tom of the necessity
of departing, by bringing to his recollection the danger of his commander and
the Ariel. He thrust the weapons into the canvass belt that encircled his body,
and, grasping his harpoon, approached the bed, where Borroughcliffe was seated
in duresse.
“Harkye, friend,” said
the cockswain, “may the Lord forgive you, as I do, for wishing to make a soldier
of a sea-faring man, and one who has followed the waters since he was an hour
old, and one who hopes to die off soundings, and to be buried in brine. I wish
you no harm, friend, but you’ll have to keep a stopper on your conversation ’till
such time as some of your messmates call this way, which I hope will be as soon
after I get an offing as may be.”
With these amicable
wishes, the cockswain departed, leaving Borroughcliffe the light, and the
undisturbed possession of his apartment, though not in the most easy or the
most enviable situation imaginable. The captain heard the bolt of his lock
turn, and the key rattle as the cockswain withdrew it from the door--two
precautionary steps, that clearly indicated that the vanquisher deemed it
prudent to secure his retreat, by insuring the detention of the vanquished, for
at least a time.
“Whilst Vengeance, in the lurid air, Lifts
her red arm, expos’d and bare:--
Who, Fear, this ghastly
train can see,
And look not madly
wild, like thee?”
Collins It is certain that Tom
Coffin had devised no settled plan of operations, when he issued from the
apartment of Borroughcliffe, if we except a most resolute determination to make
the best of his way to the Ariel, and to share her fate, let it be either to sink
or swim. But this was a resolution much easier formed by the honest seaman,
than executed, in his present situation. He would have found it less difficult
to extricate a vessel from the dangerous shoals of the “Devil’s-Grip,” than to
thread the mazes of the labyrinth of passages, galleries, and apartments, in
which he found himself involved. He remembered, as he expressed it to himself,
in a low soliloquy, “to have run into a narrow passage from the main channel,
but whether he had sheered to the starboard or larboard hand,” was a material
fact, that had entirely escaped his memory. Tom was in that part of the
building that Colonel Howard had designated as the “cloisters,” and in which,
luckily for him, he was but little liable to encounter any foe; the room
occupied by Borroughcliffe being the only one in the entire wing, that was not
exclusively devoted to the service of the ladies. The circumstance of the
soldier’s being permitted to invade this sanctuary, was owing to the necessity,
on the part of Colonel Howard, of placing either Griffith, Manual, or the
recruiting officer, in the vicinity of his wards, or of subjecting his
prisoners to a treatment that the veteran would have thought unworthy of his
name and character. This recent change in the quarters of Borroughcliffe
operated doubly to the advantage of Tom, by lessening the chance of the speedy
release of his uneasy captive, as well as by diminishing his own danger. Of the
former circumstance he was, however, not aware, and the consideration of the latter
was a sort of reflection to which the cockswain was, in no degree, addicted.
Following, necessarily,
the line of the wall, he soon emerged from the dark and narrow passage in which
he had first found himself, and entered the principal gallery, that
communicated with all the lower apartments of that wing, as well as with the
main body of the edifice. An open door, through which a strong light was
glaring, at a distant end of this gallery, instantly caught his eye, and the
old seaman had not advanced many steps towards it, before he discovered that he
was approaching the very room which had so much excited his curiosity, and by
the identical passage through which he had entered the Abbey. To turn, and
retrace his steps, was the most obvious course, for any man to take, who felt
anxious to escape; but the sounds of high conviviality, bursting from the
cheerful apartment, among which the cockswain thought he distinguished the name
of Griffith, determined Tom to advance and reconnoitre the scene more closely.
The reader will anticipate that when he paused in the shadow, the doubting old
seaman stood once more near that threshold which he had so lately crossed, when
conducted to the room of Borroughcliffe. The seat of that gentleman was now
occupied by Dillon, and Colonel Howard had resumed his wonted station at the
foot of the table. The noise was chiefly made by the latter, who had evidently
been enjoying a more minute relation of the means by which his kinsman had
entrapped his unwary enemy.
“A noble ruse!” cried
the veteran, as Tom assumed his post, in ambush; “a most noble and ingenious
ruse, and such a one as would have baffled Cćsar! he must have been a cunning
dog, that Cćsar; but I do think, Kit, you would have been too much for him;
hang me, if I don’t think you would have puzzled Wolfe himself, had you held
Quebec, instead of Montcalm! Ah! boy, we want you in the colonies, with the
ermine over your shoulders; such men as you, cousin Christopher, are sadly,
sadly wanting there to defend his majesty’s rights.”
“Indeed, dear sir, your
partiality gives me credit for qualities I do not possess,” said Dillon,
dropping his eyes, perhaps with a feeling of conscious unworthiness, but with
an air of much humility; “the little justifiable artifice--”
“Ay! there lies the
beauty of the transaction,” interrupted the colonel, shoving the bottle from
him, with the free, open air of a man who never harboured disguise; “you told
no lie; no mean deception, that any dog, however base and unworthy, might
invent; but you practised a neat, a military, a--a--yes, a classical deception
on your enemy; a classical deception, that is the very term for it! such a
deception as Pompey, or Mark Antony, or--or--you know those old fellows’ names
better than I do, Kit; but name the cleverest fellow that ever lived in Greece
or Rome, and I shall say he is a dunce, compared to you. ’Twas a real Spartan
trick, both simple and honest.”
It was extremely
fortunate for Dillon, that the animation of his aged kinsman kept his head and
body in such constant motion, during this apostrophe, as to intercept the aim
that the cockswain was deliberately taking at his head, with one of
Borroughcliffe’s pistols; and perhaps the sense of shame, which induced him to
sink his face on his two hands, was another means of saving his life, by giving
the indignant old seaman time for reflection.
“But you have not
spoken of the ladies,” said Dillon, after a moment’s pause; “I should hope,
they have borne the alarm of the day like kinswomen of the family of Howard.”
The colonel glanced his
eyes around him, as if to assure himself they were alone, and dropped his
voice, as he answered--
“Ah! Kit, they have
come to, since this rebel scoundrel, Griffith, has been brought into the Abbey;
we were favoured with the company of even Miss Howard, in the dining-room,
to-day. There was a good deal of ‘dear uncleing,’ and ‘fears that my life might
be exposed by the quarrels and skirmishes of these desperadoes who have landed;’
as if an old fellow, who served through the whole war, from ’56 to ’63, was
afraid to let his nose smell gunpowder, any more than if it were snuff! But it
will be a hard matter to wheedle an old soldier out of his allegiance! This
Griffith goes to the Tower, at least, Mr. Dillon.”
“It would be advisable
to commit his person to the civil authority, without delay.”
“To the constable of
the Tower, the Earl Cornwallis, a good and loyal nobleman, who is, at this
moment, fighting the rebels in my own native province, Christopher,”
interrupted the colonel; “that will be what I call retributive justice; but,”
continued the veteran, rising with an air of gentlemanly dignity, “it will not
do to permit even the constable of the Tower of London, to surpass the master
of St. Ruth, in hospitality and kindness to his prisoners. I have ordered
suitable refreshments to their apartments, and it is incumbent on me to see
that my commands have been properly obeyed. Arrangements must also be made for
the reception of this Captain Barnstable, who will, doubtless, soon be here.”
“Within the hour, at
farthest,” said Dillon, looking uneasily at his watch.
“We must be stirring,
boy,” continued the colonel, moving towards the door that led to the apartments
of his prisoners; “but there is a courtesy due to the ladies, as well as to
these unfortunate violators of the laws--go, Christopher, convey my kindest
wishes to Cecilia; she don’t deserve them, the obstinate vixen, but then she is
my brother Harry’s child! and while there, you arch dog, plead your own cause.
Mark Antony was a fool to you at a ‘ruse,’ and yet Mark was one of your
successful suitors, too; there was that Queen of the Pyramids--”
The door closed on the
excited veteran, at these words, and Dillon was left standing by himself, at
the side of the table, musing, as if in doubt, whether to venture on the step
that his kinsman had proposed, or not.
The greater part of the
preceding discourse was unintelligible to the cockswain, who had waited its
termination with extraordinary patience, in hopes he might obtain some information
that he could render of service to the captive officers. Before he had time to
decide on what was now best for him to do, Dillon, suddenly, determined to
venture himself in the cloisters; and, swallowing a couple of glasses of wine
in a breath, he passed the hesitating cockswain, who was concealed by the
opening door, so closely as to brush his person, and moved down the gallery
with those rapid strides, which men, who act under the impulse of forced
resolutions, are very apt to assume, as if to conceal their weakness from
themselves. Tom hesitated no longer, but, aiding the impulse given to the door
by Dillon as he passed, so as to darken the passage, he followed the sounds of
the other’s footsteps, while he trod, in the manner already described, the
stone pavement of the gallery. Dillon paused an instant at the turning that led
to the room of Borroughcliffe, but whether irresolute which way to urge his
steps, or listening to the incautious and heavy treads of the cockswain, is not
known; if the latter, he mistook them for the echoes of his own footsteps, and
moved forward again, without making any discovery.
The light tap which
Dillon gave on the door of the withdrawing-room of the cloisters, was answered
by the soft voice of Cecilia Howard herself, who bid the applicant enter. There
was a slight confusion evident in the manner of the gentleman as he complied
with the bidding, and in its hesitancy, the door was, for an instant,
neglected.
“I come, Miss Howard,”
said Dillon, “by the commands of your uncle, and, permit me to add, by my own--”
“May heaven shield us!”
exclaimed Cecilia, clasping her hands in affright, and rising involuntarily
from her couch; “are we, too, to be imprisoned and murdered?”
“Surely Miss Howard
will not impute to me”-- but Dillon, observing that the wild looks, not only of
Cecilia, but of Katherine and Alice Dunscombe, also, were directed at some
other object, turned, and, to his manifest terror, he beheld the gigantic frame
of the cockswain, surmounted by an iron visage fixed in settled hostility, in
possession of the only passage to or from the apartment.
“If there’s murder to
be done,” said Tom, after surveying the astonished group with a stern eye, “it’s
as likely this here liar will be the one to do it, as another; but you have
nothing to fear from a man who has followed the seas too long, and has grappled
with too many monsters, both fish and flesh, not to know how to treat a
helpless woman. None, who know him, will ever say, that Thomas Coffin ever used
uncivil language, or unseaman-like conduct, to any of his mother’s kind.”
“Coffin!” exclaimed
Katherine, advancing with a more confident air, from the corner, into which
terror had driven her with her companions.
“Ay, Coffin,” continued
the old sailor, his grim features gradually relaxing, as he gazed on her bright
looks; “’tis a solemn word, but it’s a name that passes over the shoals, among
the islands, and along the cape, oftener than any other. My father was a
Coffin, and my mother was a Joy; and the two names can count more flukes than
all the rest in the island together; though the Worths, and the Gar’ners, and
the Swaines, dart better harpoons, and set truer lances, than any men who come
from the weather-side of the Atlantic.”
Katherine listened to
this digression in honour of the whalers of Nantucket, with marked complacency,
and, when he concluded, she repeated, slowly--
“Coffin! this, then, is
long-Tom!”
“Ay, ay, long-Tom, and
no sham in the name either,” returned the cockswain, suffering the stern indignation
that had lowered around his hard visage, to relax into a low laugh, as he gazed
on her animated features; “the Lord bless your smiling face and bright black
eyes, young madam; you have heard of old long-Tom, then? most likely, ’twas
something about the blow he strikes at the fish--ah! I’m old and I’m stiff,
now, young madam, but, afore I was nineteen, I stood at the head of the dance,
at a ball on the cape, and that with a partner almost as handsome as
yourself--ay! and this was after I had three broad flukes logg’d against my
name.”
“No,” said Katherine,
advancing in her eagerness a step or two nigher to the old tar, her cheeks
flushing while she spoke, “I had heard of you as the instructer in a seaman’s
duty, as the faithful cockswain, nay, I may say, as the devoted companion and
friend of Mr. Richard Barnstable--but, perhaps, you come now as the bearer of
some message or letter from that gentleman.”
The sound of his
commander’s name suddenly revived the recollection of Coffin, and with it, all
the fierce sternness of his manner returned. Bending his eyes keenly on the
cowering form of Dillon, he said, in those deep, harsh tones, that seem
peculiar to men, who have braved the elements, until they appear to have
imbibed some of their roughest qualities--
“Liar! how now? what
brought old Tom Coffin into these shoals and narrow channels? was it a letter?
ha! but by the Lord that maketh the winds to blow, and teacheth the lost
mariner how to steer over the wide waters, you shall sleep this night, villain,
on the planks of the Ariel; and if it be the will of God, that beautiful piece
of handicraft is to sink at her moorings, like a worthless hulk, ye shall still
sleep in her; ay, and a sleep that shall not end, ’till they call all hands, to
foot up the days’-work of this life, at the close of man’s longest voyage.”
The extraordinary
vehemence, the language, the attitude of the old seaman, commanding in its
energy, and the honest indignation that shone in every look of his keen eyes,
together with the nature of the address, and its paralyzing effect on Dillon,
who quailed before it like the stricken deer, united to keep the female
listeners, for many moments, silent, through amazement. During this brief
period, Tom advanced upon his nerveless victim, and lashing his arms together
behind his back, he fastened him, by a strong cord, to the broad canvass belt
that he constantly wore around his own body, leaving to himself, by this
arrangement, the free use of his arms and weapons of offence, while he secured his
captive.
“Surely,” said Cecilia,
recovering her recollection the first of the astonished group, “Mr. Barnstable
has not commissioned you to offer this violence to my uncle’s kinsman, under
the roof of Colonel Howard?--Miss Plowden, your friend has strangely forgotten
himself, in this transaction, if this man acts in obedience to his orders!”
“My friend, my cousin
Howard,” returned Katherine, “would never commission his cockswain, or any one,
to do an unworthy deed. Speak, honest sailor; why do you commit this outrage on
the worthy Mr. Dillon, Colonel Howard’s kinsman, and a cupboard cousin of St.
Ruth’s Abbey?”
“Nay, Katherine--”
“Nay, Cecilia, be
patient, and let the stranger have utterance; he may solve the difficulty
altogether.”
The cockswain, understanding
that an explanation was expected from his lips, addressed himself to the task,
with an energy suitable both to the subject and to his own feelings. In a very
few words, though a little obscured by his peculiar diction, he made his
listeners understand the confidence that Barnstable had reposed in Dillon, and
the treachery of the latter. They heard him with increased astonishment, and
Cecilia hardly allowed him time to conclude, before she exclaimed--
“And did Colonel
Howard, could Colonel Howard listen to this treacherous project?”
“Ay, they patched it up
among them,” returned Tom; “though one part of this cruise will turn out but
badly.”
“Even Borroughcliffe,
cold and hardened as he appears to be by habit, would spurn at such dishonour,”
added Miss Howard.
“But, Mr. Barnstable?”
at length Katherine succeeded in saying, when her feelings permitted her
utterance, “said you not, that soldiers were in quest of him?”
“Ay, ay, young madam,”
the cockswain replied, smiling with grim ferocity, “they are in chase, but he
has shifted his anchorage; and even if they should find him, his long pikes
would make short work of a dozen red-coats. The Lord of tempests and calms have
mercy though, on the schooner! Ah! young madam, she is as lovely to the eyes of
an old sea-faring man, as any of your kind can be to human nature.”
“But why this
delay?--away then, honest Tom, and reveal the treachery to your commander; you
may not yet be too late--why delay a moment?”
“The ship tarries for
want of a pilot--I could carry three fathom over the shoals of Nantucket, the
darkest night that ever shut the windows of heaven, but I should be likely to
run upon breakers in this navigation. As it was, I was near getting into
company that I should have had to fight my way out of.”
“If that be all, follow
me,” cried the ardent Katherine; “I will conduct you to a path that leads to
the ocean, without approaching the sentinels.”
Until this moment,
Dillon had entertained a secret expectation of a rescue, but when he heard this
proposal, he felt his blood retreating to his heart, from every part of his
agitated frame, and his last hope seemed wrested from him. Raising himself from
the abject, shrinking attitude, in which both shame and dread had conspired to
keep him, as though he had been fettered to the spot, he approached Cecilia,
and cried, in tones of horror--
“Do not, do not
consent, Miss Howard, to abandon me to the fury of this man! your uncle, your
honourable uncle, even now, applauded and united with me in my enterprise,
which is no more than a common artifice in war.”
“My uncle would unite,
Mr. Dillon, in no project of deliberate treachery, like this,” said Cecilia,
coldly.
“He did, I swear by--”
“Liar!” interrupted the
deep tones of the cockswain.
Dillon shivered with
agony and terror, while the sounds of this appalling voice sunk into his inmost
soul; but as the gloom of the night, the secret ravines of the cliffs, and the
turbulence of the ocean, flashed across his imagination, he again yielded to a
dread of the horrors to which he should be exposed, in encountering them at the
mercy of his powerful enemy, and he continued his solicitations--
“Hear me, once more
hear me--Miss Howard, I beseech you, hear me; am I not of your own blood and
country! will you see me abandoned to the wild, merciless, malignant fury of
this man, who will transfix me with that--oh! God! if you had but seen the
sight I beheld in the Alacrity!--hear me, Miss Howard, for the love you bear
your Maker, intercede for me. Mr. Griffith shall be released--”
“Liar!” again
interrupted the cockswain.
“What promises he?”
asked Cecilia, turning her averted face once more at the miserable captive.
“Nothing that will be
fulfilled,” said Katherine; “follow, honest Tom, and I, at least, will conduct
you in good faith.”
“Cruel, obdurate Miss
Plowden; gentle, kind Miss Alice, you will not refuse to raise your voice in my
favour; your heart is not hardened by any imaginary dangers to those you love.”
“Nay, address not me,”
said Alice, bending her meek eyes to the floor; “I trust your life is in no
danger, and I pray that he who has the power, will have the mercy, to see you
unharmed.”
“Away,” said Tom,
grasping the collar of the helpless Dillon, and rather carrying than leading
him into the gallery; “if a sound, one quarter as loud as a young porpoise
makes, when he draws his first breath, comes from you, villain, you shall see
the sight of the Alacrity over again. My harpoon keeps its edge well, and the
old arm can yet drive it to the seizing.”
This menace effectually
silenced even the hard, perturbed breathings of the captive, who, with his
conductor, followed the light steps of Katherine, through some of the secret
mazes of the building, until, in a few minutes, they issued through a small
door, into the open air. Without pausing to deliberate, Miss Plowden led the
cockswain through the grounds, to a different wicket from the one by which he
had entered the paddock, and pointing to the path, which might be dimly traced
along the faded herbage, she bad God bless him, in a voice that discovered her
interest in his safety, and vanished from his sight, like an aerial being.
Tom needed no incentive
to his speed, now that his course lay so plainly before him, but, loosening his
pistols in his belt, and poising his harpoon, he crossed the fields at a gait
that compelled his companion to exert his utmost powers, in the way of walking,
to equal. Once or twice, Dillon ventured to utter a word or two, but a stern “silence,”
from the cockswain, warned him to cease, until, perceiving that they were
approaching the cliffs, he made a final effort to obtain his liberty, by
hurriedly promising a large bribe. The cockswain made no reply, and the captive
was secretly hoping that his scheme was producing its wonted effects, when he
unexpectedly felt the keen, cold edge of the barbed iron of the harpoon
pressing against his breast, through the opening of his ruffles, and even
rasing the skin.
“Liar,” said Tom, “another
word, and I’ll drive it through your heart.”
From that moment,
Dillon was as silent as the grave. They reached the edge of the cliffs, without
encountering the party that had been sent in quest of Barnstable, and at a
point near where they had landed. The old seaman paused an instant on the verge
of the precipice, and cast his experienced eyes along the wide expanse of water
that lay before him. The sea was no longer sleeping, but already in heavy
motion, and rolling its surly waves against the base of the rocks on which he
stood, and scattering their white crests high in foam. The cockswain, after
bending his looks along the whole line of the eastern horizon, gave utterance
to a low and stifled groan, and then striking the staff of his harpoon
violently against the earth, he pursued his way along the very edge of the
cliffs, muttering certain dreadful denunciations, which the conscience of his
appalled listener did not fail to cause him to apply to himself. It appeared to
the latter, that his angry and excited leader sought the giddy verge of the
precipice with a sort of wanton recklessness, so daring were the steps that he
took along its brow, notwithstanding the darkness of the hour, and the violence
of the blasts that occasionally rushed by them, leaving behind a kind of
reaction, that more than once brought the life of the manacled captive in
imminent jeopardy. But it would seem, the wary cockswain had a motive for his,
apparently, inconsiderate desperation. When they had made good quite half the
distance between the point where Barnstable had landed, and that where he had
appointed to meet his cockswain, the sounds of voices were brought indistinctly
to their ears, in one of the momentary pauses of the rushing winds, and caused
the cockswain to make a dead stand in his progress. He listened intently, for a
single minute, when his resolution appeared to be taken. He turned to Dillon,
and spoke; but though his voice was suppressed and low, it was deep and
resolute.
“One word, and you die;
over the cliffs. You must take a seaman’s ladder; there is footing, on the rocks
and crags, for your hands. Over the cliff, I bid ye, or I’ll cast ye into the
sea, as I would a dead enemy.”
“Mercy, mercy,”
implored Dillon; “I could not do it in the day; I shall surely perish by this
light.”
“Over with ye,” said
Tom, “or I--”
Dillon waited for no
more, but descended, with trembling steps, the dangerous precipice which lay
before him. He was followed by the cockswain, with a haste that unavoidably
dislodged his captive from the trembling stand he had taken on the shelf of a
rock, who, to his increased horror, found himself dangling in the air, his body
impending over the sullen surf, that was tumbling in, with violence, upon the
rocks beneath him. An involuntary shriek burst from Dillon, as he felt his
person thrust from the narrow shelf, and his cry sounded amid the tempest, like
the screechings of the spirit of the storm.
“Another such call, and
I cut your tow-line, villain,” said the determined seaman, “when nothing short
of eternity will bring you up.”
The sounds of footsteps
and voices were now distinctly audible, and presently a group of armed men
appeared on the edges of the rocks, directly above them.
“It was a human voice,”
said one of them, “and like a man in distress.”
“It cannot be the party
we are sent in search of,” returned Sergeant Drill; “for no watch-word that I
ever heard sounded like that cry.”
“They say, that such
cries are often heard, in storms, along this coast,” said a voice, that was
uttered with less of military confidence than the two others; “and they are
thought to come from drowned seamen.”
A feeble laugh arose
among the listeners, and one or two forced jokes were made, at the expense of
their superstitious comrade; but the scene did not fail to produce its effect
on even the most sturdy among the unbelievers in the marvellous; for, after a
few more very similar remarks, the whole party retired from the cliffs, at a
pace that might have been accelerated by the nature of their discourse. The
cockswain, who had stood, all this time, firm as the rock which supported him,
bearing up not only his own weight, but the person of Dillon also, raised his
head above the brow of the precipice, as they withdrew, to reconnoitre, and
then drew up the nearly insensible captive, and first placing him in safety on
the bank, he followed himself. Not a moment was wasted in unnecessary
explanations, but Dillon found himself again urged forward, with the same
velocity as before. In a few minutes they gained the desired ravine, down which
Tom plunged, with a seaman’s nerve, dragging his prisoner after him, and
directly they stood where the waves rose to their feet, as they flowed far and
foaming across the sands. The cockswain stooped, so as to bring the crests of
the billows in a line with the horizon, when he discovered the dark boat
playing in the outer edge of the surf.
“What hoa! Ariels
there!” shouted Tom, in a voice that the growing tempest carried to the ears of
the retreating soldiers, who quickened their footsteps, as they listened to
sounds that their fears taught them to believe unnatural.
“Who hails?” cried the
well known voice of Barnstable.
“Once your master, now
your servant,” answered the cockswain, in a watch-word of his own invention.
“’Tis he,” returned the
lieutenant; “veer away, boys, veer away. You must wade into the surf.”
Tom caught Dillon in
his arms, and throwing him, like a cork, across his shoulder, he dashed into
the streak of foam that was bearing the boat on its crest, and before his
companion had time for remonstrance or entreaty, he found himself once more by
the side of Barnstable.
“Who have we here?”
asked the lieutenant; “this is not Griffith!”
“Haul out, and weigh
your grapnel,” said the cockswain sternly; “and then, boys, if you love the
Ariel, pull while the life and the will is left in you.”
Barnstable knew his
man, and not another question was asked, until the boat was without the
breakers; now skimming the rounded summits of the waves, or settling into the
hollows of the seas, but always cutting the waters asunder, as she urged her
course, with amazing velocity, towards the haven where the schooner had been
left at anchor. Then, in a few, but bitter sentences, the cockswain explained
to his commander the treachery of Dillon, and the danger of the Ariel.
“The soldiers are slow
at a night muster,” Tom concluded, “and from what I overheard, the express will
have to make a crooked course, to double the head of the bay; so, that but for
this north-easter, we might weather upon them yet; but it’s a matter that lies
altogether in the will of Providence. Pull, my hearties, pull-- every thing
depends on your oars to-night.”
Barnstable listened, in
deep silence, to this unexpected narration, which sounded to the ears of Dillon
like his funeral knell. At length, the suppressed voice of the lieutenant was
heard, also, uttering--
“Wretch! if I should
cast you into the sea, as food for the fishes, who could blame me? But if my
schooner goes to the bottom, she shall prove your coffin.”
“Had I been any God of power, I would Have
sunk the sea within the earth, ere
It should the good ship
so have swallowed.”
Tempest The arms of Dillon were
released from their confinement, by the cockswain, as a measure of humane
caution against accidents, when they entered the surf, and the captive now
availed himself of the circumstance, to bury his features in the folds of his
attire, where he brooded over the events of the last few hours with that
mixture of malignant passion and pusillanimous dread of the future, that formed
the chief ingredients in his character. From this state of apparent quietude,
neither Barnstable nor Tom seemed disposed to rouse him by their remarks, for
both were too much engaged with their own gloomy forebodings, to indulge in any
unnecessary words. An occasional ejaculation from the former, as if to
propitiate the spirit of the storm, as he gazed on the troubled appearance of
the elements, or a cheering cry from the latter, to animate his crew, were
alone heard amid the sullen roaring of the waters, and the mournful whistling
of the winds, that swept heavily across the broad waste of the German ocean.
There might have been an hour consumed thus, in a vigorous struggle between the
seamen and the growing billows, when the boat doubled the northern headland of
the desired haven, and shot, at once, from its boisterous passage along the
margin of the breakers, into the placid waters of the sequestered bay. The
passing blasts were still heard rushing above the highlands that surrounded,
and, in fact, formed the estuary, but the profound stillness of deep night,
pervaded the secret recesses, along the unruffled surface of its waters. The
shadows of the hills seemed to have accumulated, like a mass of gloom, in the
centre of the basin, and though every eye involuntarily turned to search, it
was in vain that the anxious seamen endeavoured to discover their little
vessel, through its density. While the boat glided into this quiet scene,
Barnstable observed--
“Every thing is as
still as death.”
“God send it is not the
stillness of death!” ejaculated the cockswain; “here, here,” he continued,
speaking in a lower tone, as if fearful of being overheard, “here she lies,
sir, more to-port; look into the streak of clear sky above the marsh, on the
starboard hand of the wood, there; that long black line is her main-top-mast; I
know it by the rake; and there is her night-pennant fluttering about that
bright star; ay, ay, sir, there go our own stars aloft yet, dancing among the
stars in the heavens! God bless her! God bless her! she rides as easy and as
quiet as a gull asleep!”
“I believe all in her
sleep too,” returned his commander; “ha! by heaven, we have arrived in good
time; the soldiers are moving!”
The quick eye of
Barnstable had detected the glimmering of passing lanterns, as they flitted
across the embrasures of the battery, and, at the next moment, the guarded but
distinct sounds of an active bustle, on the decks of the schooner, were plainly
audible. The lieutenant was rubbing his hands together, with a sort of ecstacy,
that probably will not be understood by the great majority of our readers,
while long-Tom was actually indulging in a paroxysm of his low, spiritless
laughter, as these certain intimations of the safety of the Ariel, and of the
vigilance of her crew, were conveyed to their ears; when the whole hull and
taper spars of their floating home, became unexpectedly visible, and the sky,
the placid basin, and the adjacent hills, were illuminated by a flash as sudden
and as vivid as the keenest lightning. Both Barnstable and his cockswain,
seemed instinctively to strain their eyes towards the schooner, with an effort
to surpass human vision, but ere the rolling reverberations of the report of a
heavy piece of ordnance, from the heights, had commenced, the dull, whistling
rush of the shot swept over their heads, like the moaning of a hurricane, and
was succeeded by the plash of the waters, which was followed, in a breath, by
the rattling of the mass of iron, as it bounded with violent fury from rock to
rock, shivering and tearing the fragments that lined the margin of the bay.
“A bad aim with the
first gun, generally leaves your enemy clean decks,” said the cockswain, with
his deliberate sort of philosophy; “smoke makes but dim spectacles; besides,
the night always grows darkest, as you call off the morning watch.”
“That boy is a miracle
for his years!” rejoined the delighted lieutenant; “see, Tom, the younker has
shifted his birth in the dark, and the Englishmen have fired by the day-range
they must have taken, for we left him in a direct line between the battery and
yon hommoc! what would have become of us, if that heavy fellow had plunged upon
our decks, and gone out below the water-line!”
“We should have sunk
into English mud, for eternity, as sure as our metal and kentledge would have
taken us down,” responded Tom; “such a point-blanker would have torn off a
streak of our wales, outboard, and not even left the marines time to say a
prayer! tend bow there!”
It is not to be
supposed that the crew of the whale-boat continued idle, during this
interchange of opinions between the lieutenant and his cockswain; on the
contrary, the sight of their vessel acted on them like a charm, and, believing
that all necessity for caution was now over, they had expended their utmost
strength in efforts, that had already brought them, as the last words of Tom
indicated, to the side of the Ariel. Though every nerve of Barnstable was
thrilling with the excitement produced, by his feelings passing from a state of
the most doubtful apprehension, to that of a revived and almost confident hope
of effecting his escape, he assumed the command of his vessel, with all that
stern but calm authority, that seamen find it most necessary to exert, in the
moments of extremest danger. Any one of the heavy shot that their enemies
continued to hurl from their heights into the darkness of the haven, he well
knew must prove fatal to them, as it would, unavoidably, pass through the
slight fabric of the Ariel, and open a passage to the water, that no means he
possessed could remedy. His mandates were, therefore, issued, with a full
perception of the critical nature of the emergency, but with that collectedness
of manner, and intonation of voice, that were best adapted to enforce a ready
and animated obedience. Under this impulse, the crew of the schooner soon got
their anchor freed from the bottom, and, seizing their sweeps, they forced her,
by their united efforts, directly in the face of the battery, under that shore,
whose summit was now crowned with a canopy of smoke, that every discharge of
the ordnance tinged with dim colours, like the faintest tints that are
reflected from the clouds toward a setting sun. So long as the seamen were
enabled to keep their little bark under the cover of the hill, they were, of
course, safe; but Barnstable perceived, as they emerged from its shadow, and
were drawing nigh to the passage which led into the ocean, that the action of
his sweeps would no longer avail them, against the currents of air they
encountered, neither would the darkness conceal their movements from his enemy,
who had already employed men on the shore to discern the position of the
schooner. Throwing off at once, therefore, all appearance of disguise, he gave
forth the word to spread the canvass of his vessel, in his ordinary cheerful
manner.
“Let them do their
worst now, Merry,” he added; “we have brought them to a distance that I think
will keep their iron above water, and we have no dodge about us, younker!”
“It must be keener
marksmen than the militia, or volunteers, or fencibles, or whatever they call
themselves, behind yon grass-bank, to frighten the saucy Ariel from the wind,”
returned the reckless boy; “but why have you brought Jonah aboard us again,
sir? look at him, by the light of the cabin lamp; he winks at every gun, as if
he expected the shot would hull his own ugly, yellow physiognomy. And what
tidings have we, sir, from Mr. Griffith, and the marine?”
“Name him not,” said
Barnstable, pressing the shoulder on which he lightly leaned, with a convulsive
grasp, that caused the boy to yield with pain; “name him not, Merry; I want my
temper and my faculties at this moment undisturbed, and thinking of the wretch
unfits me for my duty. But, there will come a time! go forward, sir; we feel
the wind, and have a narrow passage to work through.”
The boy obeyed a
mandate which was given in the usual prompt manner of their profession, and
which, he well understood, was intended to intimate, that the distance which
years and rank had created between them, but which Barnstable often chose to
forget while communing with Merry, was now to be resumed. The sails had been
loosened and set; and, as the vessel approached the throat of the passage, the
gale, which was blowing with increasing violence, began to make a very sensible
impression on the light bark. The cockswain, who, in the absence of most of the
inferior officers, had been acting, on the forecastle, the part of one who
felt, from his years and experience, that he had some right to advise, if not
to command, at such a juncture, now walked to the station which his commander
had taken, near the helmsman, as if willing to place himself in the way of
being seen.
“Well, Master Coffin,”
said Barnstable, who well understood the propensity his old shipmate had to
commune with him, on all important occasions, “what think you of the cruise,
now? Those gentlemen on the hill make a great noise, but I have lost even the
whistling of their shot; one would think they could see our sails against the
broad band of light which is opening to seaward.”
“Ay, ay, sir, they see
us, and mean to hit us, too, but we are running across their fire, and that
with a ten-knot breeze; but when we heave in stays, and get in a line with
their guns, we shall see, and, it may be, feel, more of their work than we do
now; a thirty-two an’t trained as easily as a fowling-piece or a ducking gun.”
Barnstable was struck
with the truth of this observation, but as there existed an immediate necessity
for placing the schooner in the very situation to which the other alluded, he
gave his orders at once, and the vessel came about, and ran with her head
pointing towards the sea, in as short a time as we have taken to record it.
“There, they have us
now, or never,” cried the lieutenant, when the evolution was completed; “if we
fetch to windward of the northern point, we shall lay out into the offing, and
in ten minutes we might laugh at Queen Anne’s pocket-piece; which, you know,
old boy, sent a ball from Dover to Calais.”
“Ay, sir, I’ve heard of
the gun,” returned the grave seaman, “and a lively piece it must have been, if
the streights were always of the same width they are now. But I see that,
Captain Barnstable, which is more dangerous than a dozen of the heaviest cannon
that were ever cast, could be at half a league’s distance. The water is
bubbling through our lee-scuppers, already, sir.”
“And what of that?
haven’t I buried her guns often, and yet kept every spar in her without a crack
or a splinter?”
“Ay, ay, sir, you have
done it, and can do it again, where there is sea-room, which is all that a man
wants for comfort in this life. But when we are out of these chops, we shall be
embayed, with a heavy north-easter setting dead into the bight; it is that
which I fear, Captain Barnstable, more than all the powder and ball in the
whole island.”
“And yet, Tom, the
balls are not to be despised, either; those fellows have found out their range,
and send their iron within hail, again; we walk pretty fast, Master Coffin, but
a thirty-two can out-travel us, with the best wind that ever blew.”
Tom threw a cursory
glance towards the battery, which had renewed its fire with a spirit that
denoted they saw their object, as he answered--
“It is never worth a
man’s while to strive to dodge a shot, for they are all commissioned to do
their work, the same as a ship is commissioned to cruise in certain latitudes;
but for the winds and the weather, they are given for a seafaring man to guard
against, by making or shortening sail, as the case may be. Now, the headland to
the southward stretches full three leagues to windward, and the shoals lie to
the north; among which God keep us from ever running this craft again!”
“We will beat her out
of the bight, old fellow,” cried the lieutenant; “we shall have a leg of three
leagues in length to do it in.”
“I’ve known longer legs
too short,” returned the cockswain, with a deep sigh; “a tumbling sea, with a
lee-tide, on a lee-shore, make a sad lee-way.”
The lieutenant was in
the act of replying to this saying, with a cheerful laugh, when the whistling
of a passing shot was instantly succeeded by the crash of splintered wood, and
at the next moment the head of the main-mast, after tottering for an instant in
the gale, fell toward the deck, bringing with it the main-sail, and the long
line of top-mast, that had been bearing the emblems of America, as the
cockswain had expressed it, among the stars of the heavens.
“That was a most
unlucky hit!” Barnstable suffered to escape him, in the concern of the moment;
then, instantly resuming all his collectedness of manner and voice, he gave his
orders to clear the wreck, and secure the fluttering canvass.
The mournful
forebodings of Tom seemed to vanish, at the appearance of a necessity for his
exertions, and he was foremost among the crew in executing the orders of their
commander. The loss of all the sail on the main-mast forced the Ariel so much
from her course, as to render it difficult to weather the point, that jutted,
under her lee, for some distance into the ocean. This desirable object was, however,
effected, by the skill of Barnstable, aided by the excellent properties of his
vessel; and the schooner, borne down by the power of the gale, from whose fury
she had now no protection, passed heavily along the land, heading, as far as
possible, from the breakers, while the seamen were engaged in making their
preparations to display as much of the canvass of their most important sail, as
the stump of their mast would allow them to spread. The firing from the battery
ceased, as the Ariel rounded the little promontory; but Barnstable, whose gaze
was now bent intently on the ocean, soon perceived that, as his cockswain had
predicted, he had a much more threatening danger to encounter, in the elements.
