A HISTORY OF THE
VARIOUS BATTLES FOUGHT ON LAND AND AT SEA FROM THE BREAKING OUT OF THE FRENCH
REVOLUTION TO THE BATTLE OF WATERLOO, 1792-1815.
WITH OVER ONE HUNDRED
ORIGINAL AND COMPLETE BIOGRAPHIC. SKETCHES OF THE PRINCIPAL MILITARY AND NAVAL
COMMANDERS SERVING DURING THAT PERIOD.
The present Work
professes to be the first in an English dress, (excepting, perhaps, the
translation from Thiers,) in which justice is done to the contending parties.
The labors of others, besides the English authorities, have been consulted;
consequently the reader will find very different relations and facts, in
numerous and very important instances those found in works so biassed as the
class to which Alison and Scott belong. It is time we knew better respecting
the history of this great European epoch, than the simple pinning of one’s
faith upon interested authorities, that write all on one side.
Camp and Quarter-Deck;
with numerous battle scenes and portraits. Published by Burgess and Stringer,
New-York, Part I. The design of this work is to present in a popular form a
detail of the military and naval engagements which occurred during the last
great European war. The author has taken as his authorities the most accredited
writers on the subject; and has invested his narratives with all the interest
which a popular and brilliant style is capable of affording to the stirring
events he has undertaken to delineate. We have no doubt but that the work will
become extremely popular with a large class of readers.
-- Camp and
Quarter-Deck.--This is the title of an historical work, of the highest
interest, written and compiled by a gentleman whom we know to be eminently
qualified for giving a concise, vigorous, and faithful account of the scenes
and actors of one of the most eventful periods in the history of the world.
This book is rich in its stories of historical and biographical facts, is handsomely
got up, and profusely illustrated.--
N. Y. Dispatch Highly vigorous
descriptions of noted battles, principally fought in Napoleon’s career, with
brief memoirs of various military notabilities, such as Ney, Massena,
Wellington, Napoleon, &c.
-- This work will be read
with the utmost interest, especially as we do not happen to live in the “happy
times of peace.” It is excellent.
-- The First Part is now
published--Price, 25 cents.
Parts II. and III.,
which complete the book, will be issued without unnecessary delay.
BURGESS, STRINGER & CO., 222 Broadway, corner of Ann st., New-York.
JACK TIER; OR THE FLORIDA REEF. BY THE AUTHOR OF “THE PILOT,” “RED
ROVER,” “TWO ADMIRALS,” “WING AND WING,” “MILES WALLINGFORD,” ETC. Ay, now I am in Arden; the more fool
I; when I was at home I
was in a better place; but
Travellers must be
content.
This work has already
appeared in Graham’s Magazine, under the title of “Rose Budd.” The change of
name is solely the act of the author, and arises from a conviction that the
appellation given in this publication is more appropriate than the one laid
aside. The necessity of writing to a name, instead of getting it from the
incidents of the book itself, has been the cause of this departure from the
ordinary rules.
When this book was
commenced, it was generally supposed that the Mexican war would end, after a
few months of hostilities. Such was never the opinion of the writer. He has
ever looked forward to a protracted struggle; and, now that Congress has begun
to interfere, sees as little probability of its termination, as on the day it
commenced. Whence honourable gentlemen have derived their notions of the
constitution, when they advance the doctrine that Congress is an American Aulic
council, empowered to encumber the movements of armies, and, as old Blucher
expressed it in reference to the diplomacy of Europe, “to spoil with the pen
the work achieved by the sword,” it is difficult to say more than this, that
they do not get them from the constitution itself. It has generally been
supposed that the present executive was created in order to avoid the very
evils of a distracted and divided council, which this new construction has a
direct tendency to revive. But a presidential election has ever proved, and
probably will ever prove, stronger than any written fundamental law.
We have had occasion to
refer often to Mexico in these pages. It has been our aim to do so in a kind
spirit; for, while we have never doubted that the factions which have possessed
themselves of the government in that country have done us great wrong, wrong
that would have justified a much earlier appeal to arms, we have always
regarded the class of Mexicans who alone can properly be termed the ‘people,’
as mild, amiable, and disposed to be on friendly terms with us. Providence,
however, directs all to the completion of its own wise ends. If the crust which
has so long encircled that nation, enclosing it in bigotry and ignorance, shall
now be irretrievably broken, letting in light, even Mexico herself may have
cause hereafter to rejoice in her present disasters. It was in this way that
Italy has been, in a manner, regenerated; the conquests of the French carrying
in their train the means and agencies which have, at length, aroused that
glorious portion of the earth to some of its ancient spirit. Mexico, in certain
senses, is the Italy of this continent; and war, however ruthless and much to
be deplored, may yet confer on her the inestimable blessings of real liberty,
and a religion released from “feux d’artifice,” as well as all other artifices.