When their damages were repaired, so far as circumstances would permit, the
cockswain returned to his wonted station near the lieutenant, and after a
momentary pause, during which his eyes roved over the rigging, with a seaman’s
scrutiny, he resumed the discourse.
“It would have been
better for us that the best man in the schooner had lost a limb, by that shot,
than that the Ariel should have lost her best leg; a main-sail, close-reefed,
may be prudent canvass, as the wind blows, but it carries a poor luff to keep a
craft to windward.”
“What would you have,
Tom Coffin!” retorted his commander; “you see she draws ahead, and off-shore;
do you expect a vessel to fly in the very teeth of a gale, or would you have me
ware and beach her, at once?”
“I would have nothing,
nothing, Captain Barnstable,” returned the old seaman, sensibly touched at his
commander’s displeasure; “you are as able as any man who ever trod a plank to
work her into an offing; but, sir, when that soldier-officer told me of the
scheme to sink the Ariel at her anchor, there were such feelings come athwart
me as never crossed me afore. I thought I saw her a wrack, as plainly, ay, as
plainly as you may see the stump of that mast; and, I will own it, for it’s as
natural to love the craft you sail in, as it is to love one’s self, I will own
that my manhood fetched a heavy lee-lurch at the sight.”
“Away with ye, ye old
sea-croaker! forward with ye, and see that the head-sheets are trimmed flat.
But hold! come hither, Tom; if you have sights of wrecks, and sharks, and other
beautiful objects, keep them stowed in your own silly brain; don’t make a
ghost-parlour of my forecastle. The lads begin to look to leeward, now, oftener
than I would have them. Go, sirrah, go, and take example from Mr. Merry, who is
seated on your namesake there, and is singing as if he were a chorister in his
father’s church.”
“Ah! Captain
Barnstable, Mr. Merry is a boy, and knows nothing, so fears nothing. But I
shall obey your orders, sir; and if the men fall astern, this gale, it shan’t
be for any thing they’ll hear from old Tom Coffin.”
The cockswain lingered
a moment, notwithstanding his promised obedience, and then ventured to request,
that--
“Captain Barnstable
would please to call Mr. Merry from the gun; for I know, from having followed
the seas my natural life, that singing in a gale is sure to bring the wind down
upon a vessel the heavier; for He who rules the tempests is displeased that man’s
voice shall be heard, when He chooses to send His own breath on the water.”
Barnstable was at a
loss, whether to laugh at his cockswain’s infirmity, or to yield to the
impression which his earnest and solemn manner had a powerful tendency to
produce, amid such a scene. But, making an effort to shake off the
superstitious awe that he felt creeping around his own heart, the lieutenant relieved
the mind of the worthy seaman so far as to call the careless boy from his
perch, to his own side; where respect for the sacred character of the
quarter-deck, instantly put an end to the lively air he had been humming. Tom
walked slowly forward, apparently much relieved by the reflection that he had
effected so important an object.
The Ariel continued to
struggle against the winds and ocean for several hours longer, before the day
broke on the tempestuous scene, and the anxious mariners were enabled to form a
more accurate estimate of their real danger. As the violence of the gale
increased, the canvass of the schooner had been gradually reduced, until she
was unable to show more than was absolutely necessary to prevent her driving,
helplessly, on the land. Barnstable watched the appearance of the weather, as
the light slowly opened upon them, with an intensity of anxiety, which denoted,
that the presentiments of the cockswain were no longer deemed idle. On looking
to windward, he beheld the green masses of water that were rolling in towards
the land, with a violence that seemed irresistible, crowned with ridges of
foam; and there were moments when the air appeared filled with sparkling gems,
as the rays of the rising sun fell upon the spray that was swept from wave to
wave. Towards the land, the view was still more appalling. The cliffs, but a
short half-league under the lee of the schooner, were, at times, nearly hid
from the eye by the pyramids of water, which the furious element, so suddenly
restrained in its violence, cast high into the air, as if seeking to overstep
the boundaries that nature had affixed to its dominion. The whole coast, from
the distant head-land at the south, to the well known shoals that stretched far
beyond their course, in the opposite direction, displayed a broad belt of foam,
into which, it would have been certain destruction, for the proudest ship that
swam, to have entered. Still the Ariel floated on the billows, lightly and in
safety, though yielding to the impulses of the waters, and, at times, appearing
to be engulphed in the yawning chasms, which, apparently, opened beneath her to
receive the little fabric. The low rumour of acknowledged danger, had found its
way through the schooner, and the seamen, after fastening their hopeless looks
on the small spot of canvass that they were enabled to show to the tempest,
would turn to view the dreary line of coast, that seemed to offer so gloomy an
alternative. Even Dillon, to whom the report of their danger had found its way,
crept from his place of concealment in the cabin, and moved about the decks,
unheeded, devouring, with greedy ears, such opinions as fell from the lips of
the sullen mariners.
At this moment of
appalling apprehension, the cockswain exhibited the most calm resignation. He
knew that all had been done, that lay in the power of man, to urge their little
vessel from the land, and it was now too evident to his experienced eyes, that
it had been done in vain; but, considering himself as a sort of fixture in the
schooner, he was quite prepared to abide her fate, be it for better or for
worse. The settled look of gloom that gathered around the frank brow of
Barnstable, was, in no degree, connected with any considerations of himself,
but proceeded from that sort of parental responsibility, from which the
sea-commander is never exempt. The discipline of the crew, however, still
continued perfect and unyielding. There had, it is true, been a slight movement
made by two of the oldest seamen, which indicated an intention to drown the
apprehensions of death in ebriety; but Barnstable had called for his pistols,
in a tone that checked the procedure instantly, and, although the fatal weapons
were untouched by him, but were left to lie exposed on the capstern, where they
had been placed by his servant, not another symptom of insubordination appeared
among the devoted crew. There was even, what to a landsman might seem, a
dreadful affectation of attention to the most trifling duties of the vessel;
and the men, who, it should seem, ought to be devoting the brief moments of
their existence to the mighty business of the hour, were constantly called to
attend to the most trivial details of their profession. Ropes were coiled, and
the slightest damages occasioned by the waves, that at short intervals, swept
across the low decks of the Ariel, were repaired, with the same precision and
order, as if she yet lay embayed in the haven from which she had just been
driven. In this manner, the arm of authority was kept extended over the silent
crew, not with the vain desire to preserve a lingering, though useless exercise
of power, but with a view to maintain that unity of action, that now could
alone afford them even a ray of hope.
“She can make no head
against this sea, under that rag of canvass,” said Barnstable, gloomily;
addressing the cockswain, who, with folded arms, and an air of cool
resignation, was balancing his body on the verge of the quarter-deck, while the
schooner was plunging madly into waves that nearly buried her in their bosom; “the
poor little thing trembles like a frightened child, as she meets the water.”
Tom sighed heavily, and
shook his head, before he answered--
“If we could have kept
the head of the main-mast an hour longer, we might have got an offing, and
fetched to windward of the shoals; but, as it is, sir, mortal man can’t drive a
craft to windward--she sets bodily in to land, and will be in the breakers in
less than an hour, unless God wills that the winds shall cease to blow.”
“We have no hope left
us, but to anchor; our ground tackle may yet bring her up.”
Tom turned to his
commander, and replied, solemnly, and with that assurance of manner, that long
experience only can give a man in moments of great danger--
“If our sheet-cable was
bent to our heaviest anchor, this sea would bring it home, though nothing but
her launch was riding by it. A north-easter in the German ocean must and will
blow itself out; nor shall we get the crown of the gale until the sun falls
over the land. Then, indeed, it may lull; for the winds do often seem to
reverence the glory of the heavens, too much to blow their might in its very
face!”
“We must do our duty to
ourselves and the country,” returned Barnstable; “go, get the two bowers
spliced, and have a kedge bent to a hawser; we’ll back our two anchors
together, and veer to the better end of two hundred and forty fathoms; it may
yet bring her up. See all clear there for anchoring, and cutting away the
masts--we’ll leave the wind nothing but a naked hull to whistle over.”
“Ay, if there was
nothing but the wind, we might yet live to see the sun sink behind them hills,”
said the cockswain; “but what hemp can stand the strain of a craft that is
buried, half the time, to her foremast in the water!”
The order was, however,
executed by the crew, with a sort of desperate submission to the will of their
commander; and when the preparations were completed, the anchors and kedge were
dropped to the bottom, and the instant that the Ariel tended to the wind, the
axe was applied to the little that was left of her long, raking masts. The
crash of the falling spars, as they came, in succession, across the decks of
the vessel, appeared to produce no sensation amid that scene of complicated
danger, but the seamen proceeded in silence, in their hopeless duty, of
clearing the wrecks. Every eye followed the floating timbers, as the waves
swept them away from the vessel, with a sort of feverish curiosity, to witness
the effect produced by their collision with those rocks that lay so fearfully
near them; but long before the spars entered the wide border of foam, they were
hid from view by the furious element in which they floated. It was, now, felt
by the whole crew of the Ariel, that their last means of safety had been
adopted, and, at each desperate and headlong plunge the vessel took, into the
bosom of the seas that rolled upon her forecastle, the anxious seamen thought
they could perceive the yielding of the iron that yet clung to the bottom, or
could hear the violent surge of the parting strands of the cable, that still
held them to their anchors. While the minds of the sailors were agitated with
the faint hopes that had been excited, by the movements of their schooner,
Dillon had been permitted to wander about the vessel, unnoticed; his rolling
eyes, hard breathing, and clenched hands, exciting no observation among the
men, whose thoughts were yet dwelling on the means of safety. But, now, when,
with a sort of frenzied desperation, he would follow the retiring waters along
the decks, and venture his person nigh the group that had collected around and
on the gun of the cockswain, glances of fierce or of sullen vengeance were cast
at him, that conveyed threats of a nature that he was too much agitated to
understand.
“If ye are tired of
this world, though your time, like my own, is probably but short in it,” said
Tom to him, as he passed the cockswain in one of his turns, “you can go forward
among the men; but if ye have need of the moments to foot up the reck’ning of
your doings among men, afore ye’re brought to face your maker, and hear the
log-book of heaven, I would advise you to keep as nigh as possible to Captain
Barnstable or myself.”
“Will you promise to
save me, if the vessel is wrecked!” exclaimed Dillon, catching at the first
sounds of friendly interest that had reached his ears, since he had been
recaptured; “Oh! if you will, I can secure you future ease; yes, wealth, for
the remainder of your days!”
“Your promises have
been too ill kept, afore this, for the peace of your soul,” returned the
cockswain, without bitterness, though sternly; “but it is not in me to strike
even a whale, that is already spouting blood.”
The intercessions of
Dillon were interrupted by a dreadful cry, that arose among the men forward,
and which sounded with increased horror, amid the roaring of the tempest. The
schooner rose on the breast of a wave at the same instant, and, falling off
with her broad side to the sea, she drove in towards the cliffs, like a bubble
on the rapids of a cataract.
“Our ground tackle has
parted,” said Tom, with his resigned patience of manner undisturbed; “she shall
die as easy as man can make her!” While he yet spoke, he seized the tiller, and
gave to the vessel such a direction, as would be most likely to cause her to
strike the rocks with her bows foremost.
There was, for one
moment, an expression of exquisite anguish, betrayed in the dark countenance of
Barnstable; but at the next, it passed away, and he spoke cheerfully to his
men--
“Be steady, my lads, be
calm; there is yet a hope of life for you--our light draught will let us run in
close to the cliffs, and it is still falling water--see your boats clear, and
be steady.”
The crew of the
whale-boat, aroused, by this speech, from a sort of stupor, sprang into their
light vessel, which was quickly lowered into the sea, and kept riding on the
foam, free from the sides of the schooner, by the powerful exertions of the
men. The cry for the cockswain was earnest and repeated, but Tom shook his
head, without replying, still grasping the tiller, and keeping his eyes
steadily bent on the chaos of waters, into which they were driving. The launch,
the largest boat of the two, was cut loose from the “gripes,” and the bustle
and exertion of the moment rendered the crew insensible to the horror of the
scene that surrounded them. But the loud, hoarse call of the cockswain, to “look
out--secure yourselves!” suspended even their efforts, and at that instant the
Ariel settled on a wave that melted from under her, heavily on the rocks. The
shock was so violent, as to throw all who disregarded the warning cry, from
their feet, and the universal quiver that pervaded the vessel was like the last
shudder of animated nature. For a time long enough to breathe, the least
experienced among the men supposed the danger to be past; but a wave of great
height followed the one that had deserted them, and raising the vessel again,
threw her roughly still further on her bed of rocks, and at the same time its
crest broke over her quarter, sweeping the length of her decks, with a fury
that was almost resistless. The shuddering seamen beheld their loosened boat,
driven from their grasp, and dashed against the base of the cliffs, where no
fragment of her wreck could be traced, at the receding of the waters. But the
passing wave had thrown the vessel into a position which, in some measure,
protected her decks from the violence of those that succeeded it.
“Go, my boys, go,” said
Barnstable, as the moment of dreadful uncertainty passed; “you have still the
whale-boat, and she, at least, will take you nigh the shore; go into her, my
boys; God bless you, God bless you all; you have been faithful and honest
fellows, and I believe he will not yet desert you; go, my friends, while there
is a lull.”
The seamen threw
themselves, in a mass of human bodies, into the light vessel, which nearly sunk
under the unusual burthen; but when they looked around them, Barnstable, and
Merry, Dillon, and the cockswain, were yet to be seen on the decks of the
Ariel. The former was pacing, in deep, and perhaps bitter melancholy, the wet
planks of the schooner, while the boy hung, unheeded, on his arm, uttering
disregarded petitions to his commander, to desert the wreck. Dillon approached
the side where the boat lay, again and again, but the threatening countenances
of the seamen as often drove him back in despair. Tom had seated himself on the
heel of the bowsprit; where he continued, in an attitude of quiet resignation,
returning no other answers to the loud and repeated calls of his shipmates,
than by waving his hand toward the shore.
“Now hear me,” said the
boy, urging his request, to tears; “if not for my sake, or for your own sake,
Mr. Barnstable, or for the hopes of God’s mercy; go into the boat, for the love
of my cousin Katherine.”
The young lieutenant paused
in his troubled walk, and for a moment, he cast a glance of hesitation at the
cliffs; but, at the next instant, his eyes fell on the ruin of his vessel, and
he answered--
“Never, boy, never; if
my hour has come, I will not shrink from my fate.”
“Listen to the men,
dear sir; the boat will be swamped along-side the wreck, and their cry is, that
without you they will not let her go.”
Barnstable motioned to
the boat, to bid the boy enter it, and turned away in silence.
“Well,” said Merry,
with firmness, “if it be right that a lieutenant shall stay by a wreck, it must
also be right for a midshipman; “shove off; neither Mr. Barnstable nor myself
will quit the vessel.”
“Boy, your life has
been intrusted to my keeping, and at my hands will it be required,” said his
commander, lifting the struggling youth, and tossing him into the arms of the
seamen. “Away with ye, and God be with you; there is more weight in you, now,
than can go safe to land.”
Still, the seamen
hesitated, for they perceived the cockswain moving, with a steady tread, along
the deck, and they hoped he had relented, and would yet persuade the lieutenant
to join his crew. But Tom, imitating the example of his commander, seized the
latter, suddenly, in his powerful grasp, and threw him over the bulwarks, with
an irresistible force. At the same moment, he cast the fast of the boat from
the pin that held it, and, lifting his broad hands high into the air, his voice
was heard in the tempest.
“God’s will be done
with me,” he cried; “I saw the first timber of the Ariel laid, and shall live
just long enough to see it torn out of her bottom; after which I wish to live
no longer.”
But his shipmates were
swept far beyond the sounds of his voice, before half these words were uttered.
All command of the boat was rendered impossible, by the numbers it contained,
as well as the raging of the surf; and, as it rose on the white crest of a
wave, Tom saw his beloved little craft for the last time; it fell into a trough
of the sea, and in a few moments more its fragments were ground into splinters
on the adjacent rocks. The cockswain still remained where he had cast off the
rope, and beheld the numerous heads and arms that appeared rising, at short
intervals, on the waves; some making powerful and well-directed efforts to gain
the sands, that were becoming visible as the tide fell, and others wildly
tossed, in the frantic movements of helpless despair. The honest old seaman
gave a cry of joy, as he saw Barnstable issue from the surf, bearing the form
of Merry in safety to the sands, where, one by one, several seamen soon
appeared also, dripping and exhausted. Many others of the crew were carried, in
a similar manner, to places of safety; though, as Tom returned to his seat on
the bowsprit, he could not conceal, from his reluctant eyes, the lifeless forms
that were, in other spots, driven against the rocks, with a fury that soon left
them but few of the outward vestiges of humanity.
Dillon and the
cockswain were now the sole occupants of their dreadful station. The former
stood, in a kind of stupid despair, a witness of the scene we have related; but
as his curdled blood began again to flow more warmly through his heart, he
crept close to the side of Tom, with that sort of selfish feeling that makes
even hopeless misery more tolerable, when endured in participation with
another.
“When the tide falls,”
he said, in a voice that betrayed the agony of fear, though his words expressed
the renewal of hope, “we shall be able to walk to land.”
“There was One, and
only One, to whose feet the waters were the same as a dry deck,” returned the
cockswain; “and none but such as have his power will ever be able to walk from
these rocks to the sands.” The old seaman paused, and turning his eyes, which
exhibited a mingled expression of disgust and compassion, on his companion, he
added, with reverence--“Had you thought more of him in fair weather, your case
would be less to be pitied in this tempest.”
“Do you still think
there is much danger?” asked Dillon.
“To them that have
reason to fear death; listen! do you hear that hollow noise beneath ye?”
“’Tis the wind, driving
by the vessel!”
“’Tis the poor thing
herself,” said the affected cockswain, “giving her last groans. The water is
breaking up her decks, and in a few minutes more, the handsomest model that
ever cut a wave, will be like the chips that fell from her timbers in framing!”
“Why, then, did you
remain here!” cried Dillon, wildly.
“To die in my coffin,
if it should be the will of God,” returned Tom; “these waves, to me, are what
the land is to you; I was born on them, and I have always meant that they
should be my grave.”
“But I--I,” shrieked
Dillon, “I am not ready to die!--I cannot die!--I will not die!”
“Poor wretch!” muttered
his companion; “you must go, like the rest of us; when the death-watch is
called, none can skulk from the muster.”
“I can swim,” Dillon
continued, rushing, with frantic eagerness, to the side of the wreck. “Is there
no billet of wood, no rope, that I can take with me?”
“None; every thing has been
cut away, or carried off by the sea. If ye are about to strive for your life,
take with ye a stout heart and a clean conscience, and trust the rest to God!”
“God!” echoed Dillon,
in the madness of his frenzy; “I know no God! there is no God that knows me!”
“Peace!” said the deep
tones of the cockswain, in a voice that seemed to speak in the elements; “blasphemer,
peace!”
The heavy groaning,
produced by the water, in the timbers of the Ariel, at that moment, added its
impulse to the raging feelings of Dillon, and he cast himself headlong into the
sea.
The water, thrown by
the rolling of the surf on the beach, was necessarily returned to the ocean, in
eddies, in different places, favourable to such an action of the element. Into
the edge of one of these counter-currents, that was produced by the very rocks
on which the schooner lay, and which the watermen call the “under-tow,” Dillon
had, unknowingly, thrown his person, and when the waves had driven him a short
distance from the wreck, he was met by a stream that his most desperate efforts
could not overcome. He was a light and powerful swimmer, and the struggle was
hard and protracted. With the shore immediately before his eyes, and at no
great distance, he was led, as by a false phantom, to continue his efforts,
although they did not advance him a foot. The old seaman, who, at first, had
watched his motions with careless indifference, understood the danger of his
situation at a glance, and, forgetful of his own fate, he shouted aloud, in a
voice that was driven over the struggling victim, to the ears of his shipmates
on the sands--
“Sheer to-port, and
clear the under-tow! sheer to the southward!”
Dillon heard the
sounds, but his faculties were too much obscured by terror, to distinguish
their object; he, however, blindly yielded to the call, and gradually changed
his direction, until his face was once more turned towards the vessel. The
current swept him diagonally by the rocks, and he was forced into an eddy,
where he had nothing to contend against but the waves, whose violence was much
broken by the wreck. In this state, he continued still to struggle, but with a
force that was too much weakened, to overcome the resistance he met. Tom looked
around him for a rope, but not one presented itself to his hands; all had gone
over with the spars, or been swept away by the waves. At this moment of
disappointment, his eyes met those of the desperate Dillon. Calm, and inured to
horrors, as was the veteran seaman, he involuntarily passed his hand before his
brow, as if to exclude the look of despair he encountered; and when, a moment
afterwards, he removed the rigid member, he beheld the sinking form of the
victim, as it gradually settled in the ocean, still struggling, with regular
but impotent strokes of the arms and feet, to gain the wreck, and to preserve
an existence that had been so much abused in its hour of allotted probation.
“He will soon know his
God, and learn that his God knows him!” murmured the cockswain to himself. As
he yet spoke, the wreck of the Ariel yielded to an overwhelming sea, and, after
an universal shudder, her timbers and planks gave way, and were swept towards
the cliffs, bearing the body of the simple-hearted cockswain among the ruins.
“Let us think of them
that sleep,
Full many a fathom
deep,
By thy wild and stormy
steep,
Elsinore!”
Campbell Long and dreary did the
hours appear to Barnstable, before the falling tide had so far receded, as to
leave the sands entirely exposed to his search for the bodies of his lost
shipmates. Several had been rescued from the wild fury of the waves themselves,
and one by one, as the melancholy conviction that life had ceased was forced on
the survivors, they had been decently interred, in graves dug on the very
margin of that element on which they had passed their lives. But still the form
longest known and most beloved was missing, and the lieutenant paced the broad
space that was now left between the foot of the cliffs and the raging ocean,
with hurried strides and a feverish eye, watching and following those fragments
of the wreck that the sea still continued to cast on the beach. Living and
dead, he now found, that of those who had lately been in the Ariel, only two
were missing. Of the former, he could muster but twelve, besides Merry and
himself, and his men had already interred more than half that number of the
latter, which, together, embraced all who had trusted their lives to the frail
keeping of the whale-boat.
“Tell me not, boy, of
the impossibility of his being safe,” said Barnstable, in deep agitation, which
he in vain struggled to conceal from the anxious youth, who thought it
necessary to follow the uneasy motions of his commander, as he strode along the
sands. “How often have men been found floating on pieces of wreck, days after
the loss of their vessel? and you can see, with your own eyes, that the falling
water has swept the planks this distance; ay, a good half league from where she
struck. Does the look-out, from the top of the cliffs, make no signal of seeing
him yet?”
“None, sir, none; we
shall never see him again. The men say, that he always thought it sinful to
desert a wreck, and that he did not even strike-out once for his life, though
he has been known to swim an hour, when a whale has stove his boat. God knows,
sir,” added the boy, hastily dashing a tear from his eye, by a stolen movement
of his hand, that was occasioned by the doubtful character of his years, “I
loved Tom Coffin better than any foremast-man in either vessel. You seldom came
aboard the frigate but we had him in the steerage among us reefers, to hear his
long-yarns, and share our cheer. We all loved him, Mr. Barnstable, but love
cannot bring the dead to life again.”
“I know it, I know it,”
said Barnstable, with a huskiness in his voice, that betrayed the depth of his
emotion; “I am not so foolish as to believe in impossibilities; but while there
is a hope of his living, I will never abandon poor Tom Coffin to such a
dreadful fate. Think, boy, he may, at this moment, be looking at us, and praying
to his Maker that he would turn our eyes upon him; ay, praying to his God, for
Tom often prayed, though he did it in his watch, standing, and in silence.”
“If he had clung to
life so strongly,” returned the midshipman, “he would have struggled harder to
preserve it.”
Barnstable stopped
short in his hurried walk, and fastened a look of opening conviction on his
companion; but, as he was about to speak in reply, the shouts of the seamen
reached his ears, and, turning, they saw the whole party running along the
beach, and motioning, with violent gestures, to an intermediate point in the
ocean. The lieutenant and Merry hurried back, and, as they approached the men,
they distinctly observed a human figure, borne along by the waves, at moments
seeming to rise above them, and already floating in the last of the breakers.
They had hardly ascertained so much, when a heavy swell carried the inanimate
body far upon the sands, where it was left by the retiring waters.
“’Tis my cockswain!”
cried Barnstable, rushing to the spot. He stopped suddenly, however, as he came
within view of the features, and it was some little time before he appeared to
have collected his faculties sufficiently to add, in tones of deep horror--“what
wretch is this, boy! his form is unmutilated, and yet observe the eyes! they
seem as if the sockets would not contain them, and they gaze as wildly as if
their owner yet had life--the hands are open and spread, as though they would
still buffet the waves!”
“The Jonah! the Jonah!”
shouted the seamen, with savage exultation, as they successively approached the
corpse; “away with his carrion into the sea again! give him to the sharks! let
him tell his lies in the claws of the lobsters!”
Barnstable had turned
away from the revolting sight, in disgust, but when he discovered these
indications of impotent revenge, in the remnant of his crew, he said, in that
voice, which all respected, and still obeyed--
“Stand back! back with
ye, fellows! would you disgrace your manhood and seamanship, by wreaking your
vengeance on him whom God has already in judgment!” A silent, but significant
gesture towards the earth, succeeded his words, and he walked slowly away.
“Bury him in the sands,
boys,” said Merry, when his commander was at some little distance; “the next
tide will unearth him.”
The seamen obeyed his
orders, while the midshipman rejoined his commander, who continued to pace
along the beach, occasionally halting, to throw his uneasy glances over the
water, and then hurrying onward, at a rate that caused his youthful companion
to exert his greatest power to maintain the post he had taken at his side.
Every effort to discover the lost cockswain was, however, after two hours’ more
search, abandoned as fruitless, and with reason; for the sea was never known to
give up the body of the man who might be, emphatically, called its own dead.
“There goes the sun,
already dropping behind the cliffs,” said the lieutenant, throwing himself on a
rock; “and the hour will soon arrive to set the dog-watches; but we have nothing
left to watch over, boy; the surf and rocks have not even left us a whole
plank, that we may lay our heads on for the night.”
“The men have gathered
many articles on you beach, sir,” returned the lad; “they have found arms to
defend ourselves with, and food to give us strength to use them.”
“And who shall be our
enemy?” asked Barnstable, bitterly; “shall we shoulder our dozen pikes, and
carry England by boarding?”
“We may not lay the
whole island under contribution,” continued the boy, anxiously watching the
expression of his commander’s eye; “but we may still keep ourselves in work,
until the cutter returns from the frigate. I hope, sir, you do not think our
case so desperate, as to intend yielding as prisoners.”
“Prisoners!” exclaimed
the lieutenant; “no, no, lad, it has not got to that, yet! England has been
able to wreck my craft, I must concede, but she has, as yet, obtained no other
advantage over us. She was a precious model, Merry! the cleanest run, and the
neatest entrance, that art ever united on the stem and stern of the same
vessel! Do you remember the time, younker, when I gave the frigate my topsails,
in beating out of the Chesapeake? I could always do it, in smooth water, with a
whole-sail-breeze. But she was a frail thing! a frail thing, boy, and could
bear but little.”
“A mortar-ketch would
have thumped to pieces where she lay,” returned the midshipman.
“Ay, it was asking too
much of her, to expect she could hold together on a bed of rocks. Merry, I
loved her; dearly did I love her; she was my first command, and I knew and
loved every timber and bolt in her beautiful frame!”
“I believe it is as
natural, sir, for a seaman to love the wood and iron in which he has floated
over the depths of the ocean, for so many days and nights,” rejoined the boy, “as
it is for a father to love the members of his own family.”
“Quite, quite, ay, more
so,” said Barnstable, speaking as if he were choked by emotion. Merry felt the
heavy grasp of the lieutenant on his slight arm, while his commander continued,
in a voice that gradually increased in power, as his feelings predominated; “and
yet, boy, a human being cannot love the creature of his own formation as he
does the works of God. A man can never regard his ship as he does his
shipmates. I sailed with him, boy, when every thing seemed bright and happy, as
at your age; when, as he often expressed it, I knew nothing and feared nothing.
I was then a truant from an old father and a kind mother, and he did that for
me, which no parents could have done in my situation--he was my father and
mother on the deep!--hours, days, even months, has he passed in teaching me the
art of our profession; and now, in my manhood, he has followed me from ship to
ship, from sea to sea, and has only quitted me to die, where I should have
died--as if he felt the disgrace of abandoning the poor Ariel to her fate, by
herself!”
“No--no--no--’twas his
superstitious pride!” interrupted Merry; but perceiving that the head of
Barnstable had sunk between his hands, as if he would conceal his emotion, the
boy added no more, but he sat respectfully watching the display of feeling that
his officer, in vain, endeavoured to suppress. Merry felt his own form quiver
with sympathy at the shuddering which passed through Barnstable’s frame; and the
relief experienced by the lieutenant himself, was not greater than that which
the midshipman felt, as the latter beheld large tears forcing their way through
the other’s fingers, and falling on the sands at his feet. They were followed
by a violent burst of emotion, such as is seldom exhibited in the meridian of
life, but which, when it conquers the nature of one who has buffeted the
chances of the world with the loftiness of his sex and character, breaks down
every barrier, and seems to sweep before it, like a rushing torrent, all the
factitious defences which habit and education have created to protect the pride
of manhood. Merry had often beheld the commanding severity of the lieutenant’s
manner, in moments of danger, with deep respect; he had been drawn towards him
by kindness and affection, in times of gayety and recklessness; but he now
sate, for many minutes, profoundly silent, regarding his officer with
sensations that were nearly allied to awe. The struggle with himself was long
and severe in the bosom of Barnstable; but, at length, the calm of relieved
passions succeeded to his emotion. When he arose from the rock, and removed his
hands from his features, his eye was hard and proud, his brow slightly
contracted, and he spoke in a voice so harsh, that it startled his companion--
“Come, sir; why are we
here and idle! are not yon poor fellows looking up to us for advice, and orders
how to proceed in this exigency? Away, away, Mr. Merry; it is not a time to be
drawing figures in the sand with your dirk; the flood-tide will soon be in, and
we may be glad to hide our heads in some cavern among these rocks. Let us be
stirring, sir, while we have the sun, and muster enough food and arms to keep
life in us, and our enemies off us, until we can once more get afloat.”
The wondering boy,
whose experience had not yet taught him to appreciate the reaction of the
passions, started at this unexpected summons to his duty, and followed
Barnstable towards the group of distant seamen. The lieutenant, who was
instantly conscious how far pride had rendered him unjust, soon moderated his
long strides, and continued in milder tones, which were quickly converted into
his usual frank communications, though they still remained tinged with a
melancholy, that time only could entirely remove--
“We have been unlucky,
Mr. Merry, but we need not despair--these lads have gotten together abundance
of supplies, I see; and, with our arms, we can easily make ourselves masters of
some of the enemy’s smaller craft, and find our way back to the frigate, when
this gale has blown itself out. We must keep ourselves close, though, or we
shall have the red-coats coming down upon us, like so many sharks around a
wreck. Ah! God bless her, Merry! there is not such a sight to be seen on the
whole beach as two of her planks holding together.”
The midshipman, without
adverting to this sudden allusion to their vessel, prudently pursued the train
of ideas, in which his commander had started.
“There is an opening
into the country, but a short distance south of us, where a brook empties into
the sea,” he said. “We might find a cover in it, or in the wood above, into
which it leads, until we can have a survey of the coast, or can seize some
vessel to carry us off.”
“There would be a
satisfaction in waiting ’till the morning watch, and then carrying that
accursed battery, which took off the better leg of the poor Ariel!” said the
lieutenant--“the thing might be done, boy; and we could hold the work too,
until the Alacrity and the frigate draw into land.”
“If you prefer storming
works to boarding vessels, there is a fortress of stone, Mr. Barnstable, which
lies directly on our beam. I could see it through the haze, when I was on the
cliffs, stationing the look-out--and--”
“And what, boy? speak
without fear; this is a time for free consultation.”
“Why, sir, the garrison
might not be all hostile--we should liberate Mr. Griffith and the marine;
besides--”
“Besides what, sir?”
“I should have an
opportunity, perhaps, of seeing my cousin Cecilia, and my cousin Katherine.”
The countenance of
Barnstable grew animated as he listened, and he answered, with something of his
usual cheerful manner--
“Ay, that, indeed,
would be a work worth carrying! and the rescuing of our shipmates, and the
marines, would read like a thing of military discretion--ha! boy! all the rest
would be incidental, younker; like the capture of the fleet, after you have
whipped the convoy.”
“I do suppose, sir,
that if the Abbey be taken, Colonel Howard will own himself a prisoner of war.”
“And Colonel Howard’s
wards! now, there is good sense in this scheme of thine, Master Merry, and I
will give it proper reflection. But here are our poor fellows; speak cheeringly
to them, sir, that we may hold them in temper for our enterprise.”
Barnstable and the
midshipman joined their shipwrecked companions, with that air of authority
which is seldom wanting between the superior and the inferior, in nautical
intercourse, but at the same time, with a kindness of speech and looks, that
might have been a little increased by their critical situation. After partaking
of the food which had been selected from among the fragments that still lay
scattered, for more than a mile, along the beach, the lieutenant directed the
seamen to arm themselves with such weapons as offered, and, also, to make a
sufficient provision, from the schooner’s stores, to last them for
four-and-twenty hours longer. These orders were soon executed; and the whole
party, led by Barnstable and Merry, proceeded along the foot of the cliffs, in
quest of the opening in the rocks, through which the little rivulet found a
passage to the ocean. The weather contributed, as much as the seclusion of the
spot, to prevent any discovery of the small party, which pursued its object
with a disregard of caution that might, under other circumstances, have proved
fatal to its safety. Barnstable paused in his march when they had all entered
the deep ravine, and ascended nearly to the brow of the precipice, that formed
one of its sides, to take a last and more scrutinizing survey of the sea. His
countenance exhibited the abandonment of all hope, as his eye moved slowly from
the northern to the southern boundary of the horizon, and he prepared to pursue
his march, by moving, reluctantly, up the stream, when the boy, who still clung
to his side, exclaimed--
“Sail ho! It must be
the frigate in the offing!”
“A sail!” repeated his
commander; “where-away do you see a sail in this tempest? Can there be another
as hardy and unfortunate as ourselves!”
“Look to the starboard
hand of the point of rock to windward!” cried the boy; “now you lose it--ah!
now the sun falls upon it! ’tis a sail, sir, as sure as canvass can be spread
in such a gale!”
“I see what you mean,”
returned the other, “but it seems a gull, skimming the sea! nay, now it rises,
indeed, and shows itself like a bellying topsail; pass up that glass, lads;
here is a fellow in the offing who may prove a friend.”
Merry waited the result
of the lieutenant’s examination with youthful impatience, and did not fail to
ask, immediately--
“Can you make it out,
sir? is it the ship or the cutter?”
“Come, there seemeth
yet some hope left for us, boy,” returned Barnstable, closing the glass; “’tis
a ship, lying-to under her main-topsail. If one did but dare show himself on
these heights, he might raise her hull, and make sure of her character! But I
think I know her spars, though even her topsail dips, at times, when there is
nothing to be seen but her bare poles, and they shortened by her
top-gallant-masts.”
“One would swear,” said
Merry, laughing, as much through the excitement produced by this intelligence,
as at his conceit, “that Captain Munson would never carry wood aloft, when he
can’t carry canvass. I remember, one night, Mr. Griffith was a little vexed,
and said, around the capstern, he believed the next order would be, to rig in
the bowsprit, and house lower-masts!”
“Ay, ay, Griffith is a
lazy dog, and sometimes gets lost in the fogs of his own thoughts,” said
Barnstable; “and I suppose old Moderate was in a breeze. However, this looks as
if he were in earnest; he must have kept the ship away, or she would never have
been where she is; I do verily believe the old gentleman remembers that he has
a few of his officers and men on this accursed island. This is well, Merry, for
should we take the Abbey, we have a place at hand in which to put our
prisoners.”
“We must have patience
till the morning,” added the boy, “for no boat would attempt to land in such a
sea.”
“No boat could land!
The best boat that ever floated, boy, has sunk in these breakers! But the wind
lessens, and before morning, the sea will fall. Let us on, and find a birth for
our poor lads, where they can be made more comfortable.”
The two officers now
descended from their elevation, and led the way still further up the deep and
narrow dell, until, as the ground rose gradually before them, they found
themselves in a dense wood, on a level with the adjacent country.
“Here should be a ruin
at hand, if I have kept a true reckoning, and know my courses and distances,”
said Barnstable; “I have a chart about me, that speaks of such a land-mark.”
The lieutenant turned
away from the laughing expression of the boy’s eye, as the latter archly
inquired--
“Was it made by one who
knows the coast well, sir? or was it done by some school-boy, to learn his
maps, as the girls work samplers?”
“Come, younker, no
sampler of your impudence. But look ahead; can you see any habitation that has
been deserted?”
“Ay, sir, here is a
pile of stones before us, that looks as dirty and ragged, as if it was a
soldier’s barrack; can this be what you seek?”
“Faith, this has been a
whole town in its day! we should call it a city in America, and furnish it with
a Mayor, Aldermen, and Recorder--you might stow old Faneuil-Hall in one of its
lockers.”
With this sort of
careless dialogue, which Barnstable engaged in, that his men might discover no
alteration in his manner, they approached the mouldering walls that had proved
so frail a protection to the party under Griffith.
A short time was passed
in examining the premises, when the wearied seamen took possession of one of
the dilapidated apartments, and disposed themselves to seek that rest of which
they had been deprived by the momentous occurrences of the past night.
Barnstable waited until
the loud breathing of the seamen assured him that they slept, when he aroused
the drowsy boy, who was fast losing his senses in the same sort of oblivion,
and motioned to him to follow. Merry arose, and they stole together from the
apartment, with guarded steps, and penetrated more deeply into the gloomy
recesses of the place.
Mercury --“I permit thee
to be Sosia again.”
Dryden We must leave the two
adventurers winding their way among the broken piles, and venturing boldly
beneath the tottering arches of the ruin, to conduct the reader, at the same
hour, within the more comfortable walls of the Abbey; where, it will be
remembered, Borroughcliffe was left, in a condition of very equivocal ease. As
the earth had, however, in the interval, nearly run its daily round,
circumstances had intervened to release the soldier from his confinement--and
no one, ignorant of the fact, would suppose, that the gentleman who was now
seated at the hospitable board of Colonel Howard, directing, with so much
discretion, the energies of his masticators to the delicacies of the feast,
could read, in his careless air and smiling visage, that those foragers of
nature had been so recently condemned, for four long hours, to the
mortification of discussing the barren subject of his own sword-hilt.
Borroughcliffe, however, maintained not only his usual post, but his
well-earned reputation at the table, with his ordinary coolness of demeanour;
though, at times, there were passing smiles, that crossed his military aspect,
which sufficiently indicated, that he considered the matter of his reflection
to be of a particularly ludicrous character. In the young man, who sat by his
side, dressed in the deep blue jacket of a seaman, with the fine, clean linen
of his collar contrasting strongly with the black silk handkerchief, that was
tied, with studied negligence, around his neck, and whose easy air and manner
contrasted still more strongly with this attire, the reader will discover
Griffith. The captive paid much less devotion to the viands than his neighbour,
though he affected more attention to the business of the table than he actually
bestowed, with a sort of consciousness that it would relieve the blushing
maiden who presided. The laughing eyes of Katherine Plowden were glittering by
the side of the mild countenance of Alice Dunscombe, and, at times, were
fastened, in droll interest, on the rigid and upright exterior that Captain
Manual maintained, directly opposite to where she was seated. A chair had,
also, been placed for Dillon--of course, it was vacant.
“And so,
Borroughcliffe,” cried Colonel Howard, with a freedom of voice, and a vivacity
in his air, that announced the increasing harmony of the repast, “the sea-dog
left you nothing to chew but the cud of your resentment!”
“That and my
sword-hilt!” returned the immoveable recruiting officer; “gentlemen, I know not
how your Congress rewards military achievements; but if that worthy fellow were
in my company, he should have a halbert within a week-- spurs I would not offer
him, for he affects to spurn their use.”
Griffith smiled, and
bowed in silence to the liberal compliment of Borroughcliffe; but Manual took
on himself the task of replying--
“Considering the
drilling the man has received, his conduct has been well enough, sir; though a
well-trained soldier would not only have made prisoners, but he would have
secured them.”
“I perceive, my good
comrade, that your thoughts are running on the exchange,” said Borroughcliffe,
good humouredly; “we will fill, sir, and, by permission of the ladies, drink to
a speedy restoration of rights to both parties--the statu quo ante bellum.”
“With all my heart,”
cried the colonel; “and Cicily and Miss Katherine will pledge the sentiment in
a woman’s sip; will ye not, my fair wards?--Mr. Griffith, I honour this
proposition of yours, which will not only liberate yourself, but restore to us
my kinsman, Mr. Christopher Dillon. Kit had imagined the thing well; ha!
Borroughcliffe! ’twas ingeniously contrived, but the fortune of war interposed
itself to his success; and yet, it is a deep and inexplicable mystery to me,
how Kit should have been conducted from the Abbey with so little noise, and
without raising the alarm.”
“Christopher is a man
who understands the philosophy of silence, as well as that of rhetoric,”
returned Borroughcliffe, “and must have learned, in his legal studies, that it
is, sometimes, necessary to conduct matters sub silentio. You smile at my
Latin, Miss Plowden; but, really, since I have become an inhabitant of this
Monkish abode, my little learning is stimulated to unwonted efforts--nay, you
are pleased to be yet more merry! I used the language, because silence is a
theme in which you ladies take but little pleasure.”
Katherine, however,
disregarded the slight pique that was apparent in the soldier’s manner; but,
after following the train of her own thoughts in silent enjoyment for a moment
longer, she seemed to yield to their drollery, and laughed, until her dark eyes
flashed with merriment. Cecilia did not assume the severe gravity with which
she sometimes endeavoured to repress, what she thought, the unseasonable mirth
of her cousin, and the wondering Griffith fancied, as he glanced his eye from
one to the other, that he could discern a suppressed smile playing among the
composed features of Alice Dunscombe. Katherine, however, soon succeeded in
repressing the paroxysm, and, with an air of infinitely comic gravity, she
replied to the remark of the soldier--
“I think I have heard
of such a process in nautical affairs as towing; but I must appeal to Mr.
Griffith for the correctness of the term?”
“You could not speak
with more accuracy,” returned the young sailor, with a look that sent the
conscious blood to the temples of the lady, “though you had made marine terms
your study.”
“The profession
requires less thought, perhaps, than you imagine, sir; but is this towing often
done, as Captain Borroughcliffe--I beg his pardon--as the Monks have it, sub
silentio?”
“Spare me, fair lady,”
cried the captain, “and we will establish a compact of mutual grace; you to
forgive my learning, and I to suppress my suspicions.”
“Suspicions, sir, is a
word that a lady must defy.”
“And defiance a
challenge that a soldier can never receive; so, I must submit to talk English,
though the fathers of the church were my companions. I suspect that Miss
Plowden has it in her power to explain the manner of Mr. Christopher Dillon’s
departure.”
The lady did not reply,
but a second burst of merriment succeeded, of a liveliness and duration quite
equal to the former.
“How’s this!” exclaimed
the colonel; “permit me to say, Miss Plowden, your mirth is very extraordinary!
I trust no disrespect has been offered to my kinsman? Mr. Griffith, our terms
are, that the exchange shall only be made on condition that equally good
treatment has been extended to the parties!”
“If Mr. Dillon can
complain of no greater evil than that of being laughed at by Miss Plowden, sir,
he has reason to call himself a happy fellow.”
“I know not, sir; God
forbid that I should forget what is due to my guests, gentlemen-- but ye have
entered my dwelling as foes to my prince.”
“But not to Colonel
Howard, sir.”
“I know no difference,
Mr. Griffith. King George or Colonel Howard--Colonel Howard or King George. Our
feelings, our fortunes, and our fate, is as one; with the mighty odds that
Providence has established between the prince and his people! I wish no other
fortune, than to share, at a humble distance, the weal or wo of my sovereign!”
“You are not called
upon, dear sir, to do either, by the thoughtlessness of us ladies,” said
Cecilia, rising; “but here comes one who should turn our thoughts to a more
important subject-- our dress.”
Politeness induced
Colonel Howard, who both loved and respected his niece, to defer his remarks to
another time; and Katherine, springing from her chair, with childish eagerness,
flew to the side of her cousin, who was directing a servant that had announced
to her the arrival of one of those erratic vendors of small articles, who
supply, in remote districts of the country, the places of more regular traders,
to show the lad into the dining-parlour. The repast was so far ended, as to
render this interruption less objectionable, and as all felt the object of
Cecilia to be the restoration of harmony, the boy was ushered into the room,
without further delay. The contents of his small basket, consisting, chiefly,
of essences, and the smaller articles of female economy, were playfully
displayed on the table, by Katherine, who declared herself the patroness of the
itinerant youth, and who laughingly appealed to the liberality of the gentlemen
in behalf of her protegée.
“You perceive, my dear
guardian, that the boy must be loyal; for he offers, here, perfume, that is
patronized by no less than two royal dukes! do suffer me to place a box aside,
for your especial use? you consent; I see it in your eye. And, Captain
Borroughcliffe, as you appear to be forgetting the use of your own language,
here is even a horn-book for you! How admirably provided he seems to be! You
must have had St. Ruth in view, when you laid in your stock, child?”
“Yes, my lady,” the boy
replied, with a bow that was studiously awkward; “I have often heard of the
grand ladies that dwell in the old Abbey, and I have journeyed a few miles beyond
my rounds, to gain their custom.”
“And surely they cannot
disappoint you. Miss Howard, that is a palpable hint to your purse; and I know
not that even Miss Alice can escape contribution, in these troublesome times.
Come, aid me, child; what have you to recommend, in particular, to the favour
of these ladies?”
The lad approached the
basket, and rummaged its contents, for a moment, with the appearance of deep,
mercenary interest; and then, without lifting his hand from the confusion he
had caused, he said, while he exhibited something to the view of his smiling
observer--
“This, my lady.”
Katherine started, and
glanced her eye, with a piercing look, at the countenance of the boy, and then
turned them, uneasily, from face to face, with conscious timidity. Cecilia had
effected her object, and had resumed her seat, in silent abstraction--Alice was
listening to the remarks of Captain Manual and the host, as they discussed the
propriety of certain military usages-- Griffith seemed to hold communion with his
mistress, by imitating her silence; but Katherine, in her stolen glances, met
the keen look of Borroughcliffe, fastened on her face, in a manner that did not
fail to suspend the scrutiny.
“Come, Cecilia,” she
cried, after a pause of a moment, “we trespass too long on the patience of the
gentlemen; not only to keep possession of our seats, ten minutes after the
cloth has been drawn! but even to introduce our essences, and tapes, and
needles, among the Madeira, and--shall I add, segars, colonel?”
“Not while we are
favoured with the company of Miss Plowden, certainly.”
“Come, my coz; I
perceive the colonel is growing particularly polite, which is a never-failing
sign that he tires of our presence.”
Cecilia rose, and was
leading the way to the door, when Katherine turned to the lad, and added--
“You can follow us to
the drawing-room, child, where we can make our purchases, without exposing the
mystery of our good looks.”
“Miss Plowden has
forgotten my horn-book, I believe,” said Borroughcliffe, advancing from the
standing group who surrounded the table; “possibly I can find some work, better
fitted for the improvement of a grown-up young gentleman, than this elementary
treatise, in the basket of the boy.”
Cecilia, observing him
to take the basket from the lad, resumed her seat, and her example was
necessarily followed by Katherine; though not without some manifest indications
of vexation.
“Come hither, boy, and
explain the uses of your wares. This is soap, and this a penknife, I know; but
what name do you affix to this?”
“That? that is tape,”
returned the lad, with an impatience that might very naturally be attributed to
the interruption that was thus given to his trade.
“And this?”
“That?” repeated the
stripling, pausing, with a hesitation between sulkiness and doubt; “that?--”
“Come, this is a little
ungallant!” cried Katherine; “to keep three ladies dying with impatience to
possess themselves of their finery, while you detain the boy, to ask the name
of a tambouring-needle!”
“I should apologize for
asking questions that are so easily answered; but perhaps he will find the next
more difficult to solve,” returned Borroughcliffe, placing the subject of his
inquiries in the palm of his hand, in such a manner as to conceal it from all
but the boy and himself. “This has a name, too; what is it?”
“That?--that--is
sometimes called--whiteline.”
“Perhaps you mean a
white lie?”
“How, sir!” exclaimed
the lad, a little fiercely. “a lie!” filled the sentence with expressions
abundantly flattering to his own feelings.
“How’s this, again!”
cried the colonel; “my two wards embracing and fondling a vagrant, vagabond
pedler, before my eyes! is this treason, Mr. Griffith? or what means the
extraordinary visit of this young gentleman?”
“Is it extraordinary,
sir,” said Merry himself, losing his assumed awkwardness, in the ease and
confidence of one whose faculties had been early exercised, “that a boy, like
myself, destitute of mother and sisters, should take a little risk on himself,
to visit the only two female relatives he has in the world?”
“Why this disguise,
then? surely, young gentleman, it was unnecessary to enter the dwelling of old
George Howard, on such an errand, clandestinely, even though your tender years
have been practised on, to lead you astray from your allegiance. Mr. Griffith
and Captain Manual must pardon me, if I express sentiments, at my own table,
that they may find unpleasant; but this business requires us to be explicit.”
“The hospitality of
Colonel Howard is unquestionable,” returned the boy; “but he has a great
reputation for his loyalty to the crown.”
“Ay, young gentleman;
and, I trust, with some justice.”
“Would it, then, be
safe, to intrust my person in the hands of one who might think it his duty to
detain me?”
“This is plausible
enough, Captain Borroughcliffe, and I doubt not the boy speaks with candour. I
would, now, that my kinsman, Mr. Christopher Dillon, were here, that I might
learn if it would be misprision of treason, to permit this youth to depart,
unmolested, and without exchange?” who deserve either the name of traitors or
of dastards.”
“Said you not that he
was dead? that my kinsman was buried in the sands of the seashore?”
“Both are true, sir--”
“And you refuse to
explain how he met his death, and why he has been thus ignominiously interred?”
“He received his
interment by my orders, sir; and if there be ignominy about his grave, his own
acts have heaped it on him. As to the manner of his death, I cannot, and will
not speak.”
“Be calm, my cousin,”
said Cecilia, in an imploring voice; “respect the age of my uncle, and remember
his strong attachment to Mr. Dillon.”
The veteran had,
however, so far mastered his feelings, as to continue the dialogue with more
recollection.
“Mr. Griffith,” he
said, “I shall not act hastily--you and your companion will be pleased to
retire to your several apartments. I will so far respect the son of my brother
Harry’s friend, as to believe your parole will be sacred. Go, gentlemen; you
are unguarded.”
The two prisoners bowed
low to the ladies and their host, and retired. Griffith, however, lingered a
moment on the threshold, to say--
“Colonel Howard, I
leave the boy to your kindness and consideration. I know you will not forget
that his blood mingles with that of one who is most dear to you.”
“Enough, enough, sir,”
said the veteran, waving his hand to him to retire; “and you, ladies; this is
not a place for you, either.”
“Never will I quit this
child,” said Katherine, “while such a horrid imputation lies on him. arrived,
to save the poor fellow’s feelings, for I detest tampering with such a noble
spirit. I saw, by his eye, that he had squinted oftener over a gun, than
through a needle!”
“But they have murdered
my kinsman!--the loyal, the learned, the ingenious Mr. Christopher Dillon!”
“If they have done so,
they shall be made to answer it,” said Borroughcliffe, re-seating himself at
the table, with a coolness that furnished a pledge of the impartiality of his
judgment; “but let us learn the facts, before we do aught hastily.”
Colonel Howard was fain
to comply with so reasonable a proposition, and he resumed his chair, while his
companion proceeded to institute a close examination of the pedler boy.
We shall defer, until
the proper time may arrive, recording the result of his inquiries; but shall so
far satisfy the curiosity of our readers, as to tell them, that the captain
learned sufficient to convince him, a very serious attempt was meditated on the
Abbey; and, as he thought, enough, also, to enable him to avert the danger.
I have not seen so
likely an ambassador of love.
Merchant of Venice Cecilia and
Katherine separated from Alice Dunscombe in the lower gallery of the cloisters;
and the cousins ascended to the apartment which was assigned them as a
dressing-room. The intensity of feeling that was gradually accumulating in the
breasts of these ladies, as circumstances brought those in whom their deepest
interests were centered, into situations of extreme delicacy, if not of actual
danger, perhaps, in some measure, prevented them from experiencing all that
concern which the detection and arrest of Merrry might be suppose to excite.
The boy, like themselves, was an only child of one of those three sisters, who
caused the close connexion between so many of our characters, and his tender
years had led his cousins to regard him with an affection that exceeded the
ordinary interest of such an affinity; but they knew, that in the hands of
Colonel Howard his person was safe, though his liberty might be endangered.
When the first emotions, therefore, were created by his sudden appearance,
after so long an absence, had subsided, their thoughts were rather occupied by
the consideration of what consequences, to others, might proceed from his
arrest, than by any reflections on the midshipman’s actual condition. Secluded
from the observations of any strange eyes, the two maidens indulged their
feelings, without restraint, according to their several temperaments. Katherine
moved to and fro, in the apartment, with feverish anxiety, while Miss Howard,
by concealing her countenance under the ringlets of her luxuriant, dark hair,
and shading her eyes with a fair hand, seemed to be willing to commune with her
thoughts more quietly.
“Barnstable cannot be
far distant,” said the former, after a few minutes had passed; “for he never
would have sent that child on such an errand, by himself!”
Cecilia raised her
mild, blue eyes to the countenance of her cousin, as she answered--
“All thoughts of an
exchange must now be abandoned; and perhaps the persons of the prisoners will
be held as pledges, to answer for the life of Dillon.”
“Can the wretch be
dead! or is it merely a threat, or some device of that urchin? he is a forward
child, and would not hesitate to speak and act boldly, on emergency.”
“He is dead!” returned
Cecilia, veiling her face again, in horror; “the eyes of the boy, his whole
countenance, confirmed his words! I fear, Katherine, that Mr. Barnstable has
suffered his resentment to overcome his discretion, when he learned the
treachery of Dillon; surely, surely, though the hard usages of war may justify
so dreadful a revenge on an enemy, it was unkind to forget the condition of his
own friends!”
“Mr. Barnstable has
done neither, Miss Howard,” said Katherine, checking her uneasy footsteps, her
light form swelling with pride; “Mr. Barnstable is equally incapable of
murdering an enemy, or of deserting a friend!”
“But retaliation is
neither deemed nor called murder, by men in arms.”
“Think it what you
will, call it what you will, Cecilia Howard, I will pledge my life, that
Richard Barnstable has the blood of none but the open enemies of his country to
answer for.”
“The miserable man may
have fallen a sacrifice to the anger of that terrific seaman, who led him hence
as a captive!”
“That terrific seaman,
Miss Howard, has a heart as tender as your own. He is--”
“Nay, Katherine,”
interrupted Cecilia, “you chide me unkindly; let us not add to our unavoidable
misery, by such harsh contention.”
“I do not contend with
you, Cecilia! I merely defend the absent and the innocent from your unkind
suspicions, my cousin.”
“Say, rather, your
sister,” returned Miss Howard, as their hands involuntarily closed upon each
other, “for we are surely sisters! But let us strive to think of something less
horrible. Poor, poor Dillon! now that he has met a fate so terrible, I can even
fancy him less artful and more upright than we had thought him! You agree with
me, Katherine, I see by your countenance, and we will dwell no longer on the
subject.--Katherine! my cousin Kate, what see you?”
Miss Plowden, as she
relinquished her pressure of the hand of Cecilia, had renewed her walk with a
more regulated step; but she was yet making her first turn across the room,
when her eyes became keenly set on the opposite window, and her whole frame was
held in an attitude of absorbed attention. The rays of the setting sun fell
bright upon her dark glances, which seemed fastened on some distant object, and
gave an additional glow to the mantling colour that was slowly stealing, across
her cheeks, to her temples. Such a sudden alteration in the manner and
appearance of her companion, had not failed to catch the attention of Cecilia,
who, in consequence, interrupted herself by the agitated question we have
related. Katherine slowly beckoned her companion to her side, and, pointing in
the direction of the wood that lay in view, she said--
“See you tower, in the
ruin! Do you observe those small spots of pink and yellow that are fluttering
above its walls?”
“I do. They are the
lingering remnants of the foliage of some tree; but they want the vivid tints
which grace the autumn of our own dear America!”
“One is the work of
God, and the other has been produced by the art of man. Cecilia, those are no
leaves, but they are my own childish signals, and without doubt Barnstable
himself is on that ruined tower. Merry, cannot, will not, betray him!”
“My life should be a
pledge for the honour of our little cousin,” said Cecilia. “But you have the
telescope of my uncle at hand, ready for such an event! one look through it
will ascertain the truth--”
Katherine sprang to the
spot where the instrument stood, and with eager hands she prepared it for the
necessary observation.
“It is he!” she cried
the instant her eye was put to the glass. “I even see his head above the
stones. How unthinking to expose himself so unnecessarily!”
“But what says he,
Katherine!” exclaimed Cecilia; “you alone can interpret his meaning.”
The little book which
contained the explanations of Miss Plowden’s signals was now hastily produced,
and its leaves rapidly run over in quest of the necessary number.
“ ’Tis only a question
to gain my attention. I must let him know he is observed.”
When Katherine, as much
to indulge her secret propensities, as with any hope of its usefulness, had
devised this plan for communicating with Barnstable, she had, luckily, not
forgotten to arrange the necessary means to reply to his interrogatories. A
very simple arrangement of some of the ornamental cords of the window-curtains,
enabled her to effect this purpose; and her nimble fingers soon fastened the
pieces of silk to the lines, which were now thrown into the air, when these
signals in miniature were instantly displayed in the breeze.
“He sees them!” cried
Cecilia, “and is preparing to change his flags.”
“Keep then your eye on
him, my cousin, and tell me the colours that he shows, with their order, and I
will endeavour to read his meaning.”
“He is as expert as
yourself! There are two more of them fluttering above the stones again: the
upper is white, and the lower black.”
“White over black,”
repeated Katherine, rapidly, to herself, as she turned the leaves of her
book.--“ ‘My messenger: has he been seen?’--To that we must answer the unhappy
truth. Here it is--yellow, white, and red--‘he is a prisoner.’ How fortunate
that I should have prepared such a question and answer. What says he, Cecilia,
to this news?”
“He is busy making his
changes, dear. Nay, Katherine, you shake so violently as to move the glass! Now
he is done; ’tis yellow over black, this time.”
“ ‘Griffith, or who?’
He does not understand us; but I had thought of the poor boy, in making out the
numbers--ah! here it is; yellow, green, and red--‘my cousin Merry.’--He cannot
fail to understand us now.”
“He has already taken
in his flags. The news seems to alarm him, for he is less expert than before.
He shows them now--they are green, red and yellow.”
“The question is, ‘Am I
safe?’ ’Tis that which made him tardy, Miss Howard,” continued Katherine. “Barnstable
is ever slow to consult his safety. But how shall I answer him? should we
mislead him now, how could we ever forgive ourselves!”
“Of Andrew Merry there
is no fear,” returned Cecilia; “and I think if Captain Borroughcliffe had any
intimation of the proximity of his enemies, he would not continue at the table.”
“He will stay there
while wine will sparkle, and man can swallow,” said Katherine; “but we know, by
sad experience, that he is a soldier on an emergency; and yet, I’ll trust to
his ignorance this time--here, I have an answer: ‘you are yet safe, but be
wary.’ ”
“He reads your meaning
with a quick eye, Katherine; and he is ready with his answer too: he shows
green over white this time. Well! do you not hear me? ’tis green over white.
Why, you are dumb--what says he, dear?”
Still Katherine
answered not, and her cousin raised her eyes from the glass, and beheld her
companion gazing earnestly at the open page, while the glow which excitement
had before brought to her cheek, was increased to a still deeper bloom.
“I hope your blushes
and his signals are not ominous, Kate,” added Cecilia; “can green imply his
jealousy, as white does your purity? what says he, coz?”
“He talks, like
yourself, much nonsense,” said Katherine, turning to her flags, with a pettish
air, that was singularly contradicted by her gratified countenance; “but the
situation of things requires that I should talk to Barnstable more freely.”
“I can retire,” said
Cecilia, rising from her chair with a grave manner.
“Nay, Cecilia, I do not
deserve these looks-- ’tis you who exhibit levity now! But you can perceive,
for yourself, that evening is closing in, and that some other medium for
conversation, besides the eyes, may be adopted.--Here is a signal, which will
answer: ‘When the Abbey clock strikes nine, come with care to the wicket, which
opens, at the east side of the Paddock, on the road: until then, keep secret.’
I had prepared this very signal, in case an interview should be necessary.”
“Well, he sees it,”
returned Cecilia, who had resumed her place by the telescope, “and seems
disposed to obey you, for I no longer discern his flags or his person.”
Miss Howard now arose
from before the glass, her observations being ended; but Katherine did not
return the instrument to its corner, without fastening one long and anxious
look through it, on what now appeared to be the deserted tower. The interest
and anxiety produced by this short and imperfect communication between Miss
Plowden and her lover, did not fail to excite reflections in both of the
ladies, that furnished materials to hold them in earnest discourse, until the
entrance of Alice Dunscombe announced that their presence was expected below.
Even the unsuspecting Alice, on entering, observed a change in the countenances
and demeanor of the two cousins, which betrayed that their secret conference
had not been entirely without contention. The features of Cecilia were
disturbed and anxious, and their expression not unlike melancholy; while the
dark flashing eye, flushed temples, and proud, determined step of Katherine
exhihited in an equal, if not a greater degree, a very different emotion. As no
reference to the subject of their conversation was, however, made by either of
the young ladies, after the endance of Alice, she led the way, in silence, to
the drawing room.
The ladies were
received, by Col. Howard and Borroughcliffe, with marked attention. In the
former there were moments when a deep gloom would, in spite of his very obvious
exertions to the contrary, steal over his open, generous countenance; but the recruiting
officer maintained an air of immovable coolness and composure. Twenty times did
he detect the piercing looks of Katherine fastened on him, with an intentness,
that a less deliberative man might have had the vanity to misinterpret; but
even this flattering testimonial of his power to attract, failed to disturb his
self-possession. It was in vain that Katherine endeavoured to read his
countenance, where every thing was fixed in military rigidity, though his
deportment appeared more than usually easy and natural. Tired at length with
her fruitless scrutiny, the excited girl turned her gaze upon the clock: to her
amazement, she discovered that it was on the stroke of nine, and, disregarding
a deprecating glance from her cousin, she arose and quitted the apartment.
Borroughcliffe opened the door for her exit, and, while the lady civilly bowed
her head in acknowledgment of his attention, their eyes once more met; but she
glided quickly by him, and found herself alone in the gallery. Katherine
hesitated, more than a minute, to proceed, for she thought in that glance she
had detected a lurking expression, that manifested conscious security mingled
with secret design. It was not her nature, however, to hesitate, when
circumstances required that she should be both prompt and alert; and, throwing
over her slight person a large cloak, that was in readiness for the occasion,
she stole warily from the building.
Although Katherine
suspected, most painfully, that Borroughcliffe had received intelligence that
might prove dangerous to her lover, she looked around her in vain, on gaining
the open air, to discover any alteration in the arrangements for the defence of
the Abbey, which might confirm her suspicions, or the knowledge of which might
enable her to instruct Barnstable how to avoid the secret danger. Every
disposition remained as it had been since the capture of Griffith and his
companion. She heard the heavy, quick steps of the sentinel, who was posted
beneath their windows, endeavouring to warm himself, on his confined post; and
as she paused to listen, she also detected the rattling of arms from the
soldier, who, as usual, guarded the approach to that part of the building where
his comrades were quartered. The night had set in cloudy and dark, although the
gale had greatly subsided towards the close of the day; still the wind swept
heavily, and, at moments, with a rushing noise, among the irregular walls of
the edifice; and it required the utmost nicety of ear, to distinguish even
these well known sounds, among such accompaniments. When Katherine, however,
was satisfied that her organs had not deceived her, she turned an anxious eye
in the direction of what Borroughcliffe called his “barracks.” Every thing in
that direction appeared so dark and still as to create a sensation of
uneasiness, by its very quiet. It might be the silence of sleep that now
pervaded the ordinarily gay and mirthful apartment! or it might be the
stillness of a fearful preparation! There was no time, however, for further
hesitation, and Katherine drew her cloak more closely about her form, and
proceeded, with light and guarded steps, to the appointed spot. As she
approached the wicket the clock struck the hour, and she again paused, while
the mournful sounds were borne by her on the wind, as if expecting that each
stroke on the bell, would prove a signal to unmask some secret design of
Burroughcliffe. As the last vibration melted away, she opened the little gate,
and issued on the highway. The figure of a man sprung forward from behind an angle
of the wall, as she appeared; and, while her heart was still throbbing with the
suddenness of the alarm, she found herself in the arms of Barnstable. After the
first few words of recognition and pleasure which the young sailor uttered, he
acquainted his mistress with the loss of his schooner, and the situation of the
survivors.
“And now, Katherine,”
he concluded, “you have come, I trust, never to quit me; or, at most, to return
no more to that old Abbey, unless it be to aid in liberating Griffith, and then
to join me again for ever.”
“Why, truly, there is
so much to tempt a young woman to renounce her home and friends, in the
description you have just given of your condition, that I hardly know how to
refuse your request, Barnstable. You are very tolerably provided with a
dwelling in the ruin; and I suppose certain predatory schemes are to be adopted
to make it habitable! St. Ruth is certainly well supplied with the necessary
articles, but whether we should not be shortly removed to the Castle at York, or
the gaol at Newcastle, is a question that I put to your discretion.”
“Why yield your
thoughts to such silly subjects, lovely trifler!” said Barnstable, “when the
time and the occasion both urge us to be in earnest?”
“It is a woman’s
province to be thrifty, and to look after the comforts of domestic life,”
returned his mistress; “and I would discharge my functions with credit. But I
feel you are vexed, for, to see your dark countenance is out of the question,
on such a night. When do you propose to commence housekeeping, if I should
yield to your proposals?”
“I have not concluded,
and your provoking wit annoys me! The vessel I have taken, will,
unquestionably, come into the land, as the gale dies; and I intend making my
escape in her, after beating this Englishman, and securing the liberty of Miss
Howard and yourself. I could see the Frigate in the offing, even before we left
the cliffs.”
“This certainly sounds
better!” rejoined Katherine, in a manner that indicated she was musing on their
prospects; “and yet there may exist some difficulties in the way that you
little suspect.”
“Difficulties! there
are none--there can be none.”
“Speak not irreverently
of the mazes of love, Mr. Barnstable. When was it ever known to exist
unfettered or unembarrassed? even I have an explanation to ask of you, that I
would much rather let alone.”
“Of me! ask what you
will, or how you will; I am a careless, unthinking fellow, Miss Plowden; but to
you I have little to answer for--unless a foolish sort of adoration be an offence
against your merits.” Barnstable felt the little hand that was supported on his
arm, pressing the limb, as Katherine continued, in a tone so changed from its
former forced levity, that he started as the first sounds reached his ears. “Merry
has brought in a horrid report!” she said; “I would I could believe it untrue!
but the looks of the boy, and the absence of Dillon, both confirm it.”
“Poor Merry! he too has
fallen into the trap! but they shall yet find one who is too cunning for them.
Is it to the fate of that wretched Dillon that you allude?”
“He was a wretch,”
continued Katherine, in the same voice,” and he deserved much punishment at
your hands, Barnstable; but life is the gift of God, and is not to be taken
whenever human vengeance would appear to require a victim.”
“His life was taken by
him who bestowed it,” said the sailor. “Is it Katherine Plowden who would
suspect me of the deed of a dastard!”
“I do not suspect
you--I did not suspect you,” cried Katherine; “I will never suspect any evil of
you again. You are not, you cannot be angry with me, Barnstable? had you heard
the cruel suspicions of my cousin Cecilia, and had your imagination been busy
in portraying your wrongs and the temptations to forget mercy, like mine, even
while my tongue denied your agency in the suspected deed, you would--you would
at least have learned, how much easier it is to defend those we love against
the open attacks of others, than against our own jealous feelings.”
“Those words, love and
jealousy, will obtain your acquittal,” cried Barnstable, in his natural voice;
and, after uttering a few more consoling assurances to Katherine, whose excited
feelings found vent in tears, he briefly related the manner of Dillon’s death.
“I had hoped I stood
higher in the estimation of Miss Howard, than to be subjected to even her
suspicions,” he said, when he had ended his explanation. “Griffith has been but
a sorry representative of our trade, if he has left such an opinion of its
pursuits.
“I do not know that Mr.
Griffith would altogether have escaped my conjectures, had he been the
disappointed commander, and you the prisoner,” returned Katherine; “you know
not how much we have both studied the usages of war, and with what dreadful
pictures of hostages, retaliations, and military executions, our minds are
stored! but a mountain is raised off my spirits, and I could almost say, that I
am now ready to descend the valley of life in your company.”
“It is a discreet
determination, my good Katherine, and God bless you for it; the companion may
not be so good as you deserve, but you will find him ambitious of your praise.
Now let us devise means to effect our object.”
“Therein lies another
of my difficulties. Griffith, I much fear, will not urge Cecilia to another
flight, against her--her--what shall I call it, Barnstable? her caprice, or her
judgment? Cecilia will never consent to desert her uncle, and I cannot muster
the courage to abandon my poor cousin, in the face of the world, in order to
take shelter with even Mr. Richard Barnstable!”
“Speak you from the
heart now, Katherine?”
“Very nearly--if not
exactly.”
“Then have I been
cruelly deceived! It is easier to find a path in the trackless ocean, without
chart or compass, than to know the windings of a woman’s heart!”
“Nay, nay, foolish man;
you forget that I am but small, and how very near my head is to my heart; too
nigh, I fear, for the discretion of their mistress! but is there no method of
forcing Griffith and Cecilia to their own good, without undue violence?”
“It cannot be done; he
is my senior in rank, and the instant I release him he will claim the command.
A question might be raised, at a leisure moment, on the merits of such a
claim--but even my own men are, as you know, nothing but a draft from the
frigate, and they would not hesitate to obey the orders of the first
lieutenant, who is not a man to trifle on matters of duty.”
“’Tis vexatious, truly,”
said Katherine, “that all my well concerted schemes in behalf of this wayward
pair, should be frustrated by their own wilful conduct! But, after all, have
you justly estimated your strength, Barnstable? are you certain that you would
be successful, and that without hazard, too, if you should make the attempt?”
“Morally, and what is
better, physically certain. My men are closely hid, where no one suspects an
enemy to lie; they are anxious for the enterprise, and the suddenness of the
attack will not only make the victory sure, but it will be rendered bloodless.
You will aid us in our entrance, Katherine, and I shall first secure this
recruiting officer, and his command will then surrender without striking a
blow. Perhaps, after all, Griffith will hear reason; if he do not, I will not
yield my authority to a released captive, without a struggle.”
“God send that there
shall be no fighting!” murmured his companion, a little appalled at the images
his language had raised before her imagination; “and, Barnstable, I enjoin you,
most solemnly, by all your affection for me, and by every thing you deem most
sacred, to protect the person of Col. Howard at every hazard. There must be no
excuse, no pretence, for even an insult to my passionate, good, obstinate, but
kind old guardian. I believe I have given him already more trouble than I am
entitled to give any one, and Heaven forbid, that I should cause him any
serious misfortune!”
“He shall be safe, and
not only he, but all that are with him; as you will perceive, Katherine, when
you hear my plan. Three hours shall not pass over my head before you will see
me master of that old Abbey. Griffith, ay, Griffith must be content to be my
inferior, until we get afloat again.”
“Attempt nothing unless
you feel certain of being able to maintain your advantage, not only against
your enemies, but also against your friends,” said Katherine, anxiously; “rely
on it, both Cecilia and Griffith are refining so much on their feelings, that
neither will be your ally.”
“This comes of passing
the four best years of his life within walls of brick, poring over Latin
Grammars and Syntaxes, and such other nonsense, when he should have been
rolling them away in a good box of live oak, and studying, at the most, how to
sum up his day’s work, and tell where his ship lies after a blow. Your college
learning may answer well enough for a man who has to live by his wits, but it
can be of little use to one who is never afraid to read human nature, by
looking his fellow creatures full in the face, and whose hand is as ready as
his tongue. I have generally found the eye that was good at Latin was dull at a
compass, or in a night-squall: and yet, Grif is a seaman; though I have heard
him even read the testament in Greek! Thank God, I had the wisdom to run away
from school the second day they undertook to teach me a strange tongue, and I
believe I am the more honest man, and the better seaman, for my ignorance!”
“There is no telling
what you might have been, Barnstable, under other circumstances,” retorted his
mistress, with a playfulness of manner that she could not always repress,
though it was indulged at the expense of him she most loved; “I doubt not but,
under proper training, you would have made a reasonably good priest.”
“If you talk of
priests, Katherine, I shall remind you that we carry one in the ship. But
listen to my plan; we may talk further of that when an opportunity may offer.”
Barnstable then
proceeded to lay before his mistress a project he had formed for surprising the
Abbey that night, which was so feasible, that Katherine, notwithstanding her
recent suspicions of Borroughcliffe’s designs, came gradually to believe it
would succeed. The young seaman answered her objections with the readiness of
an ardent mind, bent on executing its purposes, and with a fertility of
resources that proved he was no contemptible enemy, in matters that required
spirited action. Of Merry’s remaining firm and faithful he had no doubt, and,
although he acknowledged the escape of the pedler boy, he urged that the lad
had seen no other of his party besides himself, whom he mistook for a common
marauder.