A word on the facts of
our legend. The attentive observer of men and things has many occasions to note
the manner in which ordinary lookers on deceive themselves, as well as others.
The species of treason portrayed in these pages is no uncommon occurrence; and
it will often be found that the traitor is the loudest in his protestations of
patriotism. It is a pretty safe rule to suspect the man of hypocrisy who makes
a parade of his religion, and the partisan of corruption and selfishness, who
is clamorous about the rights of the people. Captain Spike was altogether above
the first vice; though fairly on level, as respects the second, with divers
patriots who live by their deity.
Pros. Why, that’s my spirit! But
was not this nigh shore?
Ariel. Close by, my master.
Pros. But are they, Ariel, safe?
Ariel. Not a hair perished:
Tempest
“D’ye here there, Mr.
Mulford?” called out Capt. Stephen Spike, of the half-rigged, brigantine Swash,
or Molly Swash, as was her registered name, to his mate--“we shall be dropping
out as soon as the tide makes, and I intend to get through the Gate, at least,
on the next flood. Waiting for a wind in port is lubberly seamanship, for he
that wants one should go outside and look for it.”
This call was uttered
from a wharf of the renowned city of Manhattan, to one who was in the
trunk-cabin of a clipper-looking craft, of the name mentioned, and on the deck
of which not a soul was visible. Nor was the wharf, though one of those wooden
piers that line the arm of the sea that is called the East River, such a spot
as ordinarily presents itself to the mind of the reader, or listener, when an
allusion is made to a wharf of that town which it is the fashion of the times
to call the Commercial Emporium of America-- as if there might very well be an
emporium of any other character. The wharf in question had not a single vessel
of any sort lying at, or indeed very near it, with the exception of the Molly
Swash. As it actually stood on the eastern side of the town, it is scarcely
necessary to say that such a wharf could only be found high up, and at a
considerable distance from the usual haunts of commerce. The brig lay more than
a mile above the Hook (Corlaer’s, of course, is meant--not Sandy Hook) and
quite near to the old Alms House--far above the ship-yards, in fact. It was a
solitary place for a vessel, in the midst of a crowd. The grum top-chain voice
of Captain Spike had nothing there to mingle with, or interrupt its harsh
tones, and it instantly brought on deck Harry Mulford, the mate in question,
apparently eager to receive his orders.
“Did you hail, Captain
Spike?” called out the mate, a tight, well-grown, straight-built, handsome
sailor-lad of two or three-and-twenty--one full of health, strength and
manliness.
“Hail! If you call
straining a man’s throat until he’s hoarse, hailing, I believe I did. I flatter
myself, there is not a man north of Hatteras that can make himself heard
further in gale of wind than a certain gentleman who is to be found within a
foot of the spot where I stand. Yet, sir, I’ve been hailing the Swash these
five minutes, and thankful am I to find some one at last who is on board to
answer me.”
“What are your orders,
Capt. Spike?”
“To see all clear for a
start as soon as the flood makes. I shall go through the Gate on the next young
flood, and I hope you’ll have all the hands aboard in time. I see two or three
of them up at that Dutch beer-house, this moment, and can tell’em; in plain
language, if they come here with their beer aboard them, they’ll have to go
ashore again.”
“You have an uncommonly
sober crew, Capt. Spike,” answered the young man, with great calmness. “During
the whole time I have been with them, I have not seen a man among them the
least in the wind.”
“Well, I hope it will
turn out that I’ve an uncommonly sober mate in the bargain. Drunkenness I
abominate, Mr. Mulford, and I can tell you, short metre, that I will not stand
it.”
“May I inquire if you
ever saw me, the least in the world, under the influence of liquor, Capt.
Spike?” demanded the mate, rather than asked, with a very fixed meaning in his
manner.
“I keep no log-book of
trifles, Mr. Mulford, and cannot say. No man is the worse for bowsing out his
jib when off duty, though a drunkard’s a thing I despise. Well, well--
remember, sir, that the Molly Swash casts off on the young flood, and that Rose
Budd and the good lady, her aunt, take passage in her, this v’y’ge.”