As the disclosure of
these plans was frequently interrupted by little digressions, connected with
the peculiar emotions of the lovers, more than an hour flew by in the
interview, before they separated. But Katherine, at length, reminded him how
swiftly the time was passing, and how much remained to be done, when he
reluctantly consented to see her once more enter the wicket, where they parted.
Miss Plowden adopted
the same precaution in returning to the house, she had used on leaving it; and
she was congratulating herself on its success, when her eye caught a glimpse of
the figure of a man, who was apparently following at some little distance, in
her footsteps, and dogging her motions. As the obscure form, however, paused
also when she stopped to give it an alarmed, though inquiring look, and then
slowly retired towards the boundary of the paddock, Katherine believing it to
be Barnstable watching over her safety, entered the Abbey, with every idea of
alarm entirely lost in the pleasing reflection of her lover’s solicitude.
He looks abroad and
soon appears,
O’er Horncliffe-hill, a
plump of spears,
Beneath a pennon gay.”
Marmion The sharp sounds of the
supper-bell were ringing along the gallery, as Miss Plowden gained the gloomy
passage; and she quickened her steps to join the ladies, in order that no
further suspicions might be excited by her absence.-- Alice Dunscombe was
already proceeding to the dining parlour, as Katherine passed through the door
of the drawing room, but Miss Howard had loitered behind, and was met by her
cousin alone.
“You have then been so
daring as to venture, Katherine?” exclaimed Cecilia.
“I have,” returned the
other, throwing herself into a chair, to recover her agitation--“I have,
Cecilia; and I have met Barnstable, who will soon be in the Abbey, and its
master.”
The blood, which had
rushed to the face of Cecilia on first seeing her cousin, now retreated to her
heart, leaving every part of her fine countenance of the whiteness of her
polished temples, as she said--
“And we are to have a
night of blood!”
“We are to have a night
of freedom, Miss Howard; freedom to you, and to me; to Andrew Merry, to
Griffith, and to his companion!”
“What freedom more than
we now enjoy, Katherine, is needed by two young women? Think you I can remain
silent, and see my uncle betrayed before my eyes? his life perhaps endangered?”
“Your own life and
person will not be held more sacred, Cecilia Howard, than that of your uncle.
If you will condemn Griffith to a prison, and perhaps to a gibbet, betray
Barnstable, as you have threatened--an opportunity will not be wanting at the
supper table, whither I shall lead the way, since the mistress of the house
appears to forget her duty.”
Katherine arose, and,
with a firm step, and proud eye, she moved along the gallery, to the room where
their presence was expected by the rest of the family. Cecilia followed, in
silence, and the whole party immediately took their several places at the
board.
The first few minutes
were passed in the usual attentions of the gentlemen to the ladies, and the
ordinary civilities of the table; during which, Katherine had so far regained
the equanimity of her feelings, as to commence a watchful scrutiny of the
manners and looks of her guardian and Borroughcliffe, in which she determined
to persevere until the eventful hour when she was to expect Barnstable should
arrive. Col. Howard had, however, so far got the command of himself, as no
longer to betray the same abstraction as before. In its place Katherine
fancied, at moments, that she could discover a settled look of conscious
security, mingled a little with an expression of severe determination; such as,
in her earlier days, she had learned to dread as sure indications of the
indignant, but upright justice of an honourable mind. Borroughcliffe, on the
other hand, was cool, polite, and as attentive to the viands as usual, with the
alarming exception of discovering much less devotion to the Pride of the
Vineyards, than he commonly manifested on such occasions. In this manner the
meal passed by, and the cloth was removed, though the ladies appeared willing
to retain their places longer than was customary. Col. Howard, filling up the
glasses of Alice Dunscombe, and himself, passed the bottle to the recruiting
officer, and, with a sort of effort that was intended to rouse the dormant
cheerfulness of his guests, cried--
“Come, Borroughcliffe,
the ruby lips of your neighbours would be still more beautiful, were they
moistened with this rich cordial, and that too, accompanied by some loyal
sentiment. Miss Alice is ever ready to express her fealty to her Sovereign; in
her name, I can give the health of His Most Sacred Majesty, with defeat and
death to all traitors!”
“If the prayers of a
humble subject, and one of a sex that has but little need to mingle in the
turmoil of the world, and that has less right to pretend to understand the
subtilties of statesmen, can much avail a High and Mighty Prince, like him who
sits on the throne, then will he never know temporal evil,” returned Alice,
meekly; “but I cannot wish death to any one, not even to my enemies, if any I
have, and much less to a people who are the children of the same family with
myself.”
“Children of the same
family!” the Colonel repeated, slowly, and with a bitterness of manner that did
not fail to attract the painful interest of Katherine; “children of the same
family! Ay! even as Absalom was the child of David, or as Judas was of the
family of the holy Apostles! But let it pass unpledged--let it pass. The
accursed spirit of rebellion has invaded my dwelling, and I no longer know
where to find one of my household, that has not been assailed by its malign
influence!”
“Assailed I may have
been, among others,” returned Alice; “but not corrupted, if purity, in this
instance, consist in loyalty--”
“What sound is that?”
interrupted the Colonel, with startling suddenness. “Was it not the crash of
some violence, Borroughcliffe?”
“It may have been one
of my rascals who has met with a downfall in passing from the festive board,
where you know I regale them to-night, in honour of our success!--to his
blanket,” returned the Captain, with admirable indifference; “or it may be the
very spirit of whom you have spoken so freely, my host, that has taken umbrage
at your remarks, and is passing from the hospitable walls of St. Ruth into the
open air, without submitting to the small trouble of ascertaining the position
of doors. In the latter case there may be some dozen perches or so of wall to
replace in the morning.”
The Colonel, who had
risen, glanced his eyes, uneasily, from the speaker to the door, and was,
evidently, but little disposed to enter into the pleasantry of his guest.
“There are unusual
noises, Capt. Borroughcliffe, in the grounds of the Abbey, if not in the
building itself,” he said, advancing, with a fine military air, from the table
to the centre of the room, “and, as master of the mansion, I will inquire who
it is that thus unseasonably disturbs these domains. If as friends, they shall
have welcome, though their visit be unexpected; and if enemies, they shall also
meet with such a reception as will become an old soldier!”
“No, no,” cried
Cecilia, entirely thrown off her guard by the manner and language of the
veteran, and rushing into his arms. “Go not out, my uncle, go not into the
terrible fray, my kind, my good uncle! you are old; you have already done more
than your duty; why should you be exposed to danger?”
“The girl is mad with
terror, Borroughcliffe,” cried the Colonel, beading his glistening eyes fondly
on his niece, “and you will have to furnish my good-for-nothing, gouty old
person with a corporal’s guard, to watch my night-cap, or the silly child will
have an uneasy pillow, till the sun rises once more. But you do not stir, sir?”
“Why should I?” cried
the captain; “Miss Plowden yet deigns to keep me company, and it is not in the
nature of one of the--th, to desert his bottle and his standard in the same
moment. For, to a true soldier, the smiles of a lady are as imposing in the
parlour, as the presence of his colours in the field.”
“I continue
undisturbed, Captain Borroughcliffe,” said Katherine, “because I have not been
an inhabitant, for so many months, of St. Ruth, and not learned to know the
tunes which the wind can play among its chimneys and pointed roofs. The noise
which has taken Col. Howard from his seat, and which has so unnecessarily
alarmed my cousin Cicely, is nothing but the Ćolian Harp of the Abbey sounding
a double bass.”
The captain fastened on
her composed countenance, while she was speaking, a look of open admiration,
that brought, though tardily, the colour more deeply to her cheeks; and he
answered, with something extremely equivocal, both in his emphasis and his
air--
“I have avowed my
allegiance, and I will abide by it. So long as Miss Plowden will deign to bestow
her company, so long will she find me among her most faithful and persevering
attendants, come who may, or what will.”
“You compel me to
retire,” returned Katherine, rising, “whatever may have been my gracious
intentions in the matter; for even female vanity must crimson, at an adoration
so profound as that which can chain Capt. Borroughcliffe to a supper-table! As
your alarm has now dissipated, my cousin, will you lead the way? Miss Alice and
myself attend you.”
“But not into the
paddock, surely, Miss Plowden,” said the captain; “the door, the key of which
you have just turned, communicates with the vestibule. This is the passage to
the drawing room.”
The lady faintly
laughed, as if in derision of her own forgetfulness, as she bowed her
acknowledgment, and moved towards the proper passage; she observed--
“The madness of fear
has assailed some, I believe, who have been able to affect a better disguise
than Miss Howard.”
“Is it the fear of
present danger, or of that which is in reserve?” asked the captain; “but, as
you have stipulated so generously in behalf of my worthy host here, and of one,
also, who shall be nameless, because he has not deserved such a favour at your
hands, your safety shall be one of my especial duties in these times of peril.”
“There is peril then!”
exclaimed Cecilia; “your looks announce it, Capt. Borroughcliffe! The changing
countenance of my cousin tells me that my fears are too true!”
The soldier had now
risen also, and, casting aside the air of badinage, which he so much delighted
in, he came forward into the centre of the apartment, with the manner of one
who felt it was time to be serious.
“A soldier is ever in
peril, when the enemies of his king are at hand, Miss Howard,” he answered; “and
that such is now the case, Miss Plowden can testify, if she will. But you are
the allies of both parties--retire, then, to your own apartments, and await the
result of the struggle which is at hand.”
“You speak of danger
and hidden perils,” said Alice Dunscombe; “know ye aught that justifies your
fears?”
“I know all,”
Borroughcliffe coolly replied.
“All!” exclaimed
Katherine.
“All!” echoed Alice, in
tones of horror. “If, then, you know all, you must know his desperate courage,
and powerful hand, when opposed--yield in quiet, and he will not harm ye.
Believe me, believe one who knows his very nature, that no lamb can be more
gentle than he would be, with unresisting women; nor any lion more fierce, with
his enemies!”
“As we happen not to be
of the feminine gender,” returned Borroughcliffe, with an air somewhat
splenetic, “we must abide the fury of the king of beasts. His paw is, even now,
at the outer door; and, if my orders have been obeyed, his entrance will be yet
easier than that of the wolf, to the respectable female ancestor of the little
redriding-hood.”
“Stay your hand for one
single moment!” said Katherine, breathless with interest; “you are the master
of my secret, Capt. Borroughcliffe, and bloodshed may be the consequence. I can
yet go forward, and, perhaps, save many inestimable lives. Pledge to me your
honour, that they who come hither as your enemies, this night, shall depart in
peace, and I will pledge to you my life for the safety of the Abbey.”
“Oh! hear her, and shed
not human blood!” cried Cecilia.
A loud crash interrupted
further speech, and the sounds of heavy footsteps were heard in the adjoining
room, as if many men were alighting on its floor, in quick succession.
Borroughcliffe drew back, with great coolness, to the opposite side of the
large apartment, and took a sheathed sword from the table where it had been
placed; at the same moment the door was burst open, and Barnstable entered
alone, but heavily armed.
“You are my prisoners,
gentlemen,” said the sailor, as he advanced; “resistance is useless, and without
it you shall receive favour. Ha! Miss Plowden! my advice was, that you should
not be present at this scene.”
“Barnstable, we are
betrayed!” cried the agitated Katherine. “But it is not yet too late. Blood has
not yet been spilt, and you can retire, without that dreadful alternative, with
honour. Go, then, delay not another moment; for, should the soldiers of Capt.
Borroughcliffe come to the rescue of their commander, the Abbey would be a
scene of horror!”
“Go you away; go,
Katherine,” said her lover, with impatience; “this is no place for such as you.
But, Capt. Borroughcliffe, if such be your name, you must perceive that
resistance is in vain. I have ten good pikes in this outer room, in twenty
better hands, and it will be madness to fight against such odds.”
“Show me your strength,”
said the captain, “that I may take counsel with mine honour.”
“Your honour shall be
appeased, my brave soldier, for such is your beariug, though your livery is my
aversion, and your cause most unholy! Heave-ahead, boys! but hold your hands
for orders.”
The party of
fierce-looking sailors, whom Barnstable led, on receiving this order, rushed
into the room in a medley; but, notwithstanding the surly glances, and savage
characters of their dress and equipments, they struck no blow, nor committed
any act of hostility. The ladies shrunk back appalled, as this terrific little
band took possession of the hall; and even Borroughcliffe, was seen to fall
back towards a door, which, in some measure, covered his retreat. The confusion
of this sudden movement had not yet subsided, when sounds of strife were heard
rapidly approaching from a distant part of the building, and presently one of
the numerous doors of the apartment was violently opened, when two of the
garrison of the Abbey rushed into the hall, vigorously pressed by twice their
number of seamen, seconded by Griffith, Manual, and Merry, who were armed with
such weapons of offence as had presented themselves to their hands, at their
unexpected liberation. There was a movement on the part of the seamen, who
already were in possession of the room, that threatened instant death to the
fugitives; but Barnstable beat down their pikes with his sword, and sternly
ordered them to fall back. Surprise produced the same pacific result among the
combatants; and as the soldiers hastily sought a refuge behind their own
officers, and the released captives, with their liberators, joined the body of
their friends, the quiet of the hall, which had been so rudely interrupted, was
soon restored.
“You see, sir,” said
Barnstable, after grasping the hands of Griffith and Manual, in a warm and
cordial pressure, “that all my plans have succeeded. Your sleeping guard are
closely watched in their barracks, by one party, our officers are released, and
your sentinels cut off by another, while, with a third, I hold the centre of
the Abbey, and am, substantially, in possession of your own person. In
consideration, therefore, of what is due to humanity, and to the presence of
these ladies, let there be no struggle! I shall impose no difficult terms, nor
any long imprisonment.”
The recruiting officer
manifested a composure, throughout the whole scene, that would have excited
some uneasiness in his invaders, had there been opportunity for more minute
observation; but his countenance now gradually assumed an appearance of
anxiety, and his head was frequently turned, as if listening for further, and
more important interruptions. He answered, however, this appeal, with his
ordinary deliberation.
“You speak of conquests,
sir, before they are achieved. My venerable host and myself are not so
defenceless as you may choose to imagine.” While speaking, he threw aside the
cloth of a side table, from beneath which, the colonel and himself were
instantly armed with a brace of pistols each. “Here are the death warrants of
four of your party, and these brave fellows at my back can account for two
more. I believe, my transatlantic warrior, that we are now something in the
condition of Cortes and the Mexicans, when the former overran part of your
continent--I being Cortes, armed with artificial thunder and lightning, and you
the Indians, with nothing but your pikes and slings, and such other
antediluvian inventions. Shipwrecks and sea-water are fatal dampers of
gun-powder!”
“That we are unprovided
with fire-arms, I will not deny,” said Barnstable; “but we are men who are
used, from infancy, to depend on our good right arms for life and safety, and
we know how to use them, though we should even grapple with death! As for the
trifles in your hands, gentlemen, you are not to suppose that men who are
trained to look in at one end of a thirty-two pounder, loaded with grape, while
the match is put to the other, will so much as wink at their report, though you
fired them by fifties. What say you, boys! is a pistol a weapon to repel
boarders?”
The discordant and
disdainful laughs that burst from the restrained seamen, were a sufficient
pledge of their indifference to so trifling a danger. Borroughcliffe noted
their hardened boldness, and taking the supper bell, which was lying near him,
he rang it, for a minute, with great violence. The heavy tread of trained
footsteps soon followed this extraordinary summons; and presently, the several
doors of the apartment were opened, and filled with armed soldiers, wearing the
livery of the English crown.
“If you hold these
smaller weapons in such vast contempt,” said the recruiting officer, when he
perceived that his men had possessed themselves of all the avenues, “it is in
my power to try the virtue of some more formidable. After this exhibition of my
strength, gentlemen, I presume you cannot hesitate to submit as prisoners of
war.”
The seamen had been
formed in something like military array, by the assiduity of Manual, during the
preceding dialogue; and as the different doors had discovered fresh accessions
to the strength of the enemy, the marine industriously offered new fronts,
until the small party was completely arranged in a hollow square, that might
have proved formidable in a charge, bristled as it was with the deadly pikes of
the Ariel.
“Here has been some
mistake,” said Griffith, after glancing his eye at the formidable array of the
soldiers; “I take precedence of Mr. Barnstable, and I shall propose to you,
Capt. Borroughcliffe, terms that may remove this scene of strife from the
dwelling of Col. Howard.”
“The dwelling of Col.
Howard,” cried the veteran, “is the dwelling of his king, or of the meanest
servant of the crown! so, Borroughcliffe, spare not the traitors on my behalf;
accept no other terms, than such unconditional submission as is meet to exact
from the rebellious subjects of the Anointed of the Lord.”
While Griffith spoke,
Barnstable folded his arms, in affected composure, and glanced his eyes
expressively at the shivering Katherine, who, with her companions, still
continued agitated spectators of all that passed, chained to the spot by their
apprehensions; but to this formidable denunciation, of the master of the Abbey,
he deemed proper to reply--
“Now, by every hope I
have of sleeping again on salt water, old gentleman, if it were not for the
presence of these three trembling females, but I should feel tempted to
dispute, at once, the title of his majesty--you may make such a covenant as you
will with Mr. Griffith, but if it contain one syllable about submission to your
king, or of any other allegiance, than that which I owe to the Continental
Congress, and the state of Massachusetts, you may as well consider the terms
violated at once; for not an article of such an agreement will I consider as
binding on me, or on any that shall choose to follow me as leader.”
“Here are but two
leaders, Mr. Barnstable,” interrupted the haughty Griffith; “the one of the
enemy, and the other, of the arms of America. Capt. Borroughcliffe, to you, as
the former, I address myself. The great objects of the contest, which now
unhappily divides England from her ancient colonies, can be, in no degree,
affected by the events of this night; while, on the other hand, by a rigid
adherence to military notions, much private evil and deep domestic calamity,
must follow any struggle in such a place. We have but to speak, sir, and these
rude men, who already stand impatiently handling their instruments of death,
will aim them at each other’s lives; and who can say that he shall be able to
stay their hands when and where he will! I know you to be a soldier, and that
you are not yet to learn how much easier it is to stimulate to blood, than to
glut vengeance.”
Borroughcliffe, unused
to the admission of violent emotions, and secure in the superiority of his own
party, both in numbers and equipments, heard him with the coolest composure to
the end, and then answered in his customary manner.
“I honour your logic,
sir. Your premises are indisputable, and the conclusion most obvious Commit,
then, those worthy tars to the good keeping of honest Drill, who will see their
famished natures revived by divers eatables, and a due proportion of suitable
fluids; while we can discuss the manner in which you are to return to the colonies,
around a bottle of liquor, which my friend Manual there, assures me has come
from the sun my side of the island of Madeira, to be drunk in a bleak corner of
that of Britain. By my palate! but the rascals brighten at the thought! They
know by instinct, sir, that a shipwrecked mariner is a fitter companion to a
ration of beef and a pot of porter, than to such unsightly things as bayonets
and boarding-pikes!”
“Trifle not
unseasonably!” exclaimed the impatient young sailor. “You have the odds in numbers,
but whether it will avail you much in a deadly struggle of hand to hand, is a
question you must put to your prudence: we stand not here to ask terms, but to
grant them. You must be brief, sir, for the time is wasting while we delay.”
“I have offered to you
the means of obtaining in perfection the enjoyment of the three most ancient of
the numerous family of the arts--eating, drinking, and sleeping! What more do
you require?”
“That you order these
men, who fill the pass to the outer door, to fall back and give us room. I
would take, in peace, these armed men from before the eyes of those who are
unused to such sights. Before you oppose this demand, think how easily these
hardy fellows could make a way for themselves, against your divided force.”
“Your companion, the
experienced Capt. Manual, will tell you that such a manśuvre would be very
unmilitary, with a superior body in your rear!”
“I have not leisure,
sir, for this folly,” cried the indignant Griffith. “Do you refuse us an
unmolested retreat from the Abbey?”
“I do.”
Griffith turned, with a
look of extreme emotion, to the ladies, and beckoned to them to retire, unable
to give utterance to his wishes in words. After a moment of deep silence,
however, he once more addressed Borroughcliffe in the tones of conciliation.
“If Mauual and myself
will return to our prisons, and submit to the will of your government,” he
said, “can the rest of the party return to the frigate unmolested?”
“They cannot,” replied
the soldier, who, perceiving that the crisis approached, was gradually losing
his artificial deportment in the interest of the moment. “You, and all others,
who willingly invade the peace of these realms, must abide the issue.”
“Then God protect the
innocent and defend the right!”
“Amen.”
“Give way, villains!”
cried Griffith, facing the party that held the outer door; “give way, or you
shall be riddled with our pikes!”
“Show them your
muzzles, men!” shouted Borroughcliffe; “but pull no trigger till they advance.”
There was an instant of
bustle and preparation, in which the rattling of fire arms, blended with the
suppressed execrations and threats of the intended combatants; and Cecilia and
Katherine had both covered their faces to veil the horrid sight that was
momentarily expected, when Alice Dunscombe advanced, boldly, between the points
of the threatening weapons, and spoke in a voice that stayed the hands that
were already uplifted.
“Hear me, men! if men
ye be, and not demons, thirsting for each other’s blood; though ye walk abroad
in the semblance of him who died that ye might be elevated to the rank of
angels! call ye this war? Is this the glory that is made to warm the hearts of
even silly and confiding women? Is the peace of families to be destroyed to
gratify your wicked lust for conquest; and is life to be taken in vain, in
order that you may boast of the foul deed in your wicked revels! Fall back,
then, ye British soldiers! if ye be worthy of that name, and give passage to a
woman; and remember that the first shot that is fired, will be buried in her
bosom!”
The men, thus enjoined,
shrunk before her commanding mien, and a way was made for her exit through that
very door which Griffith had, in vain, solicited might be cleared for himself
and party. But Alice, instead of advancing, appeared to have suddenly lost the
use of those faculties which had already effected so much. Her figure seemed
rooted to the spot where she had spoken, and her eyes were fixed in a settled
gaze as if dwelling on some horrid object. While she yet stood in this attitude
of unconscious helplessness, the door-way became again darkened, and the figure
of the Pilot was seen on its threshold, clad, as usual, in the humble vestments
of his profession, but heavily armed with the weapons of naval war. For an
instant, he stood a silent spectator of the scene; and then advanced calmly,
but with searching eyes, into the centre of the apartment.
Don Pedro Welcome, Signior:
you are almost come to part, almost a fray.
Much ado about nothing “Down with
your arms, you Englishmen!” said the daring intruder; “and you, who fight in
the cause of sacred liberty, stay your hands, that no unnecessary blood may
flow. Yield yourself, proud Britons, to the power of the Thirteen Republics!”
“Ha!” exclaimed
Borroughcliffe, grasping a pistol, with an air of great resolution, “the work
thickens--I had not included this man in my estimate of their numbers. Is he a
Sampson, that his single arm can change the face of things so suddenly! Down
with your own weapon, you masquerader, or, at the report of this pistol, your
body shall become a target for twenty bullets.”
“And thine for a
hundred!” returned the pilot --“without there! wind your call, fellow, and
bring in our numbers. We will let this confident gentleman feel his weakness.”
He had not done
speaking, before the shrill whistle of a boatswain rose gradually on the ears
of the listeners, until the sense of hearing became painfully oppressed, by the
piercing sounds that rung under the arched roof of the hall, and penetrated even
to the most distant recesses of the Abbey. A tremendous rush of men followed,
who drove in before them the terrified fragment of Borroughcliffe’s command,
that had held the vestibule; and the outer room became filled with a dark mass
of human bodies.
“Let them hear ye,
lads!” cried their leader; “the Abbey is your own!”
The roaring of a
tempest was not louder than the shout that burst from his followers, who
continued their cheers, peal on peal, until the very roof of the edifice
appeared to tremble with their vibrations. Numerous dark and shaggy heads were
seen moving around the passage; some cased in the iron-bound caps of the
frigate’s boarders, and others glittering with the brazen ornaments of her
marine guard. The sight of the latter did not fail to attract the eye of
Manual, who rushed among the throng, and soon re-appeared, followed by a trusty
band of his own men, who took possession of the posts held by the soldiers of
Borroughcliffe, while the dialogue was continued between the leaders of the adverse
parties.
Thus far Col. Howard
had yielded to his guest, with a deep reverence for the principles of military
subordination, the functions of a commander, but, now that affairs appeared to
change so materially, he took on himself the right to question these intruders
into his dwelling.
“By what authority,
sir,” the colonel demanded, “is it that you dare thus to invade the castle of a
subject of this realm? Do you come backed by the commission of the lord
lieutenant of the county, or has your warrant the signature of His Majesty’s
Secretary for the Home Department?”
“I bear no commission
from any quarter,” returned the pilot; “I rank only a humble follower of the
friends of America; and having led these gentlemen into danger, I have thought
it my duty to see them extricated. They are now safe; and the right to command
all that hear me, rests with Mr. Griffith, who is commissioned by the
Continental Congress for such service.”
When he had spoken he
fell back from the position he occupied, in the centre of the room, to one of
its sides, where, leaning his body against the wainscot, he stood a silent
observer of what followed--
“It appears, then, that
it is to you, degenerate son of a most worthy father, that I must repeat my
demand,” continued the veteran. “By what right is my dwelling thus rudely
assailed? and why is my quiet, and the peace of those I protect, so daringly
violated?”
“I might answer you,
Col. Howard, by saying that it is according to the laws of arms, or rather in
retaliation for the thousand evils that your English troops have inflicted,
between Maine and Georgia; but I wish not to increase the unpleasant character
of this scene, and will tell you, that our advantage shall be used with
moderation. The instant that our men can be collected, and our prisoners
properly secured, your dwelling shall be restored to your authority. We are no
freebooters, sir, and you will find it so after our departure. Capt. Manual,
draw off your guard into the grounds, and make your dispositions for a return
march to our boats--let the boarders fall back, there! out with ye! out with
ye--tumble out, you boarders!”
The amicable order of
the young lieutenant, which was delivered after the stern, quick fashion of his
profession, operated on the cluster of dark figures, that were grouped around
the door, like a charm; and as the men whom Barnstable had led, followed their
shipmates into the court-yard, the room was now left to such only, as might be
termed the gentlemen of the invading party, and the family of Col. Howard.
Barnstable had
continued silent since his senior officer had assumed the command, listening
most attentively to each syllable that fell from either side; but now that so
few remained, and the time pressed, he spoke again--
“If we are to take boat
so soon, Mr. Griffith, it would be seemly that due preparations should be made
to receive the ladies, who are to honour us with their presence; shall I take
that duty on myself?”
The abrupt proposal
produced a universal surprise in his hearers; though the abashed and conscious
expression of Katherine Plowden’s features, sufficiently indicated, that to
her, at least, it was not altogether unexpected. The long silence that
succeeded the question, was interrupted by Col. Howard.
“Ye are masters,
gentlemen; help yourselves to whatever best suits your inclinations. My
dwelling, my goods, and my wards, are alike at your disposal--or, perhaps Miss
Alice, here, good and kind Miss Alice Dunscomb, may suit the taste of some
among ye! Ah! Edward Griffith! Edward Griffith! little did I ever--”
“Breathe not that name
in levity again, thou scoffer, or even your years may prove a feeble
protection!” said a stern, startling voice from behind. All eyes turned
involuntarily at the unexpected sounds, and the muscular form of the Pilot was
seen resuming its attitude of repose against the wall, though every fibre in
his frame was working with suppressed passion.
When the astonished
looks of Griffith ceased to dwell on this extraordinary exhibition of interest
in his companion, they were turned imploringly towards the fair cousins, who
still occupied the distant corner, whither fear had impelled them.
“I have said, that we
are not midnight marauders, Col. Howard,” he replied; “but if any there be
here, who will deign to commit themselves to our keeping, I trust it will not
be necessary to say, at this hour, what will be their reception.”
“We have not time for
unnecessary compliments,” cried the impatient Barnstable; “here is Merry, who,
by years and blood, is a suitable assistant for them, in arranging their little
baggage-- what say you, urchin, can you play the ladies’ maid on emergency?”
“Ay, sir, and better
than I acted the pedlerboy,” cried the gay youngster; “to have my merry cousin
Kate, and my good cousin Cicely for shipmates, I could play our common
grandmother! Come, coz, let us be moving; you will have to allow a little
lee-way in time, for my awkwardness.”
“Stand back, young man,”
said Miss Howard, repulsing his familiar attempt to take her arm; and then
advancing, with a maidenly dignity, nigher to her guardian, she continued, “I
cannot know what stipulations have been made by my cousin Plowden, in the
secret treaty she has made this night with Mr. Barnstable; this for myself,
Col. Howard, I would have you credit your brother’s child when she says, that,
to her, the events of the hour have not been more unexpected than to yourself.”
The veteran gazed at
her, for a moment, with an expression of his eye that denoted reviving
tenderness; but gloomy doubts appeared to cross his mind again, and he shook
his head, as he walked proudly away.
“Nay, then,” added
Cecilia, her head dropping meekly on her bosom, “I may be discredited by my
uncle, but I cannot be disgraced without some act of my own.”
She slowly raised her
mild countenance again, and bending her eyes on her lover, she continued, while
a rich rush of blood passed over her fine features--
“Edward Griffith, I
will not, I cannot say how humiliating it is to think that you can, for an
instant, believe I would again forget myself so much as to wish to desert him
whom God has given me for a protector, for one chosen by my own erring
passions. And you, Andrew Merry! learn to respect the child of your mother’s
sister, if not for her own sake, at least for that of her who watched your
cradle!”
“Here appears to be
some mistake,” said Barnstable, who participated, however, in no trifling
degree, in the embarrassment of the abashed boy; “but, like all other mistakes
on such subjects, it can be explained away, I suppose. Mr. Griffith, it remains
for you to speak:--damn it, man,” he whispered, “you are as dumb as a
cod-fish--I am sure so fine a woman is worth a little fair weather talk:--you
are muter than a four-footed beast-- even an ass can bray!”
“We will hasten our
departure, Mr. Barnstable,” said Griffith, sighing heavily, and rousing, as if
from a trance. “These rude sights cannot but be appalling to the ladies. You
will please, sir, to direct the order of our march to the shore. Captain Manual
has charge of our prisoners, who must all be secured, to answer for an equal
number of our own countrymen.”
“And our countrywomen!”
said Barnstable, “are they to be forgotten, in the selfish recollection of our
own security!”
“With them we have no
right to interfere, unless at their request.”
“By Heaven! Mr.
Griffith, this may smack of learning,” cried the other, “and it may plead
bookish authority as its precedent; but, let me tell you, sir, it savours but a
little of sailor’s love.”
“Is it unworthy of a
seaman, and a gentleman, to permit the woman he calls his mistress to be so,
other than in name?”
“Well, then, Griff, I
pity you, from my soul. I would rather have had a sharp struggle for the
happiness that I shall now obtain so easily, than that you should be thus cruelly
disappointed. But you cannot blame me, my friend, that I avail myself of
fortune’s favour. Miss Plowden, your fair hand. Colonel Howard, I return you a
thousand thanks for the care you have taken, hitherto, of this precious charge,
and believe me, sir, that I speak frankly, when I say, that next to myself, I
should choose to intrust her with you in preference to any man on earth.”
The Colonel turned to
the speaker, and bowed low, while he answered with grave courtesy--
“Sir, you repay my
slight services with too much gratitude. If Miss Katherine Plowden has not
become under my guardianship, all that her good father, Capt. John Plowden, of
the Royal Navy, could have wished a daughter of his to be, the fault,
unquestionably, is to be attributed to my inability to instruct, and to no
inherent quality in the young lady herself. I will not say, take her, sir,
since you have her in your possession already, and it would be out of my power
to alter the arrangement; I, therefore, can only wish that you may find her as
dutiful as a wife, as she has been, hitherto, as a ward and a subject.”
Katherine had yielded
her hand, passively, to her lover, and suffered him to lead her more into the
circle than she had before been; but now she threw off his arm, and shaking aside
the dark curls which she had rather invited to fall in disorder around her
brow, she raised her face and looked proudly up, with an eye that sparkled with
the spirit of its mistress, and a face that grew pale with emotion at each
moment, as she proceeded--
“Gentlemen, the one may
be as ready to receive as the other is to reject; but has the daughter of John
Plowden no voice in this cool disposal of her person! If her guardian tires of
her presence, other habitations may be found, without inflicting so severe a
penalty on this gentleman, as to compel him to provide for her accommodation in
a vessel which must be already straitened for room!”
She turned, and
rejoined her cousin with such an air of maidenly resentment, as a young woman
would be apt to discover, who found herself the subject of matrimonial
arrangement, without her own feelings being at all consulted. Barnstable, who
knew but little of the windings of the female heart, or how necessary to his
mistress, notwithstanding her previous declarations, the countenance of Cecilia
was, to any decided and open act in his favour, stood in stupid wonder at her
declaration. He could not conceive that a woman who had already ventured so
much in secret in his behalf, and who had so often avowed her weakness, should
shrink to declare it again, at such a crisis, though the eyes of a universe
were on her! He looked from one of the party to the other, and met in every
face an expression of delicate reserve, except in those of the guardian of his
mistress, and of Borroughcliffe.
The colonel had given a
glance of returning favour at her, whom, he now conceived, to be his repentant
ward, while the countenance of the entrapped captain exhibited a look of droll
surprise, blended with the expression of bitter ferocity it had manifested
since the discovery of his own mishap.
“Perhaps, sir,” said
Barnstable, addressing the latter, fiercely, “you see something amusing about
the person of this lady, to divert you thus unseasonably. We tolerate no such
treatment of our women in America!
“Nor do we quarrel
before ours in England,” returned the soldier, throwing back the fierce glance
of the sailor, with interest; “but I was thinking of the revolutions that time
can produce! nothing more I do assure you. It is not half an hour since I
thought myself a most happy fellow; secure in my plans for overreaching the
scheme you had laid to surprise me; and now I am as miserable a dog as wears a
single epaulette, and has no hope of seeing its fellow!”
“And in what manner,
sir, can this sudden change apply to me?” asked Katherine, with all her spirit.
“Certainly not to your
perseverance in the project to assist my enemies, madam,” returned the soldier
with affected humility; “nor to your zeal for their success, or your consummate
coolness at the supper table! But I find it is time that I should be
superannuated--I can no longer serve my king with credit, and should take to
serving my God, like all other worn out men of the world! My hearing is surely
defective, or a paddock wall has a most magical effect in determining sounds!”
Katherine waited not to
hear the close of this sentence, but walked to a distant part of the room, to
conceal the burning blushes that covered her countenance. The manner in which
the plans of Borroughcliffe had become known to his foe, was no longer a
mystery, and her conscience reproached her a little also, with some unnecessary
coquetry; for she remembered, that quite one half of the dialogue between her
lover and herself, under the shadow of that very wall to which Borroughcliffe
alluded, had been on a subject altogether foreign to contention and tumults. As
the feelings of Barnstable were by no means so sensitive as those of his
mistress, and his thoughts much occupied with the means of attaining his object,
he did not so readily comprehend the indirect allusion of the soldier, but
turned abruptly away to Griffith, and observed, with a serious air--
“I feel it my duty, Mr.
Griffith, to suggest, that we have standing instructions to secure all the
enemies of America, wherever they may be found, and to remind you, that the
States have not hesitated to make prisoners of females, in many instances.”
“Bravo!” cried
Borroughcliffe; “if the ladies will not go as your mistresses, take them as
your captives!”
“’Tis well for you,
sir, that you are a captive yourself, or you should be made to answer for this
speech,” retorted the irritated Barnstable. “It is a responsible command, Mr.
Griffith, and must not be disregarded.”
“To your duty, Mr.
Barnstable,” said Griffith, again arousing from deep abstraction; “you have
your orders, sir; let them be executed promptly.”
“I have also the orders
of our common superior, Capt. Munson, Mr. Griffith; and I do assure you, sir,
that in making out my instructions for the Ariel--poor thing! there are no two
of her timbers hanging together!--but my instructions were decidedly particular
on that head.”
“And my orders now
supersede them.”
“But am I justifiable
in obeying a verbal order from an inferior, in direct opposition to a written
instruction?”
Griffith had hitherto
manifested in his deportment nothing more than a cold determination to act, but
the blood now flew to every vessel in his cheeks and forehead, and his dark
eyes flashed fire, as he cried authoritatively--
“How, sir! do you
hesitate to obey?”
“By heaven, sir, I
would dispute the command of the Continental Congress itself, should they bid
me so far to forget my duty to--to--”
“Add yourself,
sir!--Mr. Barnstable, let this be the last of it. To your duty, sir.”
“My duty calls me here,
Mr. Griffith.”
“I must act, then, or
be bearded by my own officers. Mr. Merry, direct Capt. Manual to send in a
serjeant, and a file of marines.”
“Bid him come on
himself!” cried Barnstable, maddened to desperation by his disappointment; “ ’tis
not his whole corps that can disarm me--let them come on! Hear, there, you
Ariels! rally around your captain.”
“The man among them,
who dares to cross that threshold without my order, dies,” cried Griffith,
menacing, with a naked sabre, the seamen, who had promptly advanced at the call
of their old commander. “Yield your sword, Mr. Barnstable, and spare yourself
the disgrace of having it forced from you by a common soldier.”
“Let me see the dog who
dare attempt it!” exclaimed Barnstable, flourishing his weapon in fierce anger.
Griffith had extended his own arm, in the earnestness of his feelings, and
their sabres crossed each other. The clashing of the steel operated on both
like the sound of the clarion on a war-horse, and there were sudden and rapid
blows, and as rapid parries, exchanged between the flashing weapons.
“Barnstable!
Barnstable!” cried Katherine, rushing into his arms, “I will go with you to the
ends of the earth!”
Cecilia Howard did not
speak; but when Griffith recovered his coolness, he beheld her beautiful form
kneeling at his feet, with her pale face bent imploringly on his own disturbed
countenance. The cry of Miss Plowden had separated the combatants, before an
opportunity for shedding blood had been afforded, but the young men exchanged
looks of keen resentment, notwithstanding the interference of their mistresses.
At this moment Col. Howard advanced, and raising his niece from her humble
posture, said--
“This is not a
situation for a child of Harry Howard, though she knelt in the presence, and
before the throne of her Sovereign. Behold, my dear Cecilia, the natural
consequences of this rebellion! It scatters discord in their ranks; and, by its
damnable levelling principles, destroys all distinction of rank among
themselves; even these rash boys know not where obedience is due!”
“It is due to me,” said
the Pilot, who now stepped forward among the agitated group, “and it is time
that I enforce it. Mr. Griffith, sheath your sword. And you, sir, who have
defied the authority of your senior officer, and have forgotten the obligation
of your oath, submit, and return to your duty.”
Griffith started at the
sounds of his calm voice, as if with sudden recollection; and then bowing low,
he returned the weapon to its scabbard. But Barnstable still encircled the
waist of his mistress with one arm, while, with the other, he brandished his
sabre, and laughed with scorn at this extraordinary assumption of authority.
“And who is this!” he
cried, “who dare give such an order to me!”
The eyes of the Pilot
flashed with a terrible fire, while a fierce glow seemed to be creeping over
his whole frame, which actually quivered with passion. But, suppressing this
exhibition of his feelings, by a sudden and powerful effort, he answered, in an
emphatic manner--
“One who has a right to
order, and who will be obeyed!”
The extraordinary
manner of the speaker, contributed as much as his singular assertion, to induce
Barnstable, in his surprise, to lower the point of his weapon, with an air that
might easily have been mistaken for submission. The Pilot fastened his glowing
eyes on him, for an instant, and then turning to the rest of the listeners, he
continued, more mildly--
“It is true that we
came not here as marauders, and that our wish is, to do no unnecessary acts of
severity to the aged and the helpless. But this officer of the Crown, and this
truant American, in particular, are fairly our prisoners; as such, they must be
conducted on board our ship.”
“But the main object of
our expedition?”--said Griffith.
“’Tis lost,” returned
the Pilot, hastily--“ ’tis sacrificed to more private feelings; ’tis like a
hundred others, ended in disappointment, and is forgotten, sir, for ever. But
the interests of the Republics must not be neglected, Mr. Griffith.-- Though we
are not madly to endanger the lives of those gallant fellows, to gain a
love-smile from one young beauty, neither are we to forget the advantages they
may have obtained for us, in order to procure one of approbation from another.
This, Col. Howard, will answer well, in a bargain with the minions of the
Crown, and may purchase the freedom of some worthy patriot, who is deserving of
his liberty. Nay, nay, suppress that haughty look, and turn that proud eye on
any, rather than me! he goes to the frigate, sir, and that immediately.”
“Then,” said Cecilia
Howard, timidly approaching the spot where her uncle stood, a disdainful
witness of the dissensions amongst his captors; “then, will I go with him! He
shall never be a resident among his enemies alone!”
“It would be more
ingenuous, and more worthy of my brother’s daughter,” said her uncle, coldly, “if
she ascribed her willingness to depart to its proper motive.” Disregarding the
look of deep distress with which Cecilia received this mortifying rejection of
her tender attention, the old man walked towards Borroughcliffe, who was
gnawing the hilt of his sword, in very vexation at the downfall of his
high-raised hopes, and placing himself by his side, with an air of infinitely
dignified submission, he continued, “act your pleasure on us, gentlemen: you
are the conquerors, and we must even submit. A brave man knows as well how to
yield, with decorum, as to defend himself stoutly, when he is not surprised, as
we have been. But if an opportunity should ever offer!--Act your pleasures,
gentlemen; no two lambs were ever half so meek as Capt. Borroughcliffe and
myself.”
The smile of affected,
but bitter resignation, that the colonel bestowed on his fellow prisoner, was
returned by that officer, with an attempt at risibility that abundantly
betokened the disturbed state of his feelings. The two, however, succeeded in
so far maintaining appearances, as to contemplate the succeeding movements of
the conquerors, with a sufficient degree of composure.
The colonel steadily,
and coldly, rejected the advances of his niece, who bowed meekly to his will,
and relinquished, for the present, the hope of bringing him to a sense of his
injustice. She however, employed herself in earnest, to give such directions as
were necessary to enforce the resolution she had avowed, and in this unexpected
employment she found both a ready and a willing assistant in her cousin. The
latter, unknown to Miss Howard, had, in anticipation of some such event as the
present, long since made, in secret, all those preparations which might become
necessary to a sudden flight from the Abbey. In conjunction with her lover
then, who, perceiving that the plan of the Pilot was furthering his own views,
deemed it most wise to forget his quarrel with that mysterious individual, she
flew to point out the means, of securing those articles which were already in
preparation. Barnstable and Merry accompanied her light steps among the narrow,
dark passages of the Abbey, with the utmost delight; the former repeatedly apostrophizing
her wit and beauty, and, indeed, all of her various merits, and the latter,
laughing, and indulging those buoyant spirits, that a boy of his years and
reflection might be supposed to feel, in such a scene, and under such
circumstances. It was fortunate for her cousin, that Katherine had possessed so
much forethought, for the attention of Cecilia Howard was directed much more to
the comforts of her uncle, than to those which were necessary for herself.
Attended by Alice Dunscombe, the young mistress of St. Ruth moved through the
solitary apartments of the building, listening to the mild, religious
consolation of her companion, in silence, at times yielding to those bursts of
mortified feeling, that she could not repress, or again as calmly giving her
orders to her maids, as if the intended movement was one of but ordinary
interest. All this time, the party in the dining hall remained stationary. The
Pilot, as if satisfied with what he had already done, sunk back to his
reclining attitude against the wall, though his eyes keenly watched every
movement of the preparations, in a manner which denoted that his was the master
spirit that directed the whole. Griffith had, however, resumed, in appearance,
the command, and the busy seamen addressed themselves for orders to him alone.
In this manner an hour was consumed, when Cecilia and Katherine, appearing in
succession, attired in a suitable manner for their departure, and the baggage
of the whole party having been already entrusted to a petty officer, and a
party of his men, Griffith gave forth the customary order to put the whole in
motion. The shrill, piercing whistle of the boatswain once more rung among the
galleries and ceilings of the Abbey, and was followed by the deep, hoarse cry
of--
“Away, there! you
shore-draft! away, there, you boarders! ahead, heave ahead, sea-dogs!”
This extraordinary
summons was succeeded by the roll of a drum, and the strains of a fife, from
without, when the whole party moved from the building in the order that had
been previously prescribed by Capt. Manual, who acted as the marshal of the
forces on the occasion.
The Pilot had conducted
his surprise with so much skill and secrecy as to have secured every individual
about the Abbey, whether male or female, soldier or civilian; and as it might
be dangerous to leave any behind who could convey intelligence into the
country, Griffith had ordered that every human being, found in the building,
should be conducted to the cliffs; to be held in durance, at least, until the
departure of the last boat to the cutter, which he was informed, lay close in
to the land, awaiting their re-embarkation. The hurry of the departure had
caused many lights to be kindled in the Abbey, and the contrast between the
glare within, and the gloom without, was most striking to the females, as they
issued into the paddock. One of those indefinable, and unaccountable feelings,
which so often cross the human mind, induced Cecilia to pause at the great gate
of the grounds, and look back at the Abbey, with a presentiment that she was to
behold it for the last time. The dark and ragged outline of the edifice was
clearly delineated against the northern sky, while the open windows, and
neglected doors, permitted a view of the solitude within. Twenty tapers were shedding
their useless light in the empty apartments, as if in mockery of the deserted
walls, and Cecilia turned, shuddering, from the sight, to press nigher to the
person of her indignant uncle, with a secret impression, that her presence
would soon be more necessary than ever to his happiness.
The low hum of voices
in front, with the occasional strains of the fife, and the stern mandates of
the sea-officers, soon recalled her, however, from these visionary thoughts to
the surrounding realities, while the whole party pursued their way with
diligence to the margin of the ocean.
A chieftain to the Highlands bound, Cries
‘Boatman, do not tarry!
And I’ll give thee a silver pound, To
row us o’er the ferry.’
Lord Ullin’s Daughter The sky
had been without a cloud during the day, the gale having been dry and piercing,
and thousands of stars were now shining through a chill atmosphere. As the eye,
therefore, became accustomed to the change of light, it obtained a more
distinct view of surrounding objects. At the head of the line, that was
stretched along the narrow pathway, marched a platoon of the marines, who
maintained the regular, and steady front of trained warriors. They were
followed, at some little distance, by a large and confused body of seamen,
heavily armed, whose disposition to disorder and rude merriment, which became
more violent from their treading on solid ground, was with difficulty
restrained by the presence and severe rebukes of their own officers. In the
centre of this confused mass, the whole of the common prisoners were placed,
but were no otherwise attended to by their nautical guard, than as they
furnished the subjects of fun and numberless quaint jokes. At some distance in
their rear, marched Col. Howard and Borroughcliffe, arm in arm, both
maintaining the most rigid and dignified silence, though under the influence of
very bitter feelings. Behind these again, and pressing as nigh as possible to
her uncle, was Miss Howard, leaning on the arm of Alice Dunscombe, and surrounded
by the female domestics of the establishment of St. Ruth. Katherine Plowden
moved lightly by herself, in the shadow of this group, with elastic steps, but
with a maiden coyness, that taught her to veil her satisfaction with the
semblance of captivity. Barnstable watched her movements with delight, within
six feet of her, but submitted to the air of caprice in his mistress, which
seemed to require that he should approach no nearer. Griffith, avoiding the
direct line of the party, walked on its skirts in such a situation that his eye
could command its whole extent, in order, if necessary, to direct the
movements. Another body of the marines marched at the close of the procession,
and Manual, in person, brought up the rear. The music had ceased by command, and
nothing was now audible, but the regular tread of the soldiers, with the sighs
of the dying gale, interrupted occasionally by the voice of an officer, or the
hum of low dialogue.
“This has been a Scotch
prize that we’ve taken,” muttered a surly old seaman; “a ship without
head-money or cargo! There was kitchen timber enough in the old jug of a place,
to have given an outfit in crockery and knee-buckles, to every lad in the ship;
but, no! let a man’s mouth water ever so much for food and raiment, damme if
the officers would give him leave to steal even so good a thing as a spare
Bible.”
“You may say all that,
and then make but a short yarn of the truth,” returned the messmate, who walked
by his side; “if there had been such a thing as a ready-made prayer handy, they
would have choused a poor fellow out of the use of it.-- I say, Ben, I’ll tell
ye what; it’s my opinion, that if a chap is to turn soldier and carry a musket,
he should have soldiers’ play, and leave to plunder a little--now the devil a
thing have I laid my hands on to-night, except this firelock, and my cutlash--
unless you can call this bit of a table-cloth something of a windfall.”
“Ay! you have fallen in
there with a fresh bolt of duck, I see!” said the other, in manifest admiration
of the texture of his companion’s prize --“why, it would spread as broad a clue
as our mizen-royal, if it was loosened! well, your luck hasn’t been every man’s
luck--for my part, I think this here hat was made for some fellow’s great toe;
I’ve rigged it on my head both foreand-aft, and athwart ships; but curse the
inch can I drive it down--I say, Sam! you’ll give us a shirt off that table
cloth?”
“Ay, ay, you can have
one corner of it; or for that matter, ye can take the full half, Nick; but I
don’t see that we go off to the ship any richer than we landed, unless you may
muster she-cattle among your prize money.”
“No richer!”
interrupted a waggish young sailor, who had been hitherto a silent listener to
the conversation between his older, and more calculating shipmates; “I think we
are set up for a cruise in them seas where the day watches last six months; don’t
you see we have caught a double allowance of midnight!”
While speaking he laid
his hands on the bare and woolly heads of Col. Howard’s two black slaves, who
were moving near him, both occupied in mournful forebodings on the results that
were to flow from this unexpected loss of their liberty. “Slue your faces this
way, gentlemen,” he added; “there; don’t you think that a sight to put out the
binnacle lamps? there’s darkness visible for ye!”
“Let the niggars alone,”
grumbled one of the more aged speakers; “what are ye sky-larking with the like
of them for? the next thing they’ll sing out, and then you’ll hear one of the
officers in your wake. For my part, Nick, I can’t see why it is that we keep
dodging along shore here, with less than ten fathoms under us, when, by
stretching into the broad Atlantic, we might fall in with a Jamaica-man every
day or two, and have sugar hogsheads, and rum puncheons as plenty aboard us as
hard fare is now.”
“It is all owing to
that Pilot,” returned the other; “for d’ye see, if there was no bottom, there
would be no Pilots. This is dangerous cruising ground, where we stretch into
five fathoms, and then drop our lead on a sand-spit, or a rock! Besides, they
make night work of it too! If we had day-light for fourteen hours instead of
seven, a man might trust to feeling his way for the other ten.”
“Now, a’n’t ye a couple
of old horse-marines!” again interrupted the young sailor; “don’t you see that
Congress wants us to cut up Johnny Bull’s coasters, and that old Blow-Hard has
found the days too short for his business, and so he has landed a party to get
hold of night. Here we have him! and when we get off to the ship, we shall put
him under hatches, and then you’ll see the face of the sun again! Come, my
lilies! let these two old gentlemen look into your cabin windows--what? you won’t!
Then I must squeeze your woollen night-caps for ye!”
The negroes, who had
been submitting to his humours with the abject humility of slavery, now gave
certain low intimations that they were suffering pain, under the rough
manipulation of their tormentor.
“What’s that!” cried a
stern voice, whose boyish tones seemed to mock the air of authority that was
assumed by the speaker--“who’s that, I say, raising that cry among ye?”
The wilful young man
slowly removed his two hands from the woolly polls of the slaves, but as he
suffered them to fall reluctantly along their sable temples, he gave the ear of
one of the blacks a tweak that caused him to give vent to another cry, that was
uttered with a much greater confidence of sympathy than before.
“Do ye hear, there!”
repeated Merry-- “who’s sky-larking with those negroes?”
“’Tis no one, sir,” the
sailor answered with affected gravity; “one of the pale faces has hit his shin
against a cob-web, and it has made his ear ache!”
“Harkye, you mister
Jack Joker! how came you in the midst of the prisoners! did not I order you to
handle your pike, sir, and to keep in the outer line!”
“Ay, ay, sir, you did;
and I obeyed orders as long as I could; but these niggars have made the night
so dark, that I lost my way!”
A low laugh passed
through the confused crowd of seamen, and even the midshipman might have been
indulging himself in a similar manner at this specimen of quaint humour, from
the fellow, who was one of those licensed men that are to be found in every
ship. At length--
“Well, sir,” he said, “you
have found out your false reckoning now; so get you back to the place where bid
you stay.”
“Ay, ay, sir, I’m
going. By all the blunders in the purser’s book, Mr. Merry, but that cobweb has
made one of these niggars shed tears! Do let me stay to catch a little ink,
sir, to write a letter with to my poor old mother--devil the line has she had
from me since we sailed from the Chesapeake!”
“If ye don’t mind me at
once, Mr. Jack Joker, I’ll lay my cutlass over your head,” returned Merry, his
voice now betraying a much greater sympathy in the sufferings of that abject
race, who are still in some measure, but who formerly were much more, the butts
of the unthinking and licentious among our low countrymen; “then ye can write
your letter in red ink if ye will!”
“I wouldn’t do it for
the world,” said Joker, sneaking away, towards his proper station--“the old
lady wouldn’t forget the hand, and swear it was a forgery--I wonder, though, if
the breakers on the coast of Guinea be black! as I’ve heard old seamen say who
have cruised in them latitudes.”
His idle levity was
suddenly interrupted by a voice that spoke above the low hum of the march, with
an air of authority, and a severity of tone, that could always quell, by a
single word, the most violent ebullition of merriment in the crew.
The low buzzing sounds
of “Ay, there goes Mr. Griffith!” and of “Jack has woke up the first
lieutenant, he had better now go to sleep himself;” were heard passing among
the men. But these suppressed communications soon ceased, and even Jack Joker
himself pursued his way with diligence, on the skirts of the party, as mutely
as if the power of speech did not belong to his organization.
The reader has too
often accompanied us over the ground between the Abbey and the ocean, to
require any description of the route pursued by the seamen during the preceding
characteristic dialogue; and we shall at once pass to the incidents which
occurred on the arrival of the party at the cliffs. As the man who had so
unexpectedly assumed a momentary authority within St. Ruth, had unaccountably
disappeared from among them, Griffith continued to exercise the right of
command, without referring to any other for consultation. He never addressed
himself to Barnstable, and it was apparent that both the haughty young men felt
that the tie which had hitherto united them in such close intimacy, was, for
the present at least, entirely severed. Indeed, Griffith was only restrained by
the presence of Cecilia and Katherine, from arresting his refractory inferior
on the spot; and Barnstable, who felt all the consciousness of error, without
its proper humility, with difficulty so far repressed his feelings, as to
forbear exhibiting in the presence of his mistress, such a manifestation of his
spirit as his wounded vanity induced him to imagine was necessary to his
honour. The two, however, acted in harmony on one subject, though it was
without concert or communication. The first object with both the young men, was
to secure the embarkation of the fair cousins; and Barnstable proceeded
instantly to the boats, in order to hasten the preparations that were necessary
before they could receive these unexpected captives.--The descent of the Pilot
having been made in such force as to require the use of all the frigate’s
boats, which were left riding in the outer edge of the surf, awaiting the return
of the expedition. A loud call from Barnstable gave notice to the officer in
command, and in a few moments the beach was crowded with the busy and active
crews of the “cutters,” “launches,” “barges,” “jolly-boats,” “pinnaces,” or by
whatever names the custom of the times attached to the different attendants of
vessels of war. Had the fears of the ladies themselves been consulted, the
frigate’s launch would have been selected for their use, on account of its
size; but Barnstable, who would have thought such a choice on his part
humiliating to his guests, ordered the long, low barge of Capt. Munson to be
drawn upon the sand, it being peculiarly the boat of honour. The hands of fifty
men were applied to the task, and it was soon announced to Col. Howard and his
wards, that the little vessel was ready for their reception. Manual had halted
on the summit of the cliffs with the whole body of the marines, where he was
busily employed in posting picquets and sentinels, and giving the necessary
instructions to his men to cover the embarkation of the seamen, in a style that
he conceived to be altogether military. The mass of the common prisoners,
including the inferior domestics of the Abbey, and the men of Borroughcliffe,
were also held in the same place, under a suitable guard; but Col. Howard and
his companion, attended by the ladies and their own maids, had descended the
rugged path to the beach, and were standing passively on the sands, when the
intelligence that the boat waited for them, was announced.
“Where is he?” asked
Alice Dunscombe, turning her head, as if anxiously searching for some other
than those around her.
“Where is who?”
inquired Barnstable; “we are all here, and the boat waits.”
“And will he tear
me--even me, from the home of my infancy! the land of my birth and my
affections!”
“I know not of whom you
speak, madam, but if it be of Mr. Griffith, he stands there, just without that
cluster of seamen.”
Griffith, hearing
himself thus named, approached the ladies, and, for the first time since leaving
the Abbey, addressed them:--“I hope I am already understood,” he said, “and
that it is unnecessary for me to say, that no female here is a prisoner; though
should any choose to trust themselves on board our ship, I pledge to them the
honour of an officer, that they shall find themselves protected, and safe.”
“Then will I not go,”
said Alice.
“It is not expected of
you,” said Cecilia; “you have no ties to bind you to any here.”-- (The eyes of
Alice, were still wandering over the listeners.) “Go, then, Miss Alice, and be
the mistress of St. Ruth, until my return; or,” she added, timidly, “until Col.
Howard may declare his pleasure.”
“I obey you, dear
child; but the agent of Col. Howard, at B--will undoubtedly be authorized to
take charge of his effects.”
While no one but his
niece alluded to his will, the master of the Abbey had found, in his
resentment, a sufficient apology for his rigid demeanor; but he was far too
well bred to hear, in silence, such a modest appeal to his wishes, from so
fair, and so loyal a subject as Alice Dunscombe.
“To relieve you, madam,
and for no other reason, will I speak on this subject,” he said; “otherwise, I
should leave the doors and windows of St. Ruth open, as a melancholy monument
of rebellion, and seek my future compensation from the Crown, when the
confiscated estates of the leaders of this accursed innovation on the rights of
Princes, shall come to the hammer. But you, Miss Alice, are entitled to every
consideration that a lady can expect from a gentleman. Be pleased, therefore,
to write to my agent, and request him to seal up my papers, and transmit them
to the office of his Majesty’s Secretary of State. They breathe no treason,
madam, and are entitled to official protection. The house, and most of the
furniture, as you know, are the property of my landlord, who, in due time, will
doubtless take charge of his own interest. I kiss your hand, Miss Alice, and I
hope we shall yet meet at St. James’s--depend on it, madam, that the Royal
Charlotte shall yet honour your merits; I know she cannot but estimate your
loyalty.”
“Here I was born, in
humble obscurity--here I have lived, and here I hope to die in quiet,” returned
the meek Alice; “if I have known any pleasure, in late years, beyond that which
every Christian can find in our daily duties, it has been, my sweet friends, in
your accidental society.-- Such companions, in this remote corner of the
kingdom, has been a boon too precious to be enjoyed without alloy, it seems,
and I have now to exchange the past pleasure for present pain. Adieu! my young
friends; let your trust be in Him, to whose eyes both prince and peasant, the
European and the American, are alike, and we shall meet again, though it be
neither in the island of Britain, nor on your own wide continent.”
“That,” said Col.
Howard, advancing and taking her hand with kindness, “that is the only disloyal
sentiment I have ever heard fall from the lips of Miss Alice Dunscombe! Is it
to be supposed that Heaven has established orders among men, and that it does
not respect the works of its own formation! But adieu; no doubt if time was
allowed us for suitable explanations, we should find but little or no
difference of opinion on this subject.”
Alice did not appear to
consider the matter as worthy of further discussion at such a moment, for she
gently returned the colonel’s leave-taking, and then gave her undivided
attention to her female friends. Cecilia wept bitterly on the shoulder of her
respected companion, giving vent to her regret at parting, and her excited
feelings, at the same moment; and Katherine pressed to the side of Alice, with
the kindliness prompted by her warm, but truant heart. Their embraces were
given and received in silence, and each of the young ladies moved towards the
boat, as she withdrew herself from the arms of Miss Dunscombe. Col. Howard
would not precede his wards, neither would he assist them into the barge. That
attention they received from Barnstable, who, after seeing the ladies and their
attendants seated, turned to the gentlemen, and observed--
“The boat waits.”
“Well, Miss Alice,”
said Borroughcliffe, in bitterirony, “you are entrusted, by our excellent host,
with a message to his agent; will you do a similar service to me, and write a
report to the commander of the district, and just tell him what a dolt-- ay,
use the plainest terms, and say what an ass, one Capt. Borroughcliffe has
proved himself in this affair. You may throw in, by way of episode, that he has
been playing bo-peep with a rebellious young lady from the Colonies, and, like
a great boy, has had his head broken for his pains! Come, my worthy host, or
rather, fellow prisoner, I follow you, as in duty bound.”
“Stay,” cried Griffith;
“Capt. Borroughcliffe does not embark in that boat.”
“Ha! sir; am I to be
herded with the common men? Forget you that I have the honour to bear the
commission of his Britannic Majesty, and that--”
“I forget nothing that
a gentleman is bound to remember, Capt. Borroughcliffe; among other things, I
recollect the liberality of your treatment to myself, when a prisoner. The
instant the safety of my command will justify such a step, not only you, but
your men, shall be set at liberty.”
Borroughcliffe started
in surprise; but his feelings were too much soured by the destruction of those
visions of glory, in which he had been luxuriously indulging for the last day
or two, to admit of his answering as became a man. He swallowed his emotions,
therefore, by a violent effort, and walked along the beach, affecting to
whistle a low, but lively air.
“Well, then,” cried
Barnstable--“all our captives are seated. The boat waits only for its officers!”
In his turn, Griffith
walked away, in haughty silence, as if disdaining to hold communion with his
former friend. Barnstable paused a moment, from a deference that long habit had
created for his superior officer, and which was not to be shaken off by every burst
of angry passion; but perceiving that the other had no intention to return, he
ordered the seamen to raise the boat from the sand and bear it bodily into the
water. The command was instantly obeyed; and by the time the young lieutenant
was in his seat the barge was floating in the still heavy, though no longer
dangerous surf, and the crew sprang into their places.
“Bear her off, boys!”
he cried; “never mind a wet jacket. I’ve seen many a worthy fellow tumbling on
this beach in a worse time than this! Now you have her head to sea; give way,
my souls, give way.”
The seamen rose
simultaneously at their oars, and, by an united effort, obtained the command of
their boat; which, after making a few sudden ascents and as many heavy pitches
in the breakers, gained the smoother seas of the swelling ocean, and stemmed
the waters, in a direction for the place where the Alacrity was supposed to be
in waiting.
His only plot was
this--that much provoked,
He raised his vengeful
arm against his country.
Thomson Alice Dunscombe remained
on the sands, watching the dark spot that was soon hid amid the waves, in the
obscurity of night, and listening, with melancholy interest, to the regulated
sounds of the oars, which were audible long after the boat had been blended
with the gloomy outline of the eastern horizon. When all traces of her departed
friends were to be found only in her own recollections, she slowly turned from
the sea, and hastening to quit the bustling throng, that were preparing for the
embarkation of the rest of the party, she ascended the path that conducted her
once more to the summit of those cliffs, along which she had so often roved,
gazing at the boundless element that washed their base, with sensations that
might have been peculiar to her own situation.
The soldiers of
Borroughcliffe, who were stationed at the head of the pass, respectfully made
way; nor did any of the sentinels of Manual heed her retiring figure, until she
approached the rear guard of the marines, who were commanded by their vigilant
captain in person.
“Who goes there!” cried
Manual, advancing without the dusky group of soldiers, as she approached them.
“One who possesses
neither the power nor the inclination to do ye harm,” answered the solitary
female; “’tis Alice Dunscombe, returning, by permission of your leader, to the
place of her birth.”
“Ay,” muttered Manual, “this
is one of Griffith’s unmilitary exhibitions of his politeness! does the man
think that there was ever a woman who had no tongue! Have you the countersign,
madam, that I may know you bear a sufficient warrant to pass?”
“I have no other
warrant besides my sex and weakness, unless Mr. Griffith’s knowledge that I
have left him, can be so construed.”
“The two former are
enough,” said a voice, that proceeded from a figure which had hitherto stood
unseen, shaded by the trunk of an oak, that spread its wide, but naked arms
nearly over the spot where the guard was paraded.
“Who have we here!”
Manual again cried; “come in; yield or you will be fired at.”
“What, will the gallant
Capt. Manual fire on his own rescuer!” said the Pilot, with cool disdain, as he
advanced from the shadow of the tree. “He had better reserve his bullets for
his enemies, than waste them on his friends.”
“You have done a
dangerous deed, sir, in approaching, clandestinely, a guard of marines! I
wonder that a man who has discovered already, to-night, that he has some
knowledge of tactics, by so ably conducting a surprise, should betray so much
ignorance in the forms of approaching a picquet!”
“’Tis now of no moment,”
returned the Pilot; “my knowledge and my ignorance are alike immaterial, as the
command of the party is surrendered to other, and perhaps more proper hands.
But I would talk to this lady alone, sir; she is an acquaintance of my youth,
and I will see her part of the way back to the Abbey.”
“The step would be
unmilitary, Mr. Pilot, and you will excuse me if I do not consent to any of our
expedition straggling without the sentries. If you choose to remain here to
hold your discourse, I will march the picquet out of hearing; though I must
acknowledge I see no ground so favourable as this we are on, to keep you within
the range of our eyes. You perceive that I have a ravine to retreat into, in
case of surprise, with this line of wall on my left flank, and the trunk of
that tree to cover my right. A very pretty stand might be made here, on
emergency; for even the oldest troops fight the best when their flanks are
properly covered, and a way to make a regular retreat is open in their rear.”
“Say no more, sir; I
would not break up such a position on any account,” returned the Pilot; “Miss
Dunscombe will consent to retrace her path for a short distance.”
Alice followed his
steps, in compliance with this request, until he had led her to a place, at
some little distance from the marines, where a tree had been prostrated by the
late gale. She seated herself quietly on its trunk, and appeared to await with
patience his own time for the explanation of his motives, in seeking this
interview. The Pilot paced, for several minutes, back and forth, in front of
the place where she was seated, in profound silence, as if communing with
himself, when, suddenly throwing off his air of absence, he came to her side,
and assumed a position similar to that which she herself had taken.
“The hour is at hand,
Alice, when we must part,” he at length commenced; it rests with yourself
whether it shall be for ever.”
“Let it then be for
ever, John,” she returned, with a slight tremor in her voice.
“That word would have
been less appalling, had this accidental meeting never occurred. And yet your
choice may have been determined by prudence--for what is there in my fate that
can tempt a woman to wish that she might share it!”
“If ye mean your lot is
that of one who can find but few, or even none, to partake of his joys, or to
share in his sorrows, whose life is a continual scene of dangers and
calamities, of disappointments and mishaps, then do ye know but little of the
heart of woman, if ye doubt of either her ability or her willingness, to meet
them with the man of her choice.”
“Say you thus, Alice!
then have I misunderstood your meaning, or misinterpreted your acts. My lot is
not altogether that of a neglected man, unless the favour of princes, and the
smiles of queens, can be thus termed! My life is, however, one of many and
fearful dangers; and yet it is not filled altogether with calamities and
mishaps; is it, Alice?” He paused a moment, but in vain, for her answer. “Nay,
then, I have been deceived in the estimation that the world has affixed to my
combats and enterprises! I am not, Alice, the man I would be, or even the man I
had deemed myself.”
“You have gained a
name, John, among the warriors of the age,” she answered, in a subdued voice; “and
it is a name that may be said to be written in blood!”
“The blood of my
enemies, Alice!”
“The blood of the
subjects of your natural prince! The blood of those who breathe the air you
first breathed, and who were taught the same holy lessons of instruction that
you were first taught; but which, I fear, you have too soon forgotten!”
“The blood of the
slaves of despotism!” he sternly interrupted her; “the blood of the enemies of
freedom! you have dwelt so long in this dull retirement, and you have cherished
so blindly the prejudices of your youth, that the promise of those noble
sentiments I once thought I could see budding in Alice Dunscombe, has not been
fulfilled.”
“I have lived and
thought only as a woman, as become my sex and station,” Alice meekly replied; “and
when it shall be necessary for me to live and think otherwise, I should wish to
die.”
“Ay, there lie the
first seeds of slavery! A dependant woman is sure to make the mother of craven
and abject wretches, who dishonour the name of man!”
“I shall never be the
mother of children good or bad”--said Alice, with that resignation in her tones
that showed she had abandoned the natural hopes of her sex.--“Singly and
unsupported have I lived; alone and unlamented must I be carried to my grave.”
The exquisite pathos of
her voice, as she uttered this placid speech, blended as it was with the sweet
and calm dignity of virgin pride, touched the heart of her listener, and he
continued silent many moments, as if in reverence of her determination. Her
sentiments awakened in his own breast those feelings of generosity and
disinterestedness, which had nearly been smothered in restless ambition and the
pride of success. He resumed the discourse, therefore, more mildly, and with a
much greater exhibition of deep feeling, and less of passion, in his manner.
“I know not, Alice,
that I ought, situated as I am, and contented, if not happy, as you are, even
to attempt to revive in your bosom those sentiments which I was once led to
think existed there. It cannot, after all, be a desirable fate, to share the
lot of a rover like myself; one who may be termed a Quixotte in the behalf of
liberal principles, and who may be hourly called to seal the truth of those
principles with his life.”
“There never existed
any sentiment in my breast, in which you are concerned, that does not exist
there still, and unchanged,” returned Alice, with her single-hearted sincerity.
“Do I hear you aright!
or have I misconceived your resolution to abide in England! or have I not
rather mistaken your early feelings?”
“You have fallen into
no error now nor then. The weakness may still exist, John, but the strength to
struggle with it, has, by the goodness of God, grown with my years. It is not,
however, of myself, but of you, that I would speak. I have lived like one of
our simple daisies, which in the budding may have caught your eye; and I shall
also wilt like the humble flower, when the winter of my time arrives, without
being missed from the fields that have known me for a season. But your fall,
John, will be like that of the oak that now supports us, and men shall
pronounce on the beauty and grandeur of the noble stem while standing, as well
as of its usefulness when felled.”
“Let them pronounce as
they will!” returned the proud stranger. “The truth must be finally known, and
when that hour shall come, they will say, he was a faithful and gallant warrior
in his day; and a worthy lesson for all who are born in slavery, but would live
in freedom, shall be found in his example!”
“Such may be the
language of that distant people, whom ye have adopted in the place of those
that once formed home and kin to ye,” said Alice, glancing her eye timidly at
his countenance, as if to discern how far she might venture, without awakening
his resentment; “but what will the men of the land of your birth transmit to
their children, who will be the children of those that are of your own blood?”
“They will say, Alice,
whatever their crooked policy may suggest, or their disappointed vanity can
urge. But the picture must be drawn by the friends of the hero as well as by
his enemies! Think you that there are not pens as well as swords in America?”
“I have heard that
America called a land, John, where God has lavished his favours with an
unsparing hand; where he has bestowed many climes with their several fruits,
and where his power is exhibited no less than his mercy. It is said her rivers
are without any known end, and that lakes are found in her bosom, which would
put our German ocean to shame! That plains, teeming with verdure, are spread
over wide degrees, and yet those sweet valleys, which a single heart can hold,
are not wanting. In short, John, I hear it is a broad land, that can furnish
food for each passion, and contain objects for every affection.”
“Ay, you have found
those, Alice, in your solitude, who have been willing to do her justice! It is
a country, that can form a world of itself; and why should they who inherit it,
look to other nations for their laws?”
“I pretend not to
reason on the right of the children of that soil, to do whatever they may deem
most meet for their own welfare,” returned Alice--“but can men be born in such
a land, and not know the feeling which binds a human being to the place of his
birth?”
“Can you doubt that
they should be patriotic?” exclaimed the Pilot, in surprise. “Do not their
efforts in this sacred cause--their patient sufferings-- their long privations,
speak loudly in their behalf?”
“And will they, who
know so well how to love home, sing the praises of him, who has turned his
ruthless hand against the land of his fathers?”
“Forever harping on
that word, home!” said the Pilot, who now detected the timid approaches of
Alice to her hidden meaning. “Is man a stick or a stone, that he must be cast
into the fire, or buried in a wall, wherever his fate may have doomed him to
appear on the earth? The sound of home is said to feed the vanity of an
Englishman, let him go where he will; but it would seem to have a still more
powerful charm with English women!”
“It is the dearest of
all terms to every woman, John, for it embraces the dearest of all ties! If
your dames of America are ignorant of its charm, all the favours which God has
lavished on their land, will avail their happiness but little.”
“Alice,” said the
Pilot, rising in his agitation, “I see but too well the object of your
allusions. But on this subject we can never agree; for not even your power can
draw me from the path of glory in which I am now treading. Our time is growing
brief; let us then talk of other things.-- This may be the last time that I
shall ever put foot on the island of Britain.”
Alice paused to struggle
with the feelings excited by this remark, before she pursued the discourse.
But, soon shaking off the weakness, she added, with a rigid adherence to that
course which she believed to he her duty--
“And now, John, that
you have landed, is the breaking up of a peaceful family, and the violence ye
have shown towards an aged man, a fit exploit for one whose object is the glory
of which ye have spoken?”
“Think you that I have
landed, and placed my life in the hands of my enemies, for so unworthy an object!
No, Alice, my motive for this undertaking has been disappointed, and therefore
will ever remain a secret from the world. But duty to my cause has prompted the
step which you so unthinkingly condemn. This Col. Howard has some consideration
with those in power, and will answer to exchange for a better man. As for his
wards, you forget their home, their magical home, is in America; unless,
indeed, they find them nearer at hand, under the proud flag of a frigate, that
is now waiting for them in the offing.”
“You talk of a frigate!”
said Alice, with sudden interest in the subject--“Is she your only means of
escaping from your enemies?”