“Is it possible that
you have persuaded them into that, at last!” exclaimed the handsome mate.
“Persuaded! It takes no
great persuasion, sir, to get the ladies to try their luck in that brig. Lady
Washington herself, if she was alive and disposed to a sea-v’y’ge, might be
glad of the chance. We’ve a ladies’ cabin, you know, and it’s suitable that it
should have some one to occupy it. Old Mrs. Budd is a sensible woman, and takes
time by the forelock. Rose is ailin’--pulmonary they call it, I believe, and
her aunt wishes to try the sea for her constitution--”
“Rose Budd has no more
of a pulmonary constitution than I have myself,” interrupted the mate.
“Well, that’s as people
fancy. You must know, Mr. Mulford, they’ve got all sorts of diseases
now-a-days, and all sorts of cures for’em. One sort of a cure for consumption
is what they tarm the Hyder-Ally--”
“I think you must mean
hydropathy, sir--”
“Well it’s something of
the sort, no matter what--but cold water is at the bottom of it, and they do
say it’s a good remedy. Now Rose’s aunt thinks if cold water is what is wanted,
there is no place where it can be so plenty as out on the ocean. Sea-air is
good, too, and by taking a v’y’ge her niece will get both requisites together,
and cheap.”
“Does Rose Budd think
herself consumptive, Capt. Spike?” asked Mulford, with interest.
“Not she--you know it
will never do to alarm a pulmonary, so Mrs. Budd has held her tongue carefully
on the subject before the young woman. Rose fancies that her aunt is out of
sorts, and that the v’y’ge is tried on her account--but the aunt, the cunning
thing, knows all about it.”
Mulford almost
nauseated the expression of his commander’s countenance while Spike uttered the
last words. At no time was that countenance very inviting, the features being
coarse and vulgar, while the color of the entire face was of an ambiguous red,
in which liquor and the seasons would seem to be blended in very equal
quantities. Such a countenance, lighted up by a gleam of successful management,
not to say with hopes and wishes that it will hardly do to dwell on, could not
but be revolting to a youth of Harry Mulford’s generous feelings, and most of
all to one who entertained the sentiments which he was quite conscious of
entertaining for Rose Budd. The young man made no reply, but turned his face
toward the water, in order to conceal the expression of disgust that he was
sensible must be strongly depicted on it.
The river, as the
well-known arm of the sea in which the Swash was lying is erroneously termed,
was just at that moment unusually clear of craft, and not a sail, larger than
that of a boat, was to be seen between the end of Blackwell’s Island and
Corlaer’s Hook, a distance of about a league. This stagnation in the movement
of the port, at that particular point, was owing to the state of wind and tide.
Of the first, there was little more than a southerly air, while the last was
about two-thirds ebb. Nearly everything that was expected on that tide,
coast-wise, and by the way of the Sound, had already arrived, and nothing could
go eastward, with that light breeze and under canvas, until the flood made. Of
course it was different with the steamers, who were paddling about like so many
ducks, steering in all directions, though mostly crossing and re-crossing at the
ferries. Just as Mulford turned away from his commander, however, a large
vessel of that class shoved her bows into the view, doubling the Hook, and
going eastward. The first glance at this vessel sufficed to drive even Rose
Budd momentarily out of the minds of both master and mate, and to give a new
current to their thoughts. Spike had been on the point of walking up the wharf,
but he now so far changed his purpose as actually to jump on board of the brig
and spring up alongside of his mate, on the taffrail, in order to get a better
look at the steamer. Mulford, who loathed so much in his commander, was
actually glad of this, Spike’s rare merit as a seaman forming a sort of
attraction that held him, as it might be against his own will, bound to his
service.
“What will they do
next, Harry?” exclaimed the master, his manner and voice actually humanized, in
air and sound at least, by this unexpected view of something new in his
calling--“What will they do next?”
“I see no wheels, sir,
nor any movement in the water astern, as if she were a propeller,” returned the
young man.
“She’s an
out-of-the-way sort of a hussy! She’s a man-of-war, too--one of Uncle Sam’s new
efforts.”
“That can hardly be,
sir. Uncle Sam has but three steamers, of any size or force, now the Missouri
is burned; and yonder is one of them, lying at the Navy Yard, while another is,
or was lately, laid up at Boston. The third is in the Gulf. This must be an
entirely new vessel, if she belong to Uncle Sam.”