“Alice Dunscombe has
taken but little heed of passing events, to ask such a question of me!”
returned the haughty Pilot. “The question would have sounded more discreetly,
had it been, ‘is she the only vessel with you that your enemies will have to
escape from?’ ”
“Nay, I cannot measure
my language at such a moment,” continued Alice, with a still stronger
exhibition of anxiety. “It was my fortune to overhear a part of a plan that was
intended to destroy, by sudden means, those vessels of America that were in our
seas.”
“That might be a plan
more suddenly adopted than it can be executed, my good Alice. And who were
those redoubtable schemers?”
“I know not but my duty
to the king should cause me to suppress this information,” said Alice,
hesitating.
“Well, be it so,”
returned the Pilot, coolly; “it may prove the means of saving the persons of
some of the royal officers from death or captivity. I have already said, this
may be the last of my visits to this island, and consequently, Alice, the last
of our interviews--”
“And yet,” said Alice,
as if pursuing the train of her own thoughts, “there can be but little harm in
sparing human blood; and least of all in serving those whom we have long known
and regarded!”
“Ay, that is a simple
doctrine, and one that is easily maintained,” he added, with much apparent
indifference; “and yet king George might well spare some of his servants--the
list of the abject minions is so long!”
“There was a man named
Dillon, who lately dwelt in the Abbey, but who has mysteriously disappeared,”
continued Alice; “or rather who was captured by your companions: know you aught
of him, John?”
“I have heard there was
a miscreant of that name, but we have never met. Alice, if it please heaven
that this shall be the last”--
“He was a captive in a
schooner called the Ariel,” she added, still unheeding his affected
indifference to her communication--and when permitted to return to St. Ruth, he
lost sight of his solemn promise, and of his plighted honour, to wreak his
malice. Instead of effecting the exchange that he had conditioned to see made,
he plotted treason against his captors. Yes! it was most foul treason! for his
treatment was generous and kind, and his liberation certain.”
“He was a most unworthy
scoundrel! But, Alice”--
“Nay, listen, John,”
she continued, urged to even a keener interest in his behalf, by his apparent
inattention; “and yet I should speak tenderly of his failings, for he is
already numbered with the dead! One part of his scheme must have been
frustrated, for he intended to destroy that schooner which you call the Ariel,
and to have taken the person of the young Barnstable.”
“In both of which he
has failed! The person of Barnstable I have rescued, and the Ariel has been
stricken by a hand far mightier than any of this world! she is wrecked.”
“Then is the frigate
your only means of escape! Hasten, John, and seem not so proud and heedless,
for the hour may come when all your daring will not profit ye against the
machinations of secret enemies. This Dillon had also planned that expresses
should journey to a sea-port at the south, with the intelligence that your
vessels were in these seas, in order that ships might be despatched to
intercept your retreat.”
The Pilot lost his
affected indifference as she proceeded, and before she ceased speaking, his eye
was endeavouring to anticipate her words, by reading her countenance through
the dusky medium of the star-light.
“How know you this,
Alice?” he asked quickly--“and what vessel did he name?”
“Chance made me an
unseen listener to their plan, and--I know not but I forget my duty to my prince!
--but, John, ’tis asking too much of weak woman, to require that she shall see
the man whom she once viewed with eyes of favour, sacrificed, when a word of
caution, given in season, might enable him to avoid the danger!”
“Once viewed with an
eye of favour! Is it then so!” said the Pilot, speaking in a vacant manner. “But,
Alice, heard ye the force of the ships, or their names? Give me their names,
and the first lord of your British admiralty shall not give so true an account
of their force, as I will furnish from this list of my own.”
“Their names were
certainly mentioned,” said Alice, with tender melancholy, “but the name of one
far nearer to me was ringing in my ears, and has driven them from my mind.”
“You are the same good
Alice I once knew! And my name was mentioned? What said they of the Pirate? Had
his arm stricken a blow that made them tremble in their Abbey? Did they call
him coward, girl?”
“It was mentioned in
terms that pained my heart as I listened. For, it is ever too easy a task to
forget the lapse of years, nor are the feelings of youth to be easily
eradicated.”
“Ay, there is luxury in
knowing, that with all their affected abuse, the slaves dread me in their
secret holds!” exclaimed the Pilot, pacing in front of his listener, with quick
steps. “This it is to be marked, among men, above all others in your calling! I
hope yet to see the day when the third George shall start at the sound of that
name, even within the walls of his palace.”
Alice Dunscombe heard
him in deep and mortified silence; for it was too evident that a link in the
chain of their sympathies was broken, and that the weakness in which she had
been unconsciously indulging, was met by no correspondent emotions in him.
After sinking her head for a moment on her bosom, she arose with a little more
than her usual air of meekness, and recalled the Pilot to a sense of her
presence, by saying, in a yet milder voice--
“I have now
communicated all that it can profit you to know, and it is meet that we
separate.”
“What, thus soon!” he
cried, starting and taking her hand. “This is but a short interview, Alice, to
precede so long a separation.”
“Be it short, or be it
long, it must now end,” she replied. “Your companions are on the eve of
departure, and I trust you would be one of the last who would wish to be
deserted. If ye do visit England again, I hope it may be with altered
sentiments, so far as regards her interests. I wish ye peace, John, and the
blessings of God, as ye may be found to deserve them.”
“I ask no farther,
unless it may be the aid of your gentle prayers! But the night is gloomy, and I
will see you in safety to the Abbey.”
“It is unnecessary,”
she returned, with womanly reserve. “The innocent can be as fearless on
occasion, as the most valiant among you warriors. But here is no cause for
fear. I will take a path that will conduct me in a different way from that
which is occupied by your soldiers, and where I shall find none but Him who is
ever present to protect the helpless. Once more, John, I bid ye adieu.” Her voice
faltered as she continued--“ye will share the lot of humanity, and have your
hours of care and weakness; at such moments ye can remember those ye leave on
this despised island, and perhaps among them ye may think of some whose
interest in your welfare has been far removed from selfishness.”
“God be with you,
Alice!” he said, touched with her emotion, and losing all vain images in more
worthy feelings--“but I cannot permit you to go alone.”
“Here we part, John,”
she said firmly, “and for ever! ’Tis for the happiness of both, for I fear we
have but little in common.” She gently wrested her hand from his grasp, and
once more bidding him adieu, in a voice that was nearly inaudible, she turned
and slowly disappeared, moving, with lingering steps, in the direction of the
Abbey.
The first impulse of
the Pilot was, certainly, to follow, and insist on seeing her on the way; but
the music of the guard on the cliffs, at that moment sent forth its martial
strains, and the whistle of the boatswain was heard winding its shrill call
among the rocks, in those notes that his practised ear well understood to be
the last signal for embarking.
Obedient to the
summons, this singular man, in whose breast the natural feelings, that were now
on the eve of a violent eruption, had so long been smothered by the visionary
expectations of a wild ambition, and perhaps of fierce resentments, pursued his
course, in deep abstraction, towards the boats. He was soon met by the soldiers
of Borroughcliffe, deprived of their arms, it is true, but unguarded, and
returning peacefully to their quarters. The mind of the Pilot, happily for the
liberty of these men, was too much absorbed in his peculiar reflections, to
note this act of Griffith’s generosity, nor did he arouse from his musing until
his steps were arrested by suddenly encountering a human figure in the
path-way. A light tap on his shoulder was the first mark of recognition he
received, when Borroughcliffe, who stood before him, said--
“It is evident, sir,
from what has passed this evening, that you are not what you seem. You may be
some rebel admiral or general, for aught that I know, the right to command
having been strangely contested among ye this night. But let who will own the
chief authority, I take the liberty of whispering in your ear that I have been
scurvily treated by you--I repeat, most scurvily treated by you all, generally,
and by you in particular.”
The Pilot started at
this strange address, which was uttered with all the bitterness that could be
imparted to it by a disappointed man, but he motioned with his hand for the
captain to depart, and turned aside to pursue his own way.
“Perhaps I am not
properly understood,” continued the obstinate soldier; “I say, sir, you have
treated me scurvily, and I would not be thought to say this to any gentleman,
without wishing to give him an opportunity to vent his anger.”
The eye of the Pilot,
as he moved forward, glanced at the pistols which Borroughcliffe held in his
hands, the one by the handle, and the other by its barrel, and the soldier even
fancied that his footsteps were quickened by the sight. After gazing at him until
his form was lost in the darkness, the captain muttered to himself--
“He is no more than a
common Pilot after all! No true gentleman would have received so palpable a
hint with such a start. Ah! here comes the party of my worthy friend whose
palate knows a grape of the north side of Madeira, from one of the south. The
dog has the throat of a gentleman! we will see how he can swallow a delicate
allusion to his faults!”
Borroughcliffe stepped
aside to allow the marines, who were also in motion for the boats, to pass, and
watched with keen looks for the person of the commander. Manual, who had been
previously apprized of the intention of Griffith to release the prisoners, had
halted to see that none but those who had been liberated by authority, were marching
into the country. This accidental circumstance gave Borroughcliffe an
opportunity of meeting the other at some little distance from either of their
respective parties.
“I greet you, sir,”
said Borroughcliffe, “with all affection. This has been a pleasant forage for
you, Capt. Manual.”
The marine was far from
being disposed to wrangle, but there was that in the voice of the other which
caused him to answer--
“It would have been far
pleasanter, sir, if I had met an opportunity of returning to Capt. Borroughcliffe
some of the favours that I have received at his hands.”
“Nay, then, dear sir,
you weigh my modesty to the earth! Surely you forget the manner in which my
hospitality has been requited--by some two hours’ mouthing of my sword hilt;
with a very unceremonious ricochet into a corner; together with a love-tap,
received over the shoulders of one of my men, by so gentle an instrument as the
butt of a musket! Damme, sir, but I think an ungrateful man only a better sort
of beast!”
“Had the love tap been
given to the officer instead of the man,” returned Manual, with all commendable
coolness, “it would have been better justice; and the ramrod might have
answered as well as the butt, to floor a gentleman who carried the allowance of
four thirsty fiddlers under one man’s jacket.”
“Now, that is rank
ingratitude to your own cordial of the south side, and a most biting insult! I
really see but one way of terminating this wordy war, which if not discreetly
ended, may lead us far into the morning.”
“Elect your own manner
of determining the dispute, sir; I hope, however, it will not be by your innate
knowledge of mankind, which has already mistaken a captain of marines in the
service of Congress, for a runaway lover, bound to some green place or other.”
“You might just as well
tweak my nose, sir!” said Borroughcliffe. “Indeed, I think it would be the
milder reproach of the two! will you make your selection of these, sir? They
were loaded for a very different sort of service, but I doubt not will answer
on occasion.”
“I am provided with a
pair, that are charged for any service,” returned Manual, drawing a pistol from
his own belt, and stepping backward a few paces.
“You are destined for
America, I know,” said Borroughcliffe, who stood his ground with consummate
coolness; “but it would be more convenient for me, sir, if you could delay your
march for a single moment.”
“Fire and defend
yourself!” exclaimed Manual furiously, retracing his steps towards his enemy.
The sounds of the two
pistols were blended in one report, and the soldiers of Borroughcliffe and the
marines all rushed to the place, on the sudden alarm. Had the former been
provided with arms, it is probable a bloody fray would have been the
consequence of the sight that both parties beheld on arriving at the spot,
which they did simultaneously. Manual lay on his back, without any signs of
life, and Borroughcliffe had changed his cool, haughty, upright attitude, for a
recumbent posture, which was somewhat between lying and sitting.
“Is the poor fellow
actually expended?” said the Englishman, in something like the tones of regret;
“well, he had a soldier’s metal in him, and was nearly as great a fool as
myself!”
The marines had,
luckily for the soldiers and their captain, by this time discovered the signs
of life in their own commander, who had been only slightly stunned by the
bullet which had grazed his crown, and who being assisted on his feet, stood a
minute or two rubbing his head, as if awaking from a dream. As Manual came
gradually to his senses he recollected the business in which he had just been
engaged, and, in his turn, inquired after the fate of his antagonist.
“I am here, my worthy
incognito,” cried the other, with a voice of perfect good nature; “lying in the
lap of mother Earth, and all the better for opening a vein or two in my right
leg;--though I do think that the same effect might have been produced without
treating the bone so roughly!--But I opine that I saw you also reclining on the
bosom of our common ancestor.”
“I was down for a few
minutes, I do believe,” returned Manual; “there is the path of a bullet across
my scalp!”
“Humph! on the head!”
said Borroughcliffe, dryly; “the hurt is not likely to be mortal, I see --Well,
I shall offer to raffle with the first poor devil I can find that has but one
good leg, for who shall have both; and that will just set up a beggar and a
gentleman!--Manual, give me your hand; we have drank together, and we have
fought; surely there is nothing now to prevent our being sworn friends!”
“Why,” returned Manual,
continuing to rub his head, “I see no irremoveable objections--but you will
want a surgeon? can I order any thing to be done? There go the signals again to
embark-- march the fellows down at quick time, sergeant; my own man may remain
with me, or, I can do altogether without assistance.”
“Ah! you are what I
call a well made man, my dear friend!” exclaimed Borroughcliffe; “no weak
points about your fortress! such a man is worthy to be the head of a whole
corps, instead of a solitary company;--Gently, Drill, gently; handle me as if I
were made of potter’s clay;--I will not detain you longer, my friend Manual,
for I hear signal after signal; they must be in want of some of your
astonishing reasoning faculties to set them afloat.
Manual might have been
offended at the palpable allusions that his new friend made to the firmness of
his occiput, had not his perception of things been a little confused, by a
humming sound that seemed to abide near the region of thought. As it was, he
reciprocated the good wishes of the other, whom he shook most cordially by the
hand, and once more renewed his offers of service, after exchanging sundry
friendly speeches.
“I thank you quite as
much as if I were not at all indebted to you for letting blood, thereby saving
me a fit of apoplexy; but Drill has already despatched a messenger to B--for a
leech, and the lad may bring the whole dépto down upon you.--Adieu, once more,
and remember, that if you ever visit England again as a friend, you are to let
me see you.”
“I shall do it without
fail; and I shall keep you to your promise, if you once more put foot in
America.”
“Trust me for that; I
shall stand in need of your excellent head to guide me safely among those rude
foresters! Adieu; cease not to bear me in your thoughts.”
“I shall never cease to
remember you, my good friend,” returned Manual, again scratching the member,
which was snapping in a manner that caused him to fancy he heard it. Once more
these worthies shook each other by the hand, and again they renewed their
promises of future intercourse; after which they separated like two reluctant
lovers-- parting in a manner that would have put to shame the friendship of
Orestes and Pylades!
“Nay, answer me: stand,
and unfold yourself”
Hamlet During the time occupied
by the incidents that occurred after the Pilot had made his descent on the
land, the Alacrity, now under the orders of Mr. Boltrope, the master of the
frigate, lay off and on, in readiness to receive the successful mariners. The direction
of the wind had been gradually changing from the north-east to the south,
during the close of the day; and long before the middle watches of the night,
the wary old seaman, who, it may be remembered, had expressed, in the council
of war, such a determined reluctance to trust his person within the realm of
Britain, ordered the man who steered the cutter to stand in boldly for the
land. Whenever the lead told them that it was prudent to tack, the course of
the vessel was changed; and in this manner the seamen continued to employ the
hours in patient attendance on the adventurers. The sailing-master, who had
spent the early years of his life as the commander of divers vessels employed
in trading, was apt, like many men of his vocation and origin, to mistake the
absence of refinement for the surest evidence of seamanship; and, consequently,
he held the little courtesies and punctilios of a man-of-war in high disdain.
His peculiar duties of superintending the expenditure of the ship’s stores, in
their several departments; of keeping the frigate’s log-book; and of making his
daily examinations into the state of her sails and rigging, brought him so
little in collision with the gay, laughing, reckless young lieutenants, who
superintended the usual conduct of the vessel, that he might be said to have
formed a distinct species of the animal, though certainly of the same genus
with his more polished messmates. Whenever circumstances, however, required
that he should depart from the dull routine of his duty, he made it a rule, as
far as possible, to associate himself with such of the crew as possessed habits
and opinions the least at variance with his own.
By a singular fatality,
the chaplain of the frigate was, as respects associates, in a condition, nearly
assimilated to that of this veteran tar.
An earnest desire to
ameliorate the situation of those who were doomed to meet death on the great
deep, had induced an inexperienced and simple-hearted divine to accept this
station, in the fond hope, that he might be made the favoured instrument of
salvation to many, who were then existing in a state of the most abandoned
self-forgetfulness. Neither our limits, nor our present object, will permit the
relation of the many causes that led, not only to an entire frustration of all
his visionary expectations, but to an issue which rendered the struggle of the
good divine with himself both arduous and ominous, in order to maintain his own
claims to the merited distinctions of his sacred office. The consciousness of
his backsliding had so far lessened the earthly, if not the spiritual pride of
the chaplain, as to induce him to relish the society of the rude master, whose
years had brought him at times, to take certain views of futurity, that were
singularly affected by the peculiar character of the individual. It might have
been that both found themselves out of their places--but it was owing to some
such secret sympathy, let its origin be what it would, that the two came to be
fond of each other’s company. On the night in question, Mr. Boltrope had
invited the chaplain to accompany him in the Alacrity; adding, in his broad,
rough language, that as there was to be fighting on shore, “his hand might come
in play with some poor fellow or other.” This singular invitation had been accepted,
as well from a desire to relieve the monotony of a sea life, by any change, as
perhaps with a secret yearning in the breast of the troubled divine, to get as
nigh to terra firma as possible. Accordingly, after the Pilot had landed with
his boisterous party, the sailing-master and the chaplain, together with a
boatswain’s-mate and some ten or twelve seamen, were left in quiet possession
of the cutter. The first few hours of this peaceable intercourse, had been
spent by the worthy messmates, in the little cabin of the vessel, over a can of
grog, the savoury relish of which was much increased by a characteristic
disquisition on polemical subjects, which our readers have great reason to
regret it is not our present humour to record. When, however, the winds invited
the nearer approach to the hostile shores already mentioned, the prudent
sailing-master adjourned the discussion to another and more suitable time,
removing himself and the can, by the same operation, to the quarter-deck.
“There,” cried the honest
tar, placing the wooden vessel, with great self-contentment, by his side on the
deck, “this is ship’s comfort! There is a good deal of what I call a lubber’s
fuss, parson, kept up on board a ship that shall be nameless, but which bears,
about three leagues distant, broad off in the oceam, and which is lying-to
under a close-reefed maintopsail, a foretopmast-staysail and foresail-- I call
my hand a true one in mixing a can--take another pull at the halyards! ’twill
make your eye twinkle like a light-house, this dark morning! You wont? well we
must give no offence to the Englishman’s rum.”--After a potent draught had
succeeded this considerate declaration, he added --“You are a little like our
first lieutenant, parson, who drinks, as I call it, nothing but the
elements--which is, water stiffened with air!”
“Mr. Griffith may
indeed be said to set a wholesome example to the crew,” returned the chaplain,
perhaps with a slight consciousness that it had not altogether possessed its
due weight with himself.
“Wholesome!” cried
Boltrope; “let me tell you, my worthy leaf-turner, that if you call such a
light diet wholesome, you know but little of salt water and sea-fogs! However,
Mr. Griffith is a seaman; and if he gave his mind less to trifles and
gimcracks, he would be, by the time he got to about our years, a very rational
sort of a companion.--But you see, parson, just now, he thinks too much of
small follies; such as man-of-war disciplyne.--Now there is rationality in
giving a fresh nip to a rope, or in looking well at your mats, or even in
crowning a cable; but damme, priest, if I see the use--luff, luff, ye lubber;
don’t ye see, sir, you are steering for Garmany!--if I see the use, as I was
saying, of making a rumpus about the time when a man changes his shirt; whether
it be this week, or next week, or for that matter, the week after, provided it
be bad weather. I sometimes am mawkish about attending muster, (and I believe I
have as little to fear on the score of behaviour as any man,) lest it should be
found I carried my tobacco in the wrong cheek!
“I have indeed thought
it somewhat troublesome to myself, at times; and it is in a striking degree
vexatious to the spirit, especially when the body has been suffering under
sea-sickness.”
“Why, yes, you were a
little apt to bend your duds wrong for the first month, or so,” said the
master; “I remember you got the marine’s scraper on your head, once, in your
hurry to bury a dead man! Then you never looked as if you belonged to the ship,
so long as those cursed black knee-breeches lasted! For my part, I never saw
you come up the quarter-deck ladder, but I expected to see your shins give way
across the combing of the hatch--a man does look like the devil, priest,
scudding about a ship’s decks in that fashion, under bare poles! But now the
tailor has found out the articles ar’n’t sea-worthy, and we have got your lower
stanchions cased in a pair of purser’s slops, I am puzzled often to tell your
heels from those of a main-top-man!”
“I have good reason to
be thankful for the change,” said the humbled priest, “if the resemblance you
mention existed, while I was clad in the usual garb of one of my calling.”
“What signifies a
calling?” returned Boltrope, catching his breath after a most persevering
draught; “a man’s shins are his shins, let his upper works belong to what
sarvice they may. I took an early prejudyce against knee-breeches, perhaps from
a trick I’ve always had of figuring the Devil as wearing them. You know,
parson, we seldom hear much said of a man, without forming some sort of an idea
concerning his rigging and fashion-pieces--and so as I had no particular reason
to believe that Satan went naked--keep full ye lubber; now you are running into
the wind’s eye, and be d--d to ye!--but as I was saying, I always took a
conceit that the devil wore knee-breeches and a cock’d hat. There’s some of our
young lieutenants, who come to muster on Sundays in cock’d hats, just like
soldier-officers; but, d’ye see, I would sooner show my nose under a night cap,
than under a scraper!”
“I hear the sound of
oars!” exclaimed the chaplain, who finding this image more distinct than even
his own vivid conceptions of the great Father of evil, was quite willing to
conceal his inferiority by changing the discourse--“Is not one of our boats
returning?”
“Ay, ay, ’tis likely;
if it had been me, I should have been land-sick before this--wear round, boys,
and stand by to heave-to on the other tack.”
The cutter, obedient to
her helm, fell off before the wind, and rolling an instant in the trough of the
sea, came up again easily to her oblique position, with her head towards the
cliffs, and gradually losing her way, as her sails were brought to counteract
each other, finally became stationary. During the performance of this
evolution, a boat had hove up out of the gloom, in the direction of the land,
and by the time the Alacrity was in a state of rest, it had approached so nigh
as to admit of hailing.
“Boat ahoy!” murmured
Boltrope, through a trumpet, which, aided by his lungs, produced sounds not
unlike the roaring of a bull.
“Ay, ay,” was thrown
back from a clear voice, that swept across the water with a fulness that needed
no factitious aid to render it audible.
“Ay, there comes one of
the lieutenants, with his ay, ay,” said Boltrope--“pipe the side, there, you
boatswain’s-mate! But here’s another fellow more on our quarter! boat a-hoy!”
“Alacrity”--returned
another voice, in a direction different from the other.
“Alacrity! There goes
my commission of Captain of this craft, in a whiff,” returned the
sailing-master.--“That is as much as to say, here comes one, who will command
when he gets on board. Well, well, it is Mr. Griffith, and I can’t say,
notwithstanding his love of knee-buckles, and small wares, but I’m glad he is
out of the hands of the English! Ay, here they all come upon us at once! here
is another fellow, that pulls like the jolly-boat, coming up on our lee-beam,
within hail-- let us see if he is asleep--boat a-hoy!
“Flag,” answered a
third voice from a small, light-rowing boat which had approached very near the
cutter, in a direct line from the cliffs, without being observed.”
“Flag!” echoed
Boltrope, dropping his trumpet in amazement--“that’s a big word to come out of
a jolly-boat! Jack Manly himself could not have spoke it with a fuller
mouth--but I’ll know who it is that carries such a weather helm, with a Yankee
man-of-war’s prize! Boat a-hoy! I say.”
This last call was
uttered in those short menacing tones, that are intended to be understood as
intimating that the party hailing is in earnest; and it caused the men who were
rowing, and who were now quite close to the cutter, to suspend their strokes,
simultaneously, as if they dreaded that the cry would be instantly succeeded by
some more efficient means of ascertaining their character. The figure that was
seated by itself in the stern of the boat, started at this second summons, and
then, as if with sudden recollection, a quiet voice replied--
“No--no.”
“‘No--no,’ and ‘flag,’
are very different answers,” grumbled Boltrope; “what know-nothing have we
here!”
He was yet muttering
his dissatisfaction at the ignorance of the individual that was approaching,
whoever it might be, when the jolly-boat came slowly to their side, and the
Pilot stepped from her stern-sheets on the decks of the prize.
“Is it you, Mr. Pilot?”
exclaimed the sailing-master, raising a battle lantern within a foot of the
other’s face, and looking with a sort of stupid wonder at the proud and angry
eye he encountered-- “is it you! well, I should have rated you for a man of
more experience than to come booming down upon a man-of-war in the dark, with
such a big word in your mouth, when every boy in the two vessels knows that we
carry no swallow-tailed bunting abroad! Flag! why you might have got a shot,
had there been soldiers.”
The Pilot threw him a
still fiercer glance, and turning away with a look of disgust, he walked along
the quarter-deck towards the stern of the vessel, with an air of haughty
silence, as if disdaining to answer. Boltrope kept his eyes fastened on him for
a moment longer, with some appearance of scorn, but the arrival of the boat
first hailed, which proved to be the barge, immediately drew his attention to
other matters. Barnstable had been rowing about in the ocean for a long time,
unable to find the cutter, and as he had been compelled to suit his own
demeanour to those with whom he was associated, he reached the Alacrity in no
very good-humoured mood. Col. Howard and his niece had maintained, during the
whole period, the most rigid silence, the former from pride, and the latter
touched with her uncle’s evident displeasure; and Katherine, though secretly
elated with the success of all her projects, was content to emulate their
demeanour for a short time, in order to save appearances. Barnstable had
several times addressed himself to the latter, without receiving any other
answer than such as was absolutely necessary to prevent the lover from taking
direct offence, at the same time that she intimated by her manner her
willingness to remain silent. Accordingly, the lieutenant, after aiding the
ladies to enter the cutter, and offering to perform the same service to Col.
Howard, which was coldly declined, turned, with that sort of irritation that is
by no means less rare in vessels of war than with poor human nature generally,
and gave vent to his spleen where he dared.
“How’s this! Mr.
Boltrope!” he cried, “here are boats coming alongside with ladies in them, and
you keep your gaft swayed up till the leach of the sail is stretched like a
fiddle-string--settle away your peak-halyards, sir, settle away!”
“Ay, ay, sir,” grumbled
the master; “settle away that peak there; though the craft wouldn’t forge ahead
a knot in a month, with all her gibs hauled over!” He walked sulkily forward
among the men, followed by the meek divine; and added, “I should as soon have
expected to see Mr. Barnstable come off with a live ox in his boat as a
petticoat! The Lord only knows what the ship is coming to next, parson! what
between cocked hats and epaulettes, and other knee-buckle matters, she was a
sort of no-mans-land before, and now, what with the women, and their ban-boxes,
they’ll make another Noah’s Ark of her. I wonder they didn’t all come aboard in
a coach and six, or a one horse shay!”
It was a surprising
relief to Barnstable to be able to give utterance to his humour, for a few
moments, by ordering the men to make sundry alterations in every department of
the vessel, in a quick, hurried voice, that abundantly denoted, not only the
importance of his improvements, but the temper in which they were dictated. In
his turn, however, he was soon compelled to give way by the arrival of
Griffith, in the heavily rowing launch of the frigate, which was crowded with a
larger body of the seamen who had been employed in the expedition. In this
manner, boat after boat speedily arrived, and the whole party were once more
happily embarked in safety, under their national flag.
The small cabin of the
Alacrity was relinquished to Col. Howard and his wards, with their attendants.
The boats were dropped astern, each protected by its own keeper; and Griffith
gave forth the mandate, to fill the sails and steer broad off into the ocean.
For more than an hour the cutter held her course in this direction, gliding
gracefully through the glittering waters, rising and settling heavily on the
long, smooth billows, as if conscious of the unusual burden that she was doomed
to carry; but at the end of that period, her head was once more brought near
the wind, and she was again held at rest; awaiting the appearance of the dawn,
in order to discover the position of the prouder vessel, on which she was
performing the humble duty of a tender. More than a hundred and fifty living
men were crowded within her narrow limits; and her decks presented, in the
gloom, as she moved along, the picture of a mass of human heads.
As the freedom of a
successful expedition was unavoidably permitted, loud jokes, and louder
merriment, broke on the silent waters, from the reckless seamen, while the
exhilarating can passed from hand to hand, strange oaths, and dreadful
denunciations breaking forth, at times, from some of the excited crew against
their enemy. At length the bustle of re-embarking gradually subsied, and many
of the crew descended to the hold of the cutter, in quest of room to stretch
their limbs, when a clear, manly voice, was heard rising above the deep in
those strains that a seaman most loves to hear. Air succeeded air, from
different voices, until even the spirit of harmony grew dull with fatigue, and
verses began to be heard where songs were expected, and fleeting lines
succeeded stanzas. The decks were soon covered with prostrate men, seeking
their natural rest, under the open heavens, and perhaps dreaming, as they
yielded heavily to the rolling of the vessel, of the scenes of other times in
their own hemisphere. The dark glances of Katherine were concealed beneath her
falling lids; and even Cecilia, with her head bowed on the shoulder of her
cousin, slept sweetly in innocence and peace. Boltrope groped his way into the
hold among the seamen, where, kicking one of the most fortunate of the men from
his birth, he established himself in his place, with all that cool indifference
to the other’s comfort, that had grown with his experience, from the time when
he was treated thus cavalierly in his own person, to the present moment. In
this manner, head was dropped after head, on the planks, the guns, or on
whatever first offered for a pillow, until Griffith and Barnstable, alone, were
left pacing the different sides of the quarter-deck, in haughty silence.
Never did a morning
watch appear so long to the two young sailors, who were thus deprived, by
resentment and pride, of that frank and friendly communion, that had for so
many years sweetened the tedious hours of their long, and at times, dreary
service. To increase the embarrassment of their situation, Cecilia and
Katherine, suffering from the confinement of the small and crowded cabin,
sought the purer air of the deck, about the time when the deepest sleep had
settled on the senses of the wearied mariners. They stood, leaning against the
taffrail, discoursing with each other, in low and broken sentences; but a sort
of instinctive knowledge of the embarrassment which existed between their
lovers, caused a guarded control over every look or gesture which might be
construed into an encouragement for one of the young men to advance at the
expense of the other. Twenty times, however, did the impatient Barnstable feel
tempted to throw off the awkward restraint, and approach his mistress; but in
each instance was he checked by the secret consciousness of error, as well as
by that habitual respect for superior rank that forms a part of the nature of a
sea-officer. On the other hand, Griffith manifested no intention to profit by
this silent concession in his favour, but continued to pace the short
quarter-deck with strides more hurried than ever; and was seen to throw many an
impatient glance towards that quarter of the heavens, where the first signs of
the lingering day might be expected to appear. At length Katherine, with a
ready ingenuity, and perhaps with some secret coquetry, removed the
embarrassment, by speaking first, taking care to address the lover of her
cousin--
“How long are we
condemned to these limited lodgings, Mr. Griffith?” she asked; “truly, there is
a freedom in your nautical customs, which, to say the least, is novel to us
females, who have been accustomed to the division of space!”
“The instant that there
is light to discover the frigate, Miss Plowden,” he answered, “you shall be
transferred from a vessel of an hundred, to one of twelve hundred tons. If your
situation there be less comfortable, than when within the walls of St. Ruth,
you will not forget that they who live on the ocean, claim it as a merit to
despise the luxuries of the land.”
“At least, sir,”
returned Katherine, with a sweet grace, which she well knew how to assume on
occasion, “what we shall enjoy will be sweetened by liberty, and embellished by
a sailor’s hospitality. To me, Cicely, the air of this open sea is as fresh and
invigorating, as if it were wafted from our own distant America!”
“If you have not the
arm of a patriot, you at least possess a most loyal imagination, Miss Plowden,”
said Griffith, laughing; “this soft breeze blows in the direction of the fens
of Holland, instead of the broad plains of America.-- Thank God, there come the
signs of day, at last! unless the currents have swept the ship far to the
north, we shall surely see her with the light.”
This cheering
intelligence drew the eyes of the fair cousins towards the east, where their
delighted looks were long fastened, while they watched the glories of the sun
rising over the water. As the morning had advanced, a deeper gloom was spread
across the ocean, and the stars were gleaming in the heavens, like balls of
twinkling fire. But now, a streak of pale light showed itself along the
horizon, growing brighter, and widening at each moment, until long, fleecy
clouds became visible, where nothing had been seen before but the dim base of
the arch that overhung the dark waters. This expanding light, which, in
appearance, might be compared to a silvery opening in the heavens, was soon
tinged with a pale flush, which quickened with sudden transitions into glows
yet deeper, until a belt of broad flame bounded the water, diffusing itself
more faintly towards the zenith, where it melted into the pearl-coloured sky,
or played on the fantastic volumes of a few light clouds with inconstant glimmering.
While these beautiful transitions were still before the eyes of the youthful
admirers of their beauties, a voice was heard above them, crying as if from the
heavens--
“Sail--ho! The frigate
lies broad off to seaward, sir!”
“Ay, ay; you have been
watching with one eye asleep, fellow,” returned Griffith, “or we should have
heard you before! Look a little north of the place where the glare of the sun
is coming, Miss Plowden, and you will be able to see our gallant vessel.”
An involuntary cry of
pleasure burst from the lips of Katherine, as she followed his directions, and
first beheld the frigate through the medium of the fluctuating colours of the
morning. The undulating outline of the lazy ocean, which rose and fell heavily
against the bright boundary of the heavens, was without any relief to distract
the eye, as it fed eagerly on the beauties of the solitary ship. She was riding
sluggishly on the long seas, with only two of her lower and smaller sails
spread, to hold her in command; but her tall masts and heavy yards were painted
against the fiery sky, in strong lines of deep black, while even the smallest
cord in the mazes of her rigging, might be distinctly traced, stretching from
spar to spar, with the beautiful accuracy of a picture. At moments, when her
huge hull rose on a billow, and was lifted against the back ground of sky, its
shape and dimensions were brought into view, but these transient glimpses were
soon lost, as it settled into the trough, leaving the waving spars bowing
gracefully towards the waters, as if about to follow the vessel into the bosom
of the deep. As a clearer light gradually stole on the senses, the delusion of
colours and distance vanished together, and when a flood of day preceded the
immediate appearance of the sun, the ship became plainly visible, within a mile
of the cutter, her black hull checkered with ports, and her high tapering masts
exhibiting their proper proportions and hues.
At the first cry of “a
sail,” the crew of the Alacrity had been aroused from their slumbers, by the
shrill whistle of the boatswain, and long before the admiring looks of the two
cousins had ceased to dwell on the fascinating sight of morning chasing night
from the hemisphere, the cutter was again in motion to join her consort. It
seemed but a moment before their little vessel was in what the timid females
thought, a dangerous proximity to the frigate, under whose lee she slowly
passed, in order to admit of the following dialogue between Griffith and his
aged commander:
“I rejoice to see you,
Mr. Griffith!” cried the captain, who stood in the channel of his ship, waving
his hat, in the way of cordial greeting. “You are welcome back, Capt. Manual;
welcome, welcome, all of you, my boys! as welcome as a breeze in the calm
latitudes.” As his eye, however, passed along the deck of the Alacrity, it
encountered the shrinking figures of Cecilia and Katherine, and a dark shade of
displeasure crossed his decent features, while he added--“How’s this,
gentlemen! The frigate of Congress is neither a ball-room, nor a church, that
it is to be thronged with women!”
“Ay, ay,” muttered
Boltrope to his friend the chaplain, “now the old man has hauled out his
mizzen, you’ll see him carry a weather helm! He wakes up about as often as the
trades shift their points, and that’s once in six months. But when there has
been a neap-tide in his temper for any time, you’re sure to find it followed by
a flood with a vengeance. Let us hear what the first lieutenant can say in
favour of his petticoat quality!”
The blushing sky had
not exhibited a more fiery glow, than gleamed in the fine face of Griffith for
a moment; but struggling with his disgust, he answered with bitter emphasis--
“’Twas the pleasure of
Mr. Gray, sir, to bring off the prisoners.”
“Of Mr. Gray!” repeated
the captain, instantly losing every trace of displeasure, in an air of
acquiescence. “Come-to, sir, on the same tack with the ship, and I will hasten
to order the accommodation ladder rigged, to receive our guests!”
Boltrope listened to
this sudden alteration in the language of his commander, with sufficient
wonder; nor was it until he had shaken his head repeatedly, with the manner of
one who saw deeper than his neighbours into a mystery, that he found leisure to
observe--
“Now, parson, I suppose
if you held an almanack in your fist, you’d think you could tell which way we
shall have the wind to-morrow! but damn me, priest, if better calculators than
you havn’t failed! Because a lubberly--no, he’s a thorough seaman, I’ll say
that for the fellow!--because a pilot chooses to say, ‘bring me off these here
women,’ the ship is to be so cluttered with she-cattle, that a man will be
obligated to spend half his time in making his manners! Now mind what I tell
you, priest, this very frolic will cost Congress the price of a year’s wages
for an able-bodied seaman, in bunting and canvass for screens; besides the wear
and tear of running-gear in shortening sail, in order that the women need not
be ’stericky in squalls!”