“New! She’s as new as a
Governor, and they tell me they’ve got so now that they choose five or six of
them, up at Albany, every fall. That craft is sea-going, Mr. Mulford, as any
one can tell at a glance. She’s none of your passenger-hoys.”
“That’s plain enough,
sir--and she’s armed. Perhaps she’s English, and they’ve brought her here into
this open spot to try some new machinery. Ay, ay! she’s about to set her ensign
to the navy men at the yard, and we shall see to whom she belongs.”
A long, low, expressive
whistle from Spike succeeded this remark, the colours of the steamer going up
to the end of a gaff on the sternmost of her schooner-rigged masts, just as
Mulford ceased speaking. There was just air enough, aided by the steamer’s
motion, to open the bunting, and let the spectators see the design. There were
the stars and stripes, as usual, but the last ran perpendicularly, instead of
in a horizontal direction.
“Revenue, by George!”
exclaimed the master, as soon as his breath was exhausted in the whistle. “Who
would have believed they could screw themselves up to doing such a thing in
that bloody service?”
“I now remember to have
heard that Uncle Sam was building some large steamers for the revenue service,
and, if I mistake not, with some new invention to get along with, that is
neither wheel nor propeller. This must be one of these new craft, brought out
here, into open water, just to try her, sir.”
“You’re right, sir, you’re
right. As to the natur’ of the beast, you see her buntin’, and no honest man
can want more. If there’s anything I do hate, it is that flag, with its unnat’ral
stripes, up and down, instead of running in the true old way. I have heard a
lawyer say, that the revenue flag of this country is onconstitutional, and that
a vessel carrying it on the high seas might be sent in for piracy.”
Although Harry Mulford
was neither Puffendorf, nor Grotius, he had too much common sense, and too
little prejudice in favour of even his own vocation, to swallow such a theory,
had fifty Cherry Street lawyers sworn to its justice. A smile crossed his fine,
firm-looking mouth, and something very like a reflection of that smile, if
smiles can be reflected in one’s own countenance, gleamed in his fine, large,
dark eye.
“It would be somewhat
singular, Capt, Spike,” he said, “if a vessel belonging to any nation should be
seized as a pirate. The fact that she is national in character would clear her.”
“Then let her carry a
national flag, and be d--d to her,” answered Spike fiercely. “I can show you
law for what I say, Mr. Mulford. The American flag has its stripes fore and aft
by law, and this chap carries his stripes parpendic’lar. If I commanded a
cruiser, and fell in with one of these up and down gentry, blast me if I wouldn’t
just send him into port, and try the question in the old Alms-House.”
Mulford probably did
not think it worth while to argue the point any further, understanding the
dogmatism and stolidity of his commander too well to deem it necessary. He
preferred to turn to the consideration of the qualities of the steamer in sight,
a subject on which, as seamen, they might better sympathize.
“That’s a droll-looking
revenue cutter, after all, Capt. Spike,” he said--“a craft better fitted to go
in a fleet, as a look-out vessel, than to chase a smuggler in-shore.”
“And no goer in the
bargain! I do not see how she gets along, for she keeps all snug under water;
but, unless she can travel faster than she does just now, the Molly Swash would
soon lend her the Mother Carey’s Chickens of her own wake to amuse her.”
“She has the tide against
her, just here, sir; no doubt she would do better in still water.”
Spike muttered
something between his teeth, and jumped down on deck, seemingly dismissing the
subject of the revenue entirely from his mind. His old, coarse, authoritative
manner returned, and he again spoke to his mate about Rose Budd, her aunt, the “ladies’
cabin,” the “young flood,” and “casting off,” as soon as the last made. Mulford
listened respectfully, though with a manifest distaste for the instructions he
was receiving. He knew his man, and a feeling of dark distrust came over him,
as he listened to his orders concerning the famous accommodations he intended
to give to Rose Budd and that “capital old lady, her aunt;” his opinion of “the
immense deal of good sea-air and a v’y’ge would do Rose,” and how “comfortable
they both would be on board the Molly Swash.”
“I honour and respect,
Mrs. Budd, as my captain’s lady, you see, Mr. Mulford, and intend to treat her
accordin’ly. She knows it--and Rose knows it--and they both declare they’d
rather sail with me, since sail they must, than with any other ship-master out
of America.”
“You sailed once with
Capt. Budd yourself, I think I have heard you say, sir?”
“The old fellow brought
me up. I was with him from my tenth to my twentieth year, and then broke adrift
to see fashions. We all do that, you know, Mr. Mulford, when we are young and
ambitious, and my turn came as well as another’s.”