The presence of Mr.
Boltrope being required, to take charge of the cutter, the divine was denied an
opportunity of dissenting from the opinions of his rough companion; for the
loveliness of their novel shipmates, had not failed to plead loudly in their
favour, with every man in the cutter whose habits and ideas had not become
rigidly set in obstinacy.
By the time the
Alacrity was hove-to, with her head towards the frigate, the long line of boats
that she had been towing during the latter part of the night, were brought to
her side, and filled with men. A wild scene of unbridled merriment and gayety
succeeded, while the seamen were exchanging the confinement of the prize for
their accustomed lodgings in the ship, during which the reins of discipline
were slightly relaxed. Loud laughter was echoed from boat to boat, as they
glided by each other; and rude jests, interlarded with quaint humours and
strange oaths, were freely bandied from mouth to mouth. The noise, however,
soon ceased, and the passage of Col. Howard and his wards was then effected,
with less precipitancy, and due decorum. Capt. Munson, who had been holding a
secret dialogue with Griffith and the Pilot, received his unexpected guests
with plain hospitality, but with an evident desire to be civil. He politely
yielded to their service his two convenient state-rooms, and invited them to
partake, in common with himself, of the comforts of the great cabin.
“Furious press the
hostile squadron,
Furious he repels their
rage,
Loss of blood at length
enfeebles;
Who can war with
thousands wage?”
Spanish War Song We cannot detain the
narrative, to detail the scenes which busy wonder, aided by the relation of
divers marvellous feats, produced among the curious seamen who remained in the
ship, and their more fortunate fellows, who had returned in glory from an
expedition to the land. For nearly an hour the turbulence of a general movement
was heard, issuing from the deep recesses of the frigate, and the boisterous
sounds of hoarse merriment were listened to by the officers in indulgent
silence; but all these symptoms of unbridled humour ceased by the time the
morning repast was ended, when the regular sea-watch was set, and the greater
portion of those whose duty did not require their presence on the vessel’s
deck, availed themselves of the opportunity to repair the loss of sleep
sustained in the preceding night. Still no preparations were made to put the
ship in motion, though long and earnest consultations, which were supposed to
relate to their future destiny, were observed by the younger officers, to be
held between their captain, the first lieutenant, and the mysterious Pilot. The
latter threw many an anxious glance along the eastern horizon, searching it
minutely with his glass, and then would turn his impatient looks at the low,
dense bank of fog, which, stretching across the ocean like a barrier of cloud,
entirely intercepted the view towards the south. To the north and along the
land, the air was clear, and the sea without spot of any kind; but in the east
a small white sail had been discovered since the opening of day, which was
gradually rising above the water, and assuming the appearance of a vessel of
some size. Every officer on the quarter-deck in his turn, had examined this
distant sail, and had ventured an opinion on its destination and character; and
even Katherine, who with her cousin was enjoying, in the open air, the novel
beauties of the ocean, had been tempted to place her sparkling eye to a glass,
to gaze at the stranger.
“It is a collier,”
Griffith said, “who has hauled from the land in the late gale, and who is
luffing up to his course again. If the wind holds here in the south, and he
does not get into that fog bank, we can stand off for him and get a supply of
fuel before eight bells are struck.”
“I think his head is to
the northward, and that he is steering off the wind,” returned the Pilot, in a
musing manner. “If that Dillon succeeded in getting his express far enough
along the coast, the alarm has been spread, and we must be wary. The convoy of
the Baltic trade is in the North Sea, and news of our presence could easily
have been taken off to it by some of the cutters that line the coast--I could
wish to get the ship as far south as the Helder!”
“Then we lose this
weather tide!” exclaimed the impatient Griffith; “surely we have the cutter as
a look-out! besides, by beating into the fog, we shall lose the enemy, if enemy
it be, and it is thought meet for an American frigate to skulk from her foes!”
The scornful expression
that kindled the eye of the Pilot, like a gleam of sunshine lighting for an
instant some dark dell and laying bare its secrets, was soon lost in the
usually quiet look of his glance, though he hesitated like one who was
struggling with his passions, before he answered--
“If prudence and the
service of the States require it, even this proud frigate must retreat and hide
from the meanest of her enemies. My advice, Capt. Munson, is, that you make
sail, and beat the ship to windward, as Mr. Griffith has suggested, and that
you order the cutter to precede us, keeping more in with the land.”
The aged seaman, who
evidently suspended his orders, only to receive an intimation of the other’s
pleasure, immediately commanded his youthful assistant to issue the necessary
mandates to put these measures in force. Accordingly, the Alacrity, which
vessel had been left under the command of the junior lientenant of the frigate,
was quickly under way; and making short stretches to windward, she soon entered
the bank of fog, and was lost to the eye. In the mean time the canvass of the
ship was loosened, and spread leisurely, in order not to disturb the portion of
the crew who were sleeping, and following her little consort, she moved heavily
through the water, bearing up against the dull breeze.
The quiet of regular
duty had succeeded to the bustle of making sail, and as the rays of the sun
fell less obliquely on the distant land, Katherine and Cecilia were amusing
Griffith by vain attempts to point out the rounded eminences which they fancied
lay in the vicinity of the deserted mansion of St. Ruth. Barnstable, who had
resumed his former station in the frigate, as her second lieutenant, was pacing
the opposite side of the quarterdeck, holding under his arm the speaking
trumpet, which denoted that he held the temporary control of the motions of the
ship, and inwardly cursing the restraint that kept him from the side of his
mistress. At this moment of universal quiet, when nothing above low dialogues
interrupted the dashing of the waves as they were thrown lazily aside by the
bows of the vessel, the report of a light cannon burst out of the barrier of
fog, and rolled by them on the breeze, apparently vibrating with the rising and
sinking of the waters.
“There goes the cutter!”
exclaimed Griffith, the instant the sound was heard.
“Surely,” said the
captain, “Somers is not so indiscreet as to scale his guns, after the caution
he has received!”
“No idle scaling of
guns is intended there,” said the Pilot, straining his eyes to pierce the fog,
but soon turning away in disappointment at his inability to succeed--“that gun
is shotted, and has been fired in the hurry of a sudden signal! --can your
look-outs see nothing, Mr. Barnstable?”
The lieutenant of the
watch hailed the man aloft, and demanded if any thing were visible in the
direction of the wind, and received for answer, that the fog intercepted the
view in that quarter of the heavens, but that the sail in the east was a ship,
running large or before the wind. The Pilot shook his head doubtingly at this information,
but still he manifested a strong reluctance to relinquish the attempt of
getting more to the southward. Again he communed with the commander of the
frigate, apart from all other ears, and while they yet deliberated, a second
report was heard, leaving no doubt but the Alacrity was firing signal guns for
their particular attention.
“Perhaps,” said
Griffith, “he wishes to point out his position, or to ascertain ours; believing
that we are lost like himself in the mist.”
“We have our compasses!”
returned the doubting captain; “Somers has a meaning in what he says!”
“See!” cried Katherine,
with girlish delight, “see, my cousin! see Barnstable! how beautifully that
vapour is wreathing itself in clouds above the smoky line of fog! It stretches
already into the very heavens like a lofty pyramid!”
Barnstable sprang
lightly on a gun, as he repeated her words--
“Pyramids of fog! and
wreathing clouds! By heaven!” he shouted, “’tis a tall ship! Royals, skysails,
and studding-sails all abroad! She is within a mile of us, and comes down like
a race horse, with a spanking breeze, dead before it! Now know we why Somers is
speaking in the mist!”
“Ay,” cried Griffith, “and
there goes the Alacrity, just breaking out of the fog, hovering in for the
land!”
“There is a mighty hull
under all that cloud of canvass, Capt. Munson,” said the observant but calm
Pilot--“it is time, gentlemen, to edge away to leeward.”
“What, before we know
from whom we run!” cried Griffith; “my life on it, there is no single ship king
George owns, but would tire of the sport before she had played a full game of
bowls with”--
The haughty air of the
young man was daunted by the severe look he encountered in the eye of the
Pilot, and he suddenly ceased, though inwardly chafing with impatient pride.
“The same eye that
detected the canvass above the fog, might have seen the flag of a vice-admiral
fluttering still nearer the heavens,” returned the collected stranger; “and
England, faulty as she may be, is yet too generous to place a flag-officer in
time of war, in command of a frigate, or a captain in command of a fleet. She
knows the value of those who shed their blood in her behalf, and it is thus
that she is so well served! Believe me, Capt. Munson, there is nothing short of
a ship of the line under that symbol of rank, and that broad show of canvass!”
“We shall see, sir, we
shall see,” returned the old officer, whose manner grew decided, as the danger
appeared to thicken; “beat to quarters, Mr. Griffith, for we have none but
enemies to expect on this coast.”
The order was instantly
issued, when Griffith remarked, with a more temperate zeal--
“If Mr. Gray be right,
we shall have reason to thank God that we are so light of heel!”
The cry of “a strange
vessel close aboard the frigate,” having already flown down the hatches, the
ship was in an uproar at the first tap of the drum. The seamen threw themselves
from their hammocks and lashing them rapidly into long, hard bundles, they
rushed to the decks, where they were dexterously stowed in the netting, to aid
the defences of the upper part of the vessel. While this tumultuous scene was
exhibiting, Griffith gave a secret order to Merry, who disappeared, leading his
trembling cousins to a place of safety in the inmost depths of the ship.
The guns were cleared
of their lumber, and loosened. The bulk-heads were knocked down, and the cabin
relieved of its furniture, and the gun deck exhibited one unbroken line of
formidable cannon, arranged in all the order of a naval battery ready to
engage. Arm chests were thrown open, and the decks strewed with pikes,
cutlasses, pistols, and all the various weapons for boarding. In short, the
yards were slung, and every other arrangement was made with a readiness and
dexterity that were actually wonderful, though all was performed amid an
appearance of disorder and confusion that rendered the ship another Babel
during the continuance of the preparations. In a very few minutes every thing
was completed, and even the voices of the men ceased to be heard answering to
their names, as they were mustered at their stations, by their respective
officers. Gradually the ship became as quiet as the grave, and when even
Griffith or his commander found it necessary to speak, their voices were
calmer, and their tones more mild than usual. The course of the vessel was
changed to an oblique line from that in which their enemy was approaching,
though the appearance of flight was to be studiously avoided to the last
moment. When nothing further remained to be done, every eye became fixed on the
enormous pile of swelling canvass that was rising, in cloud over cloud, far
above the fog, and which was manifestly moving, like driving vapour, swiftly to
the north. Presently the dull, smoky boundary of the mist which rested on the
water, was pushed aside in vast volumes, and the longtaper spars that projected
from the bowsprit of the strange ship, issued from the obscurity, and were
quickly followed by the whole of the enormous fabric, to which they were merely
light appendages. For a moment, streaks of reluctant vapour clung to the huge,
floating pile, but they were soon shaken off by the rapid vessel, and the whole
of her black hull became distinct to the eye.
“One, two, three rows
of teeth!” said Boltrope, deliberately counting the tiers of guns that bristled
along the sides of the enemy; “a three decker! Jack Manly would show his stern
to such a fellow! and even the bloody Scotchman would run!”
“Hard up with your
helm, quarter-master!” cried Capt. Munson; “there is indeed no time to hesitate,
with such an enemy within a quarter of a mile! Turn the hands up Mr. Griffith,
and pack on the ship from her trucks to her lower studdingsail booms. Be
stirring, sir, be stirring! Hard up with your helm! Hard up, and be damn’d to
you!”
The unusual earnestness
of their aged commander acted on the startled crew like a voice from the deep,
and they waited not for the usual signals of the boatswain and drummer to be
given, before they broke away from their guns, and rushed tumultuously to aid
in spreading the desired canvass. There was one minute of ominous confusion,
that, to an inexperienced eye would have foreboded the destruction of all order
in the vessel, during which every hand, and each tongue, seemed in motion; but
it ended with opening the immense folds of light duck which were displayed
along the whole line of the masts, far beyound the ordinary sails,
overshadowing the waters for a great distance, on either side of the vessel.
During the moment of inaction that succeeded this sudden exertion, the breeze
which had brought up the three decker, fell fresher on the sails of the
frigate, and she started away from her dangerous enemy with a very perceptible
advantage in point of sailing.
“The fog rises! cried
Griffith; “give us but the wind for an hour, and we shall run her out of
gun-shot!”
“These ninety’s are
very fast off the wind;” returned the captain, in a low tone, that was intended
only for the ear of his first lieutenant and the Pilot, “and we shall have a
struggle for it.”
The quick eye of the
stranger was glancing over the movements of his enemy, while he answered--
“He finds we have the
heels of him already! he is making ready, and we shall be fortunate to escape a
broadside! Let her yaw a little, Mr. Griffith; touch her lightly with the helm;
if we are raked, sir, we are lost!”
The captain sprang on
the taffrail of his ship, with the activity of a younger man, and in an instant
he perceived the truth of the other’s conjecture.
Both vessels now ran
for a few minutes, keenly watching each other’s motions like two skilful
combatants; the English ship making slight deviations from the line of her
course, and then, as her movements were anticipated by the other, turning as
cautiously in the opposite direction, until a sudden and wide sweep of her huge
bows, told the Americans plainly on which tack to expect her. Capt. Munson made
a silent, but impressive gesture with his arm, as if the crisis were too
important for speech, which indicated to the watchful Griffith, the way he
wished the frigate sheered, to avoid the weight of the impending danger. Both
vessels whirled swiftly up to the wind, with their heads towards the land, and
as the huge black side of the three-decker, checkered with its triple
batteries, frowned full upon her foe, it belched forth a flood of fire and
smoke, accompanied by a bellowing roar that mocked the surly moanings of the
sleeping ocean. The nerves of the bravest man in the frigate contracted their
fibres, as the hurricane of iron hurtled by them, and each eye appeared to gaze
in stupid wonder, as if tracing the flight of the swift engines of destruction.
But the voice of Capt. Munson was heard in the din, shouting, while he waved
his hat earnestly in the required direction--
“Meet her! meet her
with the helm, boy! meet her, Mr. Griffith, meet her!”
Griffith had so far
anticipated this movement, as to have, already, ordered the head of the frigate
turned in its former course, when struck by the unearthly cry of the last tones
uttered by his commander, he bent his head, and beheld the venerable seaman
driven through the air, his hat still waving, his gray hair floating in the
wind, and his eye set in the wild look of death.
“Great God!” exclaimed
the young man, rushing to the side of the ship, where he was just in time to
see the lifeless body disappear in the waters that were dyed in its blood; “he
has been struck by a shot! Lower-away the boat, loweraway the jolly-boat, the
barge, the tiger, the--
“’Tis useless,”
interrupted the calm, deep voice of the Pilot; “he has met a warrior’s end, and
he sleeps in a sailor’s grave! The ship is getting before the wind again, and
the enemy is keeping his vessel away.”
The youthful lieutenant
was recalled by these words to his duty, and reluctantly turned his eyes away
from the bloody spot on the dark waters, which the busy frigate had already
passed, to resume the command of the vessel with a forced composure.
“He has cut some of our
running gear,” said the master, whose eye had never ceased to dwell on the
spars and rigging of the ship, “and there’s a splinter out of the
main-top-mast, that is big enough for a fid! He’s let day-light through some of
our canvass too, but taking it by-and-large, the squall has gone over and
little harm done.--Didn’t I hear something said of Capt. Munson getting jamm’d
by a shot?”
“He is killed!”--said
Griffith, speaking in a voice that was yet husky with horror--“he is dead, sir,
and carried overboard; there is more need that we forget not ourselves, in this
crisis.”
“Dead!” said Boltrope,
suspending the operation of his active jaws for a moment, in surprise; “and
buried in a wet jacket! well, it is lucky ’tis no worse, for, damme if I did
not think every stick in the ship would have been cut out of her!”
With this consolatory
remark on his lips, the master walked slowly forward, continuing his orders to
repair the damages with a singleness of durpose that rendered him, however
uncouth as a friend, an invaluable man in his station.
Griffith had not yet
brought his mind to the calmness that was so essential to discharge the duties
which had thus suddenly and awfully devolved on him, when his elbow was lightly
touched by the Pilot, who had drawn closer to his side--
“The enemy appear
satisfied with the experiment,” said the stranger, “and as we work the quicker
of the two, he loses too much ground to repeat it, if he be a true seaman.”
“And yet, as he finds
we leave him so fast,” returned Griffith, “he must see that all his hopes rest,
in cutting us up aloft. I dread that he will come by the wind again, and lay us
under his broadside; we should need a quarter of an hour to run without his
range, if he were anchored!”
“He plays a surer
game--see you not that the vessel we made in the eastern board, shows the hull
of a frigate? ’Tis past a doubt that they are of one squadron, and that the
expresses have sent them in our wake. The English admiral has spread a broad
clue, Mr. Griffith, and as he gathers in his ships, he sees that his game has
been successful.”
The faculties of
Griffith had been too much occupied with the hurry of the chase to look at the
ocean; but startled at the information of the Pilot, who spoke coolly, though
like a man sensible of the existence of approaching danger, he took the glass
from the other, and with his own eye examined the different vessels in sight.
It is certain that the experienced officer, whose flag was flying above the
light sails of the three-decker, saw the critical situation of his chase, and
reasoned much in the same manner as the Pilot, or the fearful expedient
apprehended by Griffith, would have been adopted. Prudence, however, dictated
that he should prevent his enemy from escaping by pressing so closely on his
rear, as to render it impossible for the American to haul across his bows and
run into the open sea between his own vessel and the nearest frigate of his
squadron. The unpractised reader will be able to comprehend the case better by
accompanying the understanding eye of Griffith as it glanced from point to
point, following the whole horizon. To the west lay the land, along which the
Alacrity was urging her way industriously, with the double purpose of keeping
her consort abeam, and of avoiding a dangerous proximity to their powerful
enemy. To the east, bearing off the starboard bow of the American frigate, was
the vessel first seen, and which now began to exhibit the hostile appearance of
a vessel of war, steering in a line converging towards themselves, and rapidly
drawing nigher, while far in the north-east, was a vessel, as yet faintly
discerned, whose evolutions could not be mistaken by one who understood the
movements of nautical warfare.
“We are hemmed in,
effectually,” said Griffith, dropping the glass from his eye; “and I know not
but our wisest course would be to haul in to the land, and cutting every thing
light adrift, endeavour to pass the broadside of the flag-ship?”
“Provided she left a
rag of canvass to do it with!” returned the Pilot. “Sir, ’tis an idle hope! She
would strip your ship, in ten minutes, to her plank shears. Had it not been for
a lucky wave on which so many of her shot struck and glanced upward, we should
have had nothing to boast of left from the fire she has already given; we must
stand on, and drop the three decker as ar as possible.”
“But the frigates!”
said Griffith, “what are we to do with the frigates?”
“Fight them!” returned
the Pilot, in a low, determined voice, “fight them! Young man, I have borne the
stars and stripes aloft in greater straits than this, and even with honour!
Think not that my fortune will desert me now!”
“We shall have an hour
of desperate battle!”
“On that we may
calculate; but I have lived through whole days of bloodshed! you seem not one
to quail at the sight of an enemy.”
“Let me proclaim your
name to the men!” said Griffith; “’twill quicken their blood, and at such a
moment, be a host in itself.”
“They want it not,”
returned the Pilot, checking the hasty zeal of the other with his hand. “I
would be unnoticed, unless I am known as becomes me. I will share your danger,
but would not rob you of a tittle of your glory. Should we come to a grapple,”
he continued, while a smile of conscious pride gleamed across his face, “I will
give forth the word as a war-cry, and, believe me, these English will quail
before it!”
Griffith submitted to
the stranger’s will, and after they had deliberated further on the nature of
their evolutions, he gave his attention again to the management of the vessel.
The first object which met his eye, on turning from the Pilot, was Col. Howard,
pacing the quarter-deck, with a determined brow, and a haughty mien, as if
already in the enjoyment of that triumph which now seemed certain.
“I fear, sir,” said the
young man, approaching him with respect, “that you will soon find the deck
unpleasant and dangerous: your wards are--”
“Mention not the
unworthy term!” interrupted the colonel. “What greater pleasure can there be
than to inhale the odour of loyalty that is wafted from yonder floating tower
of the king!-- And danger! you know but little of old George Howard, young man,
if you think he would for thousands miss seeing that symbol of rebellion
levelled before the flag of his Majesty.”
“If that be your wish,
Col. Howard,” returned Griffith, biting his lip as he looked around at the
wondering seamen who were listeners, “you will wait in vain--but I pledge you
my word, that when that time arrives, you shall be advised, and that your own
hands shall do the ignoble deed.”
“Edward Griffith, why
not this moment? This is your moment of probation--submit to the clemencyof the
crown, and yield your crew to the royal mercy! In such a case I would remember
the child of my brother Harry’s friend; and believe me, my name is known to the
ministry. And you, misguided and ignorant abettors of rebellion! cast aside
your useless weapons, or prepare to meet the vengeance of yonder powerful and
victorious servant of your prince.”
“Fall back! back with
ye, fellows!” cried Griffith, fiercely, to the men who were gathering around
the colonel, with looks of sullen vengeance. “If a man of you dare approach
him, he shall be cast into the sea.”
The sailors retreated
at the order of their commander; but the elated veteran had continued to pace
the deck for many minutes before stronger interests diverted the angry glances
of the seamen to other objects.
Notwithstanding the
ship of the line was slowly sinking beneath the distant waves, and in less than
an hour from the time she had fired the broadside, no more than one of her
three tiers of guns was visible from the deck of the frigate, she yet presented
an irresistible obstacle against retreat to the south. On the other hand the
ship first seen, drew so nigh as to render the glass no longer necessary in
watching her movements. She proved to be a frigate, though one so materially
lighter than the American, as to have rendered her conquest easy, had not her
two consorts continued to press on for the scene of battle with such rapidity.
During the chase the scene had shifted from the point opposite to St. Ruth, to
the verge of those shoals where our tale commenced. As they approached the
latter, the smallest of the English ships drew so nigh as to render the combat
unavoidable. Griffith and his crew had not been idle in the intermediate time,
but all the usual preparations against the casualties of a sea-fight had been
duly made, when the drum once more called the men to their quarters, and the
ship was deliberately stripped of her unnecessary sails, like a prizefighter
about to enter the arena, casting aside the incumbrances of dress; at the
instant she gave this intimation of her intention to abandon flight, and trust
the issue to the combat, the nearest English frigate also took in her light
canvass in token of her acceptance of the challenge.
“He is but a little
fellow,” said Griffith to the Pilot, who hovered at his elbow with a sort of
fatherly interest in the other’s conduct of the battle, “though he carries a
stout heart.”
“We must crush him at a
blow,” returned the stranger; “not a shot must be delivered until our yards are
locking.”
“I see him training his
twelves upon us already; we may soon expect his fire.”
“After standing the
brunt of a Ninety-gun-ship,” observed the collected Pilot, “we shall not shrink
from the broadside of a Two-and-thirty!”
“Stand to your guns,
men!” cried Griffith, through his trumpet--“not a shot is to be fired without
the order.”
This caution, so
necessary to check the ardour of the seamen, was hardly uttered, before their
enemy became wrapped in sheets of fire and volumes of smoke, as gun after gun
hurled its iron missiles at their vessel in quick succession. Ten minutes might
have passed, the two vessels sheering closer to each other every foot they
advanced, during which time the crew of the American were compelled, by their
commander, to suffer the fire of their adversary, without returning a shot.
This short period, which seemed an age to the seamen, was distinguished in
their vessel by deep silence. Even the wounded and dying, who fell in every
part of the ship, stifled their groans, under the influence of the severe discipline,
which gave a character to every man and each movement of the vessel; and those
officers who were required to speak, were heard only in the lowest tones of
resolute preparation. At length the ship slowly entered the skirts of the smoke
that enveloped their enemy, and Griffith heard the man who stood at his side
whisper the word “now.”
“Let them have it!”
cried Griffith, in a voice that was heard in the remotest parts of the ship.
The shout that burst
from the seamen, appeared to lift the decks of the vessel, and the affrighted
frigate trembled like an aspen, with the recoil of her own massive artillery,
that shot forth a single sheet of flame, the sailors having disregarded, in
their impatience, the usual order of firing. The effect of the broadside on the
enemy was still more dreadful, for a death-like silence succeeded to the roar
of the guns, which was only broken by the shrieks and execrations that burst
from her, like the moanings of the dammed. During the few moments in which the
Americans were again loading their cannon, and the English were recovering from
their confusion, the vessel of the former moved slowly past her antagonist, and
was already doubling across her bows, when the latter was suddenly, and,
considering the inequality of their forces, it may be added desperately, headed
into her enemy. The two frigates grappled. The sudden and furious charge made
by the Englishman, as he threw his masses of daring seamen along his bowsprit,
and out of his channels, had nearly taken Griffith by surprise; but Manual, who
had delivered his first fire with the broadside, now did good service, by
ordering his men to beat back the intruders, by a steady and continued
discharge. Even the wary Pilot lost sight of their other foes, in the high
daring of that moment, and smiles of stern pleasure were exchanged between him
and Griffith, as both comprehended at a glance their advantages.
“Lash his bowsprit to
our mizzen-mast,” shouted the lieutenant, “and we will sweep his decks as he
lies!”
Twenty men sprang
eagerly forward to execute the order, among the foremost of whom were Boltrope
and the stranger.
“Ay, now he’s our own!”
cried the busy master, “and we will take an owner’s liberties with him, and
break him up--for by the eternal--”
“Peace, rude man,” said
the Pilot, in a voice of solemn remonstrance; “at the next instant you may face
your God; mock not his awful name!”
The master found time,
before he threw himself from the spar, to the deck of the frigate again, to
cast a look of amazement at his companion, who, with a steady mien, but with an
eye that lighted with a warrior’s ardour, viewed the battle that raged around
him, like one who marked its progress, to control the result.
The sight of the
Englishmen, rushing onward with shouts, and bitter menaces, warmed the blood of
Col. Howard, who pressed to the side of the frigate, and encouraged his
friends, by his gestures and voice, to come on.
“Away with ye, old
croaker!” cried the master, seizing him by the collar; “away with ye to the
hold, or I’ll order you fired from a gun.”
“Down with your arms,
rebelliousdog!” shouted the colonel, carried beyond himself by the ardour of
the fray; “down to the dust, and implore the mercy of your injured prince!”
Invigorated by a
momentary glow, the veteran grappled with his brawny antagonist, but the issue
of the short struggle was yet suspended, when the English, driven back by the
fire of the marines, and the menacing front that Griffith, with his boarders
presented, retreated to the forecastle of their own ship, and attempted to
return the deadly blows they were receiving in their hull from the cannon that
Barnstable directed. A solitary gun was all they could bring to bear on the
Americans, but this, loaded with cannister, was fired so near as to send its
glaring flame into the very faces of their enemies. The yielding colonel, who
was already sinking beneath the arm of his foe, felt the rough grasp loosen
from his throat, and the two combatants sunk powerless on their knees, facing
each other.
“How now, brother!”
exclaimed Boltrope, with a smile of grim fierceness; “some of that grist has
gone to your mill, ha!”
No answer could,
however be given, before the yielding forms of both fell to the deck, where
they lay helpless, amid the din of the battle and the wild confusion of the
eager combatants.
Notwithstanding the
furious struggle they witnessed, the elements did not cease their functions;
and urged by the breeze, and lifted irresistibly on a wave, the American ship
was forced through the water still further across the bows of her enemy. The
idle fastenings of hemp and iron, were snapped asunder, like strings of tow,
and Griffith saw his own ship borne away from the Englishman at the instant
that the bowsprit of the latter was torn from its lashings, and tumbled into
the sea, followed by spar after spar, until nothing of all her proud tackling
was remaining, but the few parted and useless ropes that were left dangling
along the stumps of her lower masts. As his own stately vessel moved from the
confusion she had caused, and left the dense cloud of smoke in which her
helpless antagonist lay, the eye of the young man glanced anxiously towards the
horizon, where he now remembered he had more foes to contend against.
“We have shaken off the
thirty-two most happily!” he said to the Pilot, who followed his motions with
singular interest; “but here is another fellow sheering in for us, who shows as
many ports as ourselves, and who appears inclined for a closer interview;
besides the hull of the Ninety is rising again, and I fear she will be down but
too soon!”
“We must keep the use
of our braces and sails,” returned the Pilot. “and on no account close with the
other frigate--we must play a double game, sir, and fight this new adversary
with our heels as well as with our guns.”
“ ’Tis time then that
we were busy, for he is shortening sail, and as he nears so fast we may expect
to hear from him every minute; what do you propose, sir?
“Let him gather in his
canvass,” returned the Pilot, “and when he thinks himself snug, we can throw
out a hundred men at once upon our yards and spread every thing alow and aloft;
we may then draw ahead of him by surprise; if we can once get him in our wake I
have no fears of dropping them all.”
“A stern chace is a
long chase,” cried Griffith, and the thing may do! Clear up the decks, here,
and carry down the wounded; and as we have our hands full, the poor fellows who
have done with us, must go overboard at once.”
This melancholy duty
was instantly attended to, while the young seaman who commanded the frigate
returned to his duty, with the absorbed air of one who felt all its
responsibility. His occupations, however, did not prevent his hearing the
sounds of Barnstable’s voice, calling eagerly to young Merry. Bending his head
towards the sound, Griffith beheld his friend, looking anxiously up the main
hatch, with a face grimed with smoke, his coat off, and his shirt bespattered
with human blood-- “Tell me, boy,” he said, “is Mr. Griffith untouched? They
say that a shot came in upon the quarter deck that tripped up the heels of half
a dozen.”
Before Merry could
answer, the eyes of Barnstable, which even while he spoke were scanning the
state of the vessel’s rigging, encountered the kind looks of Griffith, and from
that moment perfect harmony was restored between the friends.
“Ah! you are there
Griff. and with a whole skin, I see,” cried Barnstable, smiling with pleasure;”
“they have passed poor Boltrope down into one of his own store-rooms! If that
fellow’s bowsprit had held on ten minutes longer, what a mark I should have
made on his face and eyes!”
“ ’Tis perhaps best as
it is,” returned Griffith; “but what have you done with those whom we are bound
to protect?
Barnstable made a
significant gesture towards the depths of the vessel as he answered--
“On the cables; safe as
wood, iron, and water can keep them--though Katherine has had her head up three
times to--”
A summons from the
Pilot drew Griffith away, and the young officers were compelled to forget their
individual feelings, in the pressing duties of their stations.
The ship which the
American frigate had now to oppose, was a vessel of near her own size and
equipage, and when Griffith looked at her again, he perceived that she had made
her preparations to assert her equality in manful fight.
Her sails had been
gradually reduced to the usual quantity, and, by certain movements on her
decks, the lieutenant and his constant attendant the Pilot, well understood
that she only wanted to lessen her distance a few hundred yards to begin the
action.
“Now spread every
thing,” whispered the stranger.
Griffith applied the
trumpet to his mouth, and shouted in a voice that was carried even to his
enemy--“Let fall--out with your booms--sheet home, and hoist away every thing!”
The inspiriting cry was
answered by a universal bustle; fifty men flew out on the dizzy heights of the
different spars, while broad sheets of canvass rose as suddenly along the
masts, as if some mighty bird were spreading its wings. The Englishman
instantly perceived his mistake, and he answered the artifice by a roar of
artillery. Griffith watched the effects of the broadside with an absorbing
interest, as the shot whistled above his head, but when he perceived his masts
untouched and the few unimportant ropes only that were cut, he replied to the
uproar with a burst of pleasure. A few men were however seen clinging with wild
frenzy to the cordage, dropping from rope to rope like wounded birds fluttering
through a tree, until they fell heavily into the ocean, the sullen ship
sweeping by them, in cold indifference. At the next instant the spars and masts
of their enemy exhibited a display of men similar to their own, when Griffith
again placed the trumpet to his mouth, and called aloud:
“Give it to them; drive
them from their yards, boys; scatter them with your grape--unreeve their
rigging!”
The crew of the
American wanted but little encouragement to enter on this experiment with
hearty good will, and the close of his cheering words were uttered amid the
deafening roar of his own cannon. The Pilot had, however, mistaken the skill
and readiness of their foe, for notwithstanding the disadvantageous
circumstances under which the Englishman increased his sail, the duty was
steadily and dexterously performed.
The two ships were now
running rapidly on parallel lines, hurling at each other their instruments of
destruction, with furious industry, and with severe and certain loss to both,
though with no manifest advantage in favour of either. Both Griffith and the
Pilot witnessed with deep concern this unexpected defeat of their hopes, for
they could not conceal from themselves, that each moment lessened their
velocity through the water, as the shot of their enemy, stripped the canvass from
the yards, or dashed aside the lighter spars in their terrible progress.
“We find our equal
here!” said Griffith to the stranger. “The Ninety is heaving up again, like a
mountain, and if we continue to shorten sail at this rate, she will soon be
upon us!”
“You say true, sir,”
returned the Pilot, musing; “the man shows judgment as well as spirit; but--”
He was interrupted by
Merry, who rushed from the forward part of the vessel, his whole face
betokening the eagerness of his spirit, and the importance of his
intelligence--
“The breakers!” he
cried, when nigh enough to be heard amid the din; “we are running dead on a
ripple, and the sea is white not two hundred yards ahead!”
“The Pilot jumped on a
gun, and bending to catch a glimpse through the smoke, he shouted, in those
clear, piercing tones, that could be even heard among the roaring of the
cannon. “Port, port your helm! we are on the Devil’s Grip! pass up the trumpet,
sir; port your helm, fellow; give it them, boys--give it to the proud English
dogs!” Griffith unhesitatingly relinquished the symbol of his rank, fastening
his own firm look on the calm but quick eye of the Pilot, and gathering
assurance from the high confidence he read in the countenance of the stranger.
The seamen were too busy with their cannon and their rigging to regard the new
danger, and the frigate entered one of the dangerous passes of the shoals, in
the heat of a severely contested battle. The wondering looks of a few of the
older sailors glanced at the sheets of foam that flew by them, in doubt whether
the wild gambols of the waves were occasioned by the shot of the enemy, when
suddenly the noise of cannon was succeeded by the sullen wash of the disturbed
element, and presently the vessel glided out of her smoky shroud, and was
boldly steering in the centre of the narrow passages. For ten breathless
minutes longer the Pilot continued to hold an uninterrupted sway, during which
the vessel ran swiftly by ripples and breakers, by streaks of foam and darker
passages of deep water, when he threw down his trumpet and exclaimed--
“What threatened to be
our destruction has proved our salvation!--keep yonder hill crowned with wood,
one point open from the church tower at its base, and steer east and by north;
you will run through these shoals on that course in an hour, and by so doing,
you will gain five leagues of your enemy, who will have to double their tail.”
The moment he stepped
from the gun, the Pilot lost the air of authority that had so singularly
distinguished his animated form, and even the close interest he had manifested
in the incidents of the day, became lost in the cold, settled reserve he had
affected during his intercourse with his present associates. Every officer in
the ship, after the breathless suspense of uncertainty had passed, rushed to
those places where a view might be taken of their enemies. The Ninety was still
steering boldly onward, and had already approached the Two-and-thirty, which
lay, a helpless wreck, rolling on the unruly seas, that were rudely tossing her
on their wanton billows. The frigate last engaged was running along the edge of
the ripple, with her torn sails flying loosely in the air, her ragged spars
tottering in the breeze, and every thing above her hull exhibiting the
confusion of a sudden and unlooked-for check to her progress. The exulting
taunts and mirthful congratulations of the seamen, as they gazed at the English
ships, were, however, soon forgotten in the attention that was required to
their own vessel. The drums beat the retreat, the guns were lashed, the wounded
again removed, and every individual, able to keep the deck, was required to
lend his assistance in repairing the damages of the frigate and securing her
masts.
The promised hour
carried the ship safely through all the dangers, which were much lessened by
daylight, and by the time the sun had begun to fall over the land, Griffith,
who had not quitted the deck during the day, beheld his vessel once more
cleared of the confusion of the chase and battle, and ready to meet another
foe. At this period he was summoned to the cabin, at the request of the ship’s
chaplain. Delivering the charge of the frigate to Barnstable, who had been his
active assistant, no less in their subsequent labours than in the combat, he
hastily devested himself of the vestiges of the fight, and proceeded to obey
the repeated and earnest call.
Whither, ’midst falling dew, While
glow the heavens with the last steps of day;
Far, through their rosy
depths, dost thou pursue
Thy solitary way?
Bryant When the young seaman,
who now commanded the frigate, descended from the quarter-deck in compliance
with the often repeated summons, he found the vessel restored to the same neatness
as if nothing had occurred to disturb its order. The gun-deck had been cleansed
of its horrid stains, and the smoke of the fight had long since ascended
through the hatches, and mingled with the clouds that flitted above the ship.
As he walked along the silent batteries, even the urgency of his visit could
not prevent him from glancing his eyes towards the splintered sides, those
terrible vestiges, by which the paths of the shot of their enemy might be
traeed; and by the time he tapped lightly at the door of the cabin, his quick
look had embraced every material injury the vessel had sustained in her
principal points of defence. The door was opened by the surgeon of the frigate,
who, as he stepped aside to permit Griffith to enter, shook his head with that
air of meaning, which, in one of his profession, is understood to imply the
abandonment of all hopes, and then immediately quitted the apartment, in order
to attend to those who might profit by his services.
The reader is not to
imagine that Griffith had lost sight of Cecilia and her cousin during the
occurrences of that eventful day; on the contrary, his troubled fancy had
presented her terror and distress, even in the hottest moments of the fight,
and the instant that the crew were called from their guns, he had issued an
order to replace the bulk-heads of the cabin, and to arrange its furniture for
their accommodation, though the higher and imperious duties of his station had
precluded his attending to their comfort in person. He expected, therefore, to
find the order of the rooms restored, but he was by no means prepared to
encounter the scene he was now to witness.
Between two of the
sullen cannon, which gave such an air of singular wildness to the real comfort
of the cabin, was placed a large couch, on which the Colonel was lying,
evidently near his end. Cecilia was weeping by his side, her dark ringlets
falling in unheeded confusion around her pale features, and sweeping in their
rich exuberance the deck on which she kneeled. Katherine leaned tenderly over
the form of the dying veteran, while her dark, tearful eyes seemed to express
self-accusation blended with deep commiseration. A few attendants of both sexes
surrounded the solemn scene, all of whom appeared to be under the influence of
the hopeless intelligence which the medical officer had but that moment
communicated. The servants of the ship had replaced the furniture with a care
that mocked the dreadful struggle that so recently disfigured the warlike
apartment, and the stout, square frame of Boltrope occupied the opposite
settee, his head resting on the lap of the Captain’s Steward, and his hand
gently held in the grasp of his friend the Chaplain. Griffith had heard of the
wound of the master, but his own eyes now conveyed the first intelligence of
the situation of Colonel Howard. When the shock of this sudden discovery had a
little subsided, the young man approached the couch of the latter, and
attempted to express his regret and pity, in a voice that afforded an assurance
of his sincerity.
“Say no more, Edward
Griffith,” interrupted the Colonel, waving his hand feebly for silence; “it
seemeth to be the will of God that this rebellion should triumph, and it is not
for vain man to impeach the acts of Omnipotence! To my erring faculties, it wears
an appearance of mystery, but doubtless it is to answer the purpose of his own
inscrutable providence! I have sent for you, Edward, on a business that I would
fain see accomplished before I die, that it may not be said old George Howard
neglected his duty, even in his last moments. You see this weeping child at my
side; tell me, young man, do you love the maiden?”
“Am I to be asked such
a question?” exclaimed Griffith.
“And will you cherish
her--will you supply to her the places of father and mother, will you become
the fond guardian of her innocence and weakness?”
Griffith could give no
other answer than a fervent pressure of the hand he had clasped.
“I believe you,”
continued the dying man; “for however he may have forgotten to inculcate his
own loyalty, worthy Hugh Griffith could never neglect to make his son a man of
honour. I had weak, and perhaps evil wishes in behalf of my late unfortunate
kinsman, Mr. Christopher Dillon; but they have told me that he was false to his
faith. If this be true, I would refuse him the hand of the girl, though he
claimed the fealty of the British realms! But he has passed away, and I am
about to follow him into a world where we shall find but one Lord to serve, and
it may have been better for us both had we more remembered our duty to Him,
while serving the Princes of the earth. One thing further--know you this
officer of your congress well; this Mr. Barnstable?”
“I have sailed with him
for years,” returned Griffith, “and can answer for him as myself.”
The veteran made an
effort to rise, which in part succeeded, and he fastened on the youth a look of
keen scrutiny that gave to his pallid features an expression of solemn meaning,
as he continued--
“Speak not now, sir, as
the companion of his idle pleasures, and as the unthinking associate commends
his fellow, but remember that your opinion is given to a dying man who leans on
your judgment for advice. The daughter of John Plowden is a trust not to be
neglected, nor will my death prove easy, if a doubt of her being worthily
bestowed shall remain!”
“He is a gentleman,”
returned Griffith, “and one whose heart is not less kind than gallant--he loves
your ward, and great as may be her merit, he is deserving of it all--like
myself, he has also loved the land that gave him birth, before the land of his
ancestors, but--”
“That is now forgotten,”
interrupted the Colonel; “after what I have this day witnessed I am forced to
believe that it is the pleasure of Heaven that you are to prevail! But, sir, a
disobedient inferior will be apt to make an unreasonable commander. The recent
contention between you--”
“Remember it not, dear
sir,” exclaimed Griffith with generous zeal--“ ’twas unkindly provoked, and it
is already forgotten and pardoned. He has sustained me nobly throughout the
day, and my life on it, that he knows how to treat a woman as a brave man
should!”
“Then am I content!”
said the veteran, sinking back on his couch; “let him be summoned.”
The whispered message,
which Griffith gave requesting Mr. Barnstable to enter the cabin, was quickly
conveyed, and he had appeared before his friend deemed it discreet to disturb
the reflections of the veteran by again addressing him. When the entrance of
the young sailor was announced, the Colonel again roused himself, and addressed
his wondering listener, though in a manner much less confiding and familiar,
than that which he had adopted towards Griffith.
“The declarations you
made last night, relative to my ward, the daughter of the late Captain John
Plowden, sir, have left me nothing to learn on the subject of your wishes.
Here, then, gentlemen, you both obtain the reward of your attentions! Let that
reverend divine hear you pronounce the marriage vows, while I have strength to
listen, that I may be a witness against ye, in heaven, should ye forget their
tenor!
“Not now, not now,”
murmured Cecilia; “Oh ask it not now, my uncle!”
Katherine spoke not,
but deeply touched by the tender interest her guardian manifested in her
welfare, she bowed her face to her bosom, in subdued feeling, and suffered the
tears that had been suffusing her eyes to roll down her cheeks in large drops,
till they bathed the deck.
“Yes, now, my love,”
continued the Colonel, “or I fail in my duty. I go shortly to stand face to
face with your parents, my children; for the man, who dying, expects not to
meet worthy Hugh Griffith and honest Jack Plowden in heaven, can have no clear
view of the rewards that belong to lives of faithful service to the country, or
of gallant loyalty to the King! I trust no one can justly say, that I ever
forgot the delicacy due to your gentle sex; but it is no moment for idle
ceremony when time is shortening into minutes, and heavy duties remain to be discharged.
I could not die in peace, children, were I to leave you here in the wide ocean,
I had almost said in the wide world, without that protection which becomes your
tender years and still more tender characters. If it has pleased God to remove
your guardian, let his place be supplied by those he wills to succeed him!
Cecilia no longer
hesitated, but she arose slowly from her knees, and offered her hand to
Griffith with an air of forced resignation. Katherine submitted to be led by
Barnstable to her side, and the chaplain who had been an affected listener to
the dialogue; in obedience to an expressive signal from the eye of Griffith,
opened the prayer book from which he had been gleaning consolation for the
dying master, and commenced reading, in trembling tones, the marriage service.
The vows were pronounced by the weeping brides in voices more distinct and
audible than if they had been uttered amid the gay crowds that usually throng a
bridal; for though they were the irreclaimable words that bound them forever to
the men, whose power over their feelings they thus proclaimed to the world, the
reserve of maiden diffidence was lost in one engrossing emotion of solemnity,
created by the awful presence in which they stood. When the benediction was
pronounced, the head of Cecilia dropped on the shoulder of her husband, where
she wept violently, for a moment, and then resuming her place at the couch, she
once more knelt at the side of her uncle. Katherine received the cold kiss of
Barnstable, passively, and returned slowly to the spot whence she had been led.
Colonel Howard
succeeded in raising his person, to witness the ceremony, and had answered to
each prayer with a fervent ‘amen.’ He fell back with the last words, and a look
of satisfaction shone in his aged and pallid features, that declared the
interest he had taken in the scene.
“I thank you, my
children,” he at length uttered, “I thank you, for I know how much you have
sacrificed to my wishes. You will find all my papers relative to the estates of
my wards, gentlemen, in the hands of my banker in London, and you will also
find there my will, Edward, by which you will learn that Cicely has not come to
your arms an unportioned bride. What my wards are in persons and manners your
eyes can witness, and I trust the vouchers in London will show that I have not
been an unfaithful steward to their pecuniary affairs!”
“Name it not--say no
more, or you will break my heart,” cried Katherine, sobbing aloud, in the
violence of her remorse at having ever pained so true a friend. “Oh! talk of
yourself, think of yourself; we are unworthy--at least I am unworthy of another
thought!”
The dying man extended
a hand to her in kindness, and continued, though his voice grew feebler as he
spoke--
“Then to return to
myself--I would wish to lie, like my ancestors, in the bosom of the earth--and
in consecrated ground.”
“It shall be done,”
whispered Griffith; “I will see it done myself.”
“I thank thee, my son,”
said the veteran; “for such thou art to me in being the husband of Cicely --you
will find in my will, that I have liberated and provided for all my
slaves--except those ungrateful scoundrels who deserted their master-- they
have seized their own freedom, and they need not be indebted to me for the
same. There is, Edward, also an unworthy legacy to the King; his Majesty will
deign to receive it--from an old and faithful servant, and you will not miss
the trifling gift.” A long pause followed, as if he had been summing up the
account of his earthly duties, and found them duly balanced, when he added, “kiss
me Cicely--and you, Katherine--I find you have the genuine feelings of honest
Jack, your father.-- My eyes grow dim--which is the hand of Griffith? Young
gentleman, I have given you all that a fond old man had to bestow--deal
tenderly with the precious child--we have not properly understood each other--I
had mistaken both you and Mr. Christopher Dillon, I believe; perhaps I may have
also mistaken my duty to America--but I was too old to change my politics or my
religion--I--I--I lov’d the King--God bless him--”
His words became
fainter and fainter as he proceeded, and the breath deserted his body with this
benediction on his livid lips, which the proudest monarch might covet from so
honest a man.
The body was instantly
borne into a state-room by the attendants, and Griffith and Barnstable
supported their brides into the after-cabin, where they left them seated on the
sofa that lined the stern of the ship, weeping bitterly, in each other’s arms.
No part of the
preceding scene had been unobserved by Boltrope, whose small, hard eyes, were
observed by the young men to twinkle, when they returned into the state
apartment, and they approached their wounded comrade to apologize for the
seeming neglect that their conduct had displayed.
“I heard you were hurt,
Boltrope,” said Griffith, taking him kindly by the hand; “but as I know you are
not unused to being marked by shot, I trust we shall soon see you again on
deck.
“Ay, ay,” returned the
master, “you’ll want no spy-glasess to see the old hulk as you launch it into
the sea. I have had shot, as you say, before now to tear my running gear, and
even to knock a splinter out of some of my timbers, but this fellow has found
his way into my bread-room; and the cruise of life is up!”
“Surely the case is not
so bad, honest David,” said Barnstable; “you have kept afloat, to my knowledge,
with a bigger hole in your skin than this unlucky hit has made!”
“Ay, ay,” returned the
master, “that was in my upper works, where the doctor could get at it with a
plug; but this chap has knocked away the shifting-boards, and I feel as if the
whole cargo was broken up.--You may say, that Tourniquet rates me all the same
as a dead man, for after looking at the shot-hole, he has turned me over to the
parson here, like a piece of old junk which is only fit to be worked up into
something new. Captain Munson had a lucky time of it! I think you said, Mr.
Griffith, that the old gentleman was launched overboard with every thing
standing, and that Death made but one rap at his door, before he took his
leave!”
“His end was indeed
sudden!” returned Griffith; “but it is what we seamen must expect.
“And for which there is
so much the more occasion to be prepared,” the chaplain ventured to add, in a
low, humble, and, perhaps, timid voice.
The sailing-master
looked keenly from one to the other as they spoke, and, after a short pause, he
continued with an air of great submission--
“ ’Twas his luck; and I
suppose it is sinful to begrudge a man his lawful luck. As for being prepared,
parson, that is your business and not mine; therefore, as there is but little
time to spare, why, the sooner you set about it the better; and to save
unnecessary trouble, I may as well tell you not to strive to make too much of
me, for, I must own it to my shame, I never took learning kindly. If you can
fit me for some middling birth in the other world, like the one I hold in this
ship, it will suit me as well, and, perhaps, be easier to all hands of us.”
If there was a shade of
displeasure, blended with the surprise, that crossed the features of the divine
at this extraordinary limitation of his duties, it entirely disappeared when he
considered, more closely, the perfect expression of simplicity with which the
dying master uttered his wishes. After a long and melancholy pause, which
neither Griffith nor his friend felt any inclination to interrupt, the chaplain
replied--
“It is not the province
of man to determine on the degrees of the merciful dispensations of the Deity,
and nothing that I can do, Mr. Boltrope, will have any weight in making up the
mighty and irrevocable decree. What I said to you last night, in our
conversation on this very subject, must still be fresh in your memory, and
there is no good reason why I should hold a different language to you now.”
“I can’t say that I log’d
all that pass’d,” returned the master, “and that which I do recollect chiefly
fell from myself, for the plain reason that a man remembers his own, better
than his neighbor’s ideas. And this puts me in mind, Mr. Griffith, to tell you,
that one of the forty-two’s from the three-decker, travelled across the
forecastle, and cut the best bower within a fathom of the clinch, as handily as
an old woman would clip her rotten yarn with a pair of tailor’s shears!--If you
will be so good as to order one of my mates to shift the cable end-for-end, and
make a new bend of it, I’ll do as much for you another time.”
“Mention it not,” said
Griffith; “rest assured that every thing shall be done for the security of the
ship in your department--I will superintend the whole duty in person; and I
would have you release your mind from all anxiety on the subject, to attend to
your more important interests elsewhere.”
“Why,” returned
Boltrope, with a little show of pertinacity, “I have an opinion, that the
cleaner a man takes his hands into the other world, of the matters of duty in
this, the better he will be fitted to handle any thing new.--Now the parson,
here, undertook to lay down the doctrine last night, that it was no matter how
well or how ill a man behaved himself, so that he squared his conscience by the
lifts and braces of faith, which I take to be a doctrine that is not to be
preach’d on shipboard, for it would play the devil with the best ship’s company
that was ever mustered.”
“Oh! no--no--dear Mr.
Boltrope, you mistook me and my doctrine altogether!” exclaimed the chaplain; “at
least you mistook--”
“Perhaps, sir,”
interrupted Griffith, gently,“our honest friend will not be more fortunate now.
Is there nothing earthly that hangs upon your mind, Boltrope? no wish to be
remembered to any one, nor any bequest to make of your property?”
“He has a mother, I
know,” said Barnstable in a low voice; “he often spoke of her to me in the
night watches; I think she must still be living.”
The master, who
distinctly heard his young shipmates, continued for more than a minute rolling
the tobacco, which he still retained, from one side of his mouth to the other,
with an industry that denoted singular agitation for the man, and raising one
of his broad hands, with the other he picked the worn skin from fingers, which
were already losing their brownish yellow hue in the fading colour of death,
before he answered--
“Why, yes, the old
woman still keeps her grip upon life, which is more than can be said of her son
David. The old man was lost the time the Susan and Dorothy was wrecked on the
back of Cape Cod; you remember it, Mr. Barnstable? you were then a lad, sailing
on whaling voyages from the island! well, ever since that gale, I’ve
endeavoured to make smooth water for the old woman myself, though she has had
but a rough passage of it, at the best; the voyage of life, with her, having
been pretty much crossed by rugged weather and short stores.”
“And you would have us
carry some message to her? said Griffith, kindly.
“Why, as to messages,”
continued the master, whose voice was rapidly growing more husky and broken, “there
never has been many compliments --passed between us, for the reason--that she
is not more used to receive them--than I am to make them. But if any one of you
will overhaul--the parser’s books, and see what there is standing there --to my
side of the leaf--and take a little pains to get it to the old woman--you will
find her moor’d in the lee side of a house--ay, here it is, No. 10 Cornhill,
Boston. I took care--to get her a good warm birth, seeing that a woman of
eighty, wants a snug anchorage--at her time of life, if ever.
“I will do it myself, David,”
cried Barnstable, struggling to conceal his emotion; “I will call on her the
instant we let go our anchor in Boston harbor, and as your credit can’t be
large, I will divide my own purse with her!”
The sailing-master was
powerfully affected by this kind offer, the muscles of his hard weatherbeaten
face working convulsively, and it was a moment before he could trust his voice
in reply.
“I know you would,
Dickey, I know you would,” he at length uttered, grasping the hand of
Barnstable with a portion of his former strength; “I know you would give the
old woman one of your own limbs, if it would do a service--to the mother of a
messmate--which it would not--seeing that I am not the son of a--cannibal; but
you are out of your own father’s books, and it’s too often shoal water in your
pockets to help any one--more especially since you have just been spliced to a
pretty young body--that will want all your spare coppers.”
“But I am master of my
own fortune,” said Griffith, “and am rich.”
“Ay, ay, I have heard
it said you could build a frigate and set her afloat all a-taunt-o without
thrusting your hand--into any man’s purse--but your own!”
“And I pledge you the
honor of a naval officer,” continued the young sailor, “that she shall want for
nothing; not even the care and tenderness of a dutiful son.”
Boltrope appeared to be
choking; he made an attempt to raise his exhausted frame on the couch, but fell
back exhausted and dying, perhaps a little prematurely, through the powerful
and unusual emotions that were struggling for utterance. “God forgive me my
misdeeds!” he, at length, said, “and chiefly for ever speaking a word against
your disciplyne; remember the best bower--and look to the slings of the lower
yards--and--and--he’ll do it Dickey, he’ll do it! I’m casting off--the fasts
--of life--and so God bless ye all--and give ye good weather--going large--or
on a bowline!”
The tongue of the
master failed him, but a look of heart-felt satisfaction gleamed across his
rough visage, as its muscles suddenly contracted, when the faded lineaments
slowly settled into the appalling stiffness of death.
Griffith directed the
body to be removed to the apartment of the Master, and proceeded with a heavy
heart to the upper deck. The Alacrity had been unnoticed during the arduous
chase of the frigate, and favored by day-light, and her light draught of water,
she had easily effected her escape also among the mazes of the shoals. She was
called down to her consort by signal, and received the necessary instructions
how to steer during the approaching night. The British ships were now only to
be faintly discovered, like small white specks on the dark sea, and as it was
known that a broad barrier of shallow water lay between them, the Americans no
longer regarded their presence as at all dangerous.
When the necessary
orders had been given, and the vessels were fully prepared, they were once more
brought up to the wind, and their heads pointed in the direction of the coast
of Holland. The wind, which freshened towards the decline of day, hauled round
with the sun, and when that luminary retreated from the eye, so rapid had been
the progress of the mariners, it seemed to sink in the bosom of the ocean, the
land having long before settled into its watery bed. All night the frigate continued
to dash through the seas with a sort of sullen silence, that was soothing to
the melancholy of Cecilia and Katherine, neither of whom closed an eye during
that gloomy period. In addition to the scene they had witnessed, their feelings
were harrowed by the knowledge that, in conformity to the necessary plans of
Griffith, and in compliance with the new duties he had assumed, they were to
separate in the morning for an indefinite period, and possibly forever.
With the appearance of
light, the boatswain sent his rough summons through the vessel, and the crew
were collected in solemn silence in her gang-ways, to ‘bury the dead.’ The
bodies of Boltrope, of one or two of her inferior officers, and of several
common men, who had died of their wounds in the night, were, with the usual
formalities, committed to the deep; when the yards of the ship were again
braced by the wind, and she glided along the trackless waste, leaving no
memorial in the midst of the ever-rolling waters, to mark the place of their
sculpture.
When the sun had gained
the meridian the vessels were once more hove-to, and the preparations were made
for a final separation. The body of Colonel Howard was transferred to the
Alacrity, whither it was followed by Griffith and his cheerless bride, while
Katherine hung fondly from a window of the ship, suffering her own scalding
tears to mingle with the brine of the ocean. After every thing was arranged,
Griffith waved his hand to Barnstable, who had now succeeded to the command of
the frigate, and the yards of the latter were braced sharp to the wind, when
she proceeded to the dangerous experiment of forcing her way to the shores of
America, by attempting the pass of the streights of Dover, and running the
gauntlet through the English ships that crowded their own channel; an
undertaking, however, for which she had the successful example of the Alliance
frigate, which had borne the stars of America along the same hazardous path but
a few months previously.
In the meanwhile the
Alacrity, steering more to the west, drew in swiftly towards the shores of
Holland, and about an hour before the setting of the sun, had approached so
nigh as to be once more hove into the wind, in obedience to the mandate of
Griffith, A small light boat was lowered into the sea, when the young sailor,
and the pilot, who had found his way into the cutter unheeded, and almost
unseen, ascended from the small cabin together. The stranger glanced his eyes
along the range of coast, as if he would ascertain the exact position of the vessel,
and then turned them on the sea and the western horizon to scan the weather.
Finding nothing in the appearance of the latter to induce him to change his
determination, he offered his hand frankly to Griffith, and said--
“Here we part. As our
acquaintance has not led to all we wished, let it be your task, sir, to forget
we ever met.”
Griffith bowed
respectfully, but in silence, when the other continued, shaking his hand
contemptuously towards the land--
“Had I but a moiety of
the navy of that degenerate republic, the proudest among those haughty
islanders should tremble in his castle, and be made to feel there is no
security against a foe that trusts his own strength and knows the weakness of
his enemy! But”, he muttered in a lower and more hurried voice, “this has been
like Liverpool, and--Whitehaven--and Edinburgh, and fifty more! it is past,
sir; let it be forgotten.”
Without heeding the
wondering crew, who were collected as curious spectators of his departure, the
stranger bowed hastily to Griffith, and springing into the boat, he spread her
light sail with the readiness of one who had nothing to learn even in the
smallest matters of his daring profession. Once more, as the boat moved briskly
away from the cutter, he waved his hand in adieu, and Griffith fancied, that
even through the distance, he could trace a smile of bitter resignation,
lighting his calm features with a momentary gleam. For a long time the young
man stood an abstracted gazer at his solitary progress, watching the small boat
as it glided towards the open ocean, nor did he remember to order the head
sheets of the Alacrity drawn, in order to put the vessel again in motion, until
the dark speck was lost in the strong glare that fell, obliquely across the
water, from the setting sun.
Many wild and
extraordinary conjectures were uttered among the crew of the cutter, as she
slowly drew in towards her friendly haven, on the appearance of the mysterious
pilot, during their late hazardous visit to the coast of Britain, and on his
still more extraordinary disappearance, as it were, amid the stormy wastes of
the North sea. Griffith himself was not observed to smile, nor to manifest any
other evidence of his being a listener to their rude discourse, until it was
loudly announced that a small boat was seen pressing for their own harbor,
across the fore foot of the cutter, under a single lug-sail. Then, indeed, the
sudden and cheerful lighting of his troubled eye, might have betrayed to more
accurate observers, the vast relief that was imparted to his feelings by the
interesting discovery.
Come all you kindred
Chieftains of the deep
In mighty phalanx,
round your brother bend;
Hush every murmur that
invades his sleep--
And guard the laurels
that o’ershade your friend
Lines on Tripp Here, perhaps,
it would be wise to suffer the curtain of our imperfect drama to fall before
the reader, trusting that the imagination of every individual can readily
supply the due proportions of health, wealth, and happiness, that the rigid
rules of poetic justice would award to the different characters of the legend.
But as we are not disposed to part so coldly from those with whom we have long
held amicable intercourse, and as there is no portion of that in reservation
which is not quite as true as all that has been already related, we see no
unanswerable reason for dismissing the dramatis personć so abruptly. We shall
therefore proceed to state briefly, the outlines of that which befel them in
after-life, regretting, at the same time, that the legitimate limits of a
modern tale will not admit of such a dilatation of many a merry or striking
scene, as might create the pleasing hope of beholding hereafter, some more of
our rude sketches quickened into life, by the spirited pencil of Dunlap.
Following the course of
the frigate, then, towards those shores, from which, perhaps, we should never
have suffered our truant pen to have wandered, we shall commence the brief task
with Barnstable, and his laughing, weeping, gay, but affectionate, bride--the black-eyed
Katherine. The ship fought her way. gallantly, through swarms of the enemy’s
cruisers, to the port of Boston, where Barnstable was rewarded for his services
by promotion, and a more regular authority to command his vessel.
During the remainder of
the war, he continued to fill that station with ability and zeal, nor did he
return to the dwelling of his fathers, which he soon inherited, by regular
descent, until after peace had established not only the independence of his
country, but his own reputation, as a brave and successful sea-officer. When
the Federal Government laid the foundation of its present navy, Captain
Barnstable was once more tempted by the offer of a new commission to desert his
home; and for many years he was employed among that band of gallant seamen who
served their country so faithfully in times of trial and high daring. Happily,
however, he was enabled to accomplish a great deal of the more peaceful part of
his service accompanied by Katherine, who, having no children, eagerly profited
by his consent, to share his privations and hardships on the ocean. In this
manner they passed merrily, and we trust happily, down the vale of life
together, Katherine entirely discrediting the ironical prediction of her former
guardian, by making, every thing considered, a very obedient, and certainly, so
far as attachment was concerned, a most devoted wife.
The boy Merry, who in
due time became a man, clung to Barnstable and Katherine, so long as it was
necessary to hold him in leading strings; and when he received his regular
promotion, his first command was under the shadow of his kinsman’s broad
pendant. He proved to be in his meridian, what his youth had so strongly
indicated, a fearless, active, and reckless sailor, and his years might have
extended to this hour, had he not fallen untimely, in a duel with a foreign
officer.
The first act of
Captain Manual, after landing once more on his native soil, was to make
interest to be again restored to the line of the army. He encountered but
little difficulty in this attempt, and was soon in possession of the complete
enjoyment of that which his soul had so long pined after, “a steady drill.” He
was in time to share in all the splendid successes which terminated the war,
and also to participate in his due proportion of the misery of the army. His
merits were not forgotten, however, in the reorganization of the forces, and he
followed both St. Clair and his more fortunate successor, Wayne, in the western
campaigns. About the close of the century, when the British made their tardy
relinquishment of the line of posts along the frontiers, Captain Manual was
ordered to take charge, with his company, of a small stockade on our side of
one of those mighty rivers, that sets bounds to the territories of the Republic
in the north. The British flag was waving over the ramparts of a more regular
fortress, that had been recently built, directly opposite, within the new lines
of the Canadas. Manual was not a man to neglect the observances of military
etiquette, and understanding that the neighbouring fort was commanded by a
field officer, he did not fail to wait on that gentleman, in proper time, with
a view to cultivate the sort of acquaintance that their mutual situations would
render not only agreeable, but highly convenient. The American martinet, in
ascertaining the rank of the other, had not deemed it at all necessary to ask
his name, but when the red-faced, comical-looking officer with one leg, who met
him, was introduced as Major Borroughcliffe, he had not the least difficulty in
recalling to recollection his quondam acquaintance of St. Ruth. The intercourse
between these worthies was renewed with remarkable gusto, and at length arrived
to so regular a pass, that a log cabin was erected on one of the islands in the
river, as a sort of neutral territory, where their feastings and revels might
be held without any scandal to the discipline of their respective garrisons.
Here the qualities of many a saddle of savory venison were discussed, together
with those of sundry pleasant fowls, as well as of divers strange beasts that
inhabit those western wilds, while, at the same time, the secret places of the
broad river were vexed, that nothing might be wanting that could contribute to
the pleasures of their banquets. A most equitable levy was regularly made on
their respective pockets, to sustain the foreign expenses of this amicable
warfare, and a suitable division of labour was also imposed on the two
Commandants, in order to procure such articles of comfort as were only to be
obtained from those portions of the globe, where the art of man had made a
nearer approach to the bounties of nature, than in the vicinity of their
fortifications. All liquids in which malt formed an ingredient, as well as the
deep-coloured wines of Oporto, were suffered to enter the Gulf of St. Lawrence,
and were made to find their way, under the superintendence of Borroughcliffe,
to their destined goal; but Manual was, solely, entrusted with the more
important duty of providing the generous liquor of Madeira, without any other
restriction on his judgment, than an occasional injunction from his coadjutor,
that it should not fail to be the product of the “South-side!”
It was not unusual for
the younger officers of the two garrisons to allude to the battle in which
Major Borroughcliffe had lost his limb--the English ensign invariably
whispering to the American on such occasions, that it occurred during the late
contest, in a desperate affair on the North Eastern coast of their island, in
which the Major commanded, in behalf of his country, with great credit and
signal success; and for which service he obtained his present rank “without
purchase!” A sort of national courtesy prevented the two veterans, for by this
time both had earned that honourable title, from participating at all in these
delicate allusions; though whenever, by any accident, they occurred near the
termination of the revels, Borroughcliffe would so far betray his consciousness
of what was passing, as to favor his American friend with a leer of singular
significance, which generally produced in the other that sort of dull
recollection, which all actors and painters endeavour to represent by
scratching the head. In this manner year after year rolled by, the most perfect
harmony existing between the two posts, notwithstanding the angry passions that
disturbed their respective countries, when an end was suddenly put to the
intercourse by the unfortunate death of Manual. This rigid observer of
discipline, never trusted his person on the neutral island without being
accompanied by a party of his warriors, who were posted as a regular picquet,
sustaining a suitable line of sentries; a practice which he also recommended to
his friend, as being highly conducive to discipline, as well as a salutary caution
against a surprise on the part of either garrison. The Major, however,
dispensed with the formality in his own behalf, but was sufficiently
good-natured to wink at the want of confidence it betrayed in his boon
companion. On one unhappy occasion, when the discussions of a new importation
had made a heavy inroad on the morning, Manual left the hut to make his way
towards his picquet, in such a state of utter mental aberration, as to forget
the countersign when challenged by a sentinel, and, melancholy to relate, he
met his death by a shot from a soldier, whom he had drilled to such an
exquisite state of insensibility, that the man cared but little whether he
killed friend or enemy, so long as he kept within military usage, and the
hallowed limits established by the articles of war. He lived long enough,
however, to commend the fellow for the deed, and died while delivering an
eulogium to Borroughcliffe, on the high state of perfection to which he had
brought his command!
About a year before
this melancholy event. a quarter cask of wine had been duly ordered from the
South side of the island of Madeira, which was, at the death of Manual, toiling
its weary way up the rapids of the Mississippi and the Ohio; having been made
to enter by the port of New-Orleans, with the intention of keeping it as long
as possible under a genial sun! The untimely fate of his friend imposed on
Borroughcliffe the necessity of attending to this precious relick of their
mutual tastes; and he procured a leave of absence from his superior, with the
laudable desire to proceed down the streams and superintend its farther advance
in person. The result of his zeal was a high fever, that set in the day after
he reached his treasure, and as the Doctor and the Major espoused different theories,
in treating a disorder so dangerous in that climate, the one advising
abstemiousness, and the other administering repeated draughts of the cordial
that had drawn him so far from home, the disease was left to act its pleasure.
Borroughcliffe died in three days; and was carried back and interred by the
side of his friend, in the very hut which had so often resounded with their
humours and festivities! We have been thus particular in relating the sequel of
the lives of these rival chieftains, because, from their want of connexion with
any kind heart of the other sex, no widows and orphans were left to lament
their several ends, and furthermore, as they were both mortal, and might be
expected to die at a suitable period, and yet did not terminate their career
until each had attained the mature age of three-score, the reader can find no
just grounds of dissatisfaction at being allowed this deep glance into the womb
of fate.
The chaplain abandoned
the seas in time to retrieve his character, a circumstance which gave no little
satisfaction to Katherine, who occasionally annoyed her worthy husband on the
subject of the informality of their marriage.
Griffith and his
mourning bride conveyed the body of Colonel Howard in safety to one of the
principal towns in Holland, where it was respectfully and sorrowfully interred;
after which the young man removed to Paris, with a view of erasing the sad
images, which the hurried and melancholy events of the few preceding days had
left on the mind of his lovely companion.-- From this place Cecilia held
communion, by letter, with her friend Alice Dunscombe, and such suitable
provision was made in the affairs of her late uncle as the times would permit.
Afterwards, when Griffith obtained the command which had been offered him,
before sailing on the cruise in the North Sea, they returned together to
America. The young man continued a sailor until the close of the war, when he
entirely withdrew from the ocean, and devoted the remainder of his life to the
conjoint duties of a husband and a good citizen.
As it was easy to
reclaim the estates of Colonel Howard, which, in fact, had been abandoned more
from pride than necessity, and which had never been confiscated, their joint
inheritances made the young couple extremely affluent, and we shall here take
occasion to say, that Griffith remembered his promise to the dying master, and
saw such a provision made for the childless mother, as her situation and his
character required.
It might have been some
twelve years after the short cruise, which it has been our task to record in
these volumes, that Griffith, who was running his eyes carelessly over a file
of newspapers, was observed by his wife to drop the bundle from before his
face, and pass his hand slowly across his brow, like a man who had been
suddenly struck with renewed impressions of some former event, or who was
endeavouring to recall to his mind images that had long since faded.
“See you any thing in
that paper, to disturb you Griffith?” said the still lovely Cecilia. “I hope that
now we have our confederate government, the States will soon recover from their
losses--but it is one of those plans to create a new navy, that has met your
eye! Ah! truant! you sigh to become a wanderer again, and pine after your
beloved ocean!”
“I have ceased sighing
and pining since you have begun to smile,” he returned, with a vacant manner,
and without removing his hand from his brow.
“Is not the new order
of things, then, likely to succeed? Does the Congress enter into contention
with the President?
The wisdom and name of
Washington will smooth the way for the experiment, until time shall mature the
system. Cecilia, do you remember the man who accompanied Manual and myself to
St. Ruth, the night we became your uncle’s prisoners, and who afterwards led
the party which liberated us, and rescued Barnstable?”
“Surely I do; he was
the pilot of your ship, it was then said; and I remember the shrewd soldier we
entertained, even suspected that he was one greater than he seemed.”
“The soldier surmised the
truth: but you saw him not on that fearful night, when he carried us through
the shoals! and you could not witness the calm courage with which he guided the
ship into those very channels again, while the confusion of battle was among
us!”
“I heard the dreadful
din! And I can easily imagine the horrid scene,” returned his wife, her
recollections chasing the colour from her cheeks even at that distance of time;
“but what of him? is his name mentioned in those papers? Ah! they are English
prints! you called his name Gray, if I remember?”
“That was the name he
bore with us! he was a man who had formed romantic notions of glory, and wished
every thing concealed in which he acted a part that he thought would not
contribute to his renown. It has been, therefore, in compliance with a solemn
promise made at the time, that I have ever avoided mentioning his name-- he is
now dead!”
“Can there have been
any connexion between him and Alice Dunscomb?” said Cecilia, dropping her work
in her lap, in a thoughtful manner.-- “She met him alone, at her own urgent
request, the night Katherine and myself saw you in your confinement, and even
then my cousin whispered that they were acquainted! The letter I received
yesterday, from Alice, was sealed with black, and I was pained with the
melancholy, though gentle manner, in which she wrote of passing from this world
into another!”
Griffith glanced his
eye at his wife, with a look of sudden intelligence, and then answered like one
who began to see with the advantages of a clearer atmosphere.
“Cecilia, your
conjecture is surely true! Fifty things rush to my mind at that one surmise--
his acquaintance with that particular spot--his early life--his expedition--his
knowledge of the abbey, all confirm it! He, altogether, was indeed a man of
marked character!”
“Why has he not been
among us,” asked Cecilia; “he appeared devoted to our cause?”
“His devotion to
America proceeded from desire of distinction, his ruling passion, and perhaps a
little also from resentment at some injustice which he claimed to have suffered
from his own countrymen. He was a man, and not therefore without foibles--among
which may have been reckoned the estimation of his own acts; but they were most
daring, and deserving of praise! neither did he merit one half the obloquy that
he received from his enemies. His love of liberty may be more questionable; for
if he commenced his deeds in the cause of these free States, they terminated in
the service of a despot! He is now dead--but had he lived in times and under circumstances,
when his consummate knowledge of his profession, his cool, deliberate, and even
desperate courage, could have been exercised in a regular, and well-supported
Navy, and had the habits of his youth better qualified him to have borne,
meekly, the honors he acquired in his age, he would have left behind him no
name in its lists that would have descended to the latest posterity of his
adopted countrymen with greater renown!”
“Why, Griffith,”
exclaimed Cecilia, in a little surprise, “you are zealous in his cause! Who was
he?”
“A man who held a
promise of secrecy while living, which is not at all released by his death. It
is enough to know, that he was greatly instrumental in procuring our sudden
union, and that our happiness might have been wrecked in the voyage of life had
we not met the unknown pilot of the German Ocean.”
Perceiving her husband
to rise, and carefully collect the papers in a bundle, before he left the room,
Cecilia made no further remark at the time nor was the subject ever revived
between them!