“Capt. Budd must have
been a good deal older than his wife, sir, if you sailed with him when a boy,”
Mulford observed a little drily.
“Yes; I own to
forty-eight, though no one would think me more than five or six-and-thirty, to
look at me. There was a great difference between old Dick Budd and his wife, as
you say, he being about fifty, when he married, and she less than twenty. Fifty
is a good age for matrimony, in a man, Mulford; as is twenty in a young woman.”
“Rose Budd is not yet
nineteen, I have heard her say,” returned the mate, with emphasis.
“Youngish, I will own,
but that’s a fault a liberal-minded man can overlook. Every day, too, will
lessen it. Well, look to the cabins, and see all clear for a start. Josh will
be down presently with a cart-load of stores, and you’ll take ’em aboard
without delay.”
As Spike uttered this
order, his foot was on the planksheer of the bulwarks, in the act of passing to
the wharf again. On reaching the shore, he turned and looked intently at the
revenue steamer, and his lips moved, as if he were secretly uttering
maledictions on her. We say maledictions, as the expression of his fierce
ill-favoured countenance too plainly showed that they could not be blessings.
As for Mulford, there was still something on his mind, and he followed to the
gangway ladder and ascended it, waiting for a moment when the mind of his commander
might be less occupied to speak. The opportunity soon occurred, Spike having
satisfied himself with the second look at the steamer.
“I hope you don’t mean
to sail again without a second mate, Capt. Spike?” he said.
“I do though, I can
tell you. I hate Dickies--they are always in the way, and the captain has to
keep just as much of a watch with one as without one.”
“That will depend on
his quality. You and I have both been Dickies in our time, sir; and my time was
not long ago.”
“Ay--ay--I know all
about it--but you didn’t stick to it long enough to get spoiled. I would have
no man aboard the Swash who made more than two v’y’ges as second officer. As I
want no spies aboard my craft, I’ll try it once more without a Dicky.”
Saying this in a sufficiently
positive manner, Capt. Stephen Spike rolled up the wharf, much as a ship goes
off before the wind, now inclining to the right, and then again to the left.
The gait of the man would have proclaimed him a sea-dog, to any one acquainted
with that animal, as far as he could be seen. The short squab figure, the arms
bent nearly at right angles at the elbow, and working like two fins with each
roll of the body, the stumpy, solid legs, with the feet looking in the line of
his course and kept wide apart, would all have contributed to the making up of
such an opinion. Accustomed as he was to this beautiful sight, Harry Mulford
kept his eyes riveted on the retiring person of his commander, until it
disappeared behind a pile of lumber, waddling always in the direction of the
more thickly peopled parts of the town. Then he turned and gazed at the
steamer, which, by this time, had fairly passed the brig, and seemed to be
actually bound through the Gate. That steamer was certainly a noble-looking
craft, but our young man fancied she struggled along through the water heavily.
She might be quick at
need, but she did not promise as much by her present rate of moving. Still, she
was a noble-looking craft, and, as Mulford descended to the deck again, he
almost regretted he did not belong to her; or, at least, to anything but the
Molly Swash.
Two hours produced a
sensible change in and around that brigantine. Her people had all come back to
duty, and what was very remarkable among seafaring folk, sober to a man. But,
as has been said, Spike was a temperance man, as respects all under his orders
at least, if not strictly so in practice himself. The crew of the Swash was
large for a half-rigged brig of only two hundred tons, but, as her spars were
very square, and all her gear as well as her mould seemed constructed for
speed, it was probable more hands than common were necessary to work her with
facility and expedition. After all, there were not many persons to be
enumerated among the “people of the Molly Swash,” as they called themselves;
not more than a dozen, including those aft, as well as those forward. A
peculiar feature of this crew, however, was the circumstance that they were all
middle-aged men, with the exception of the mate, and all thorough-bred
sea-dogs. Even Josh, the cabin-boy, as he was called, was an old, wrinkled,
gray-headed negro, of near sixty. If the crew wanted a little in the elasticity
of youth, it possessed the steadiness and experience of their time of life,
every man appearing to know exactly what to do, and when to do it. This,
indeed, composed their great merit; an advantage that Spike well knew how to
appreciate.
The stores had been
brought alongside of the brig in a cart, and were already showed in their
places. Josh had brushed and swept, until the ladies’ cabin could be made no
neater. This ladies’ cabin was a small apartment beneath a trunk, which was,
ingeniously enough, separated from the main cabin by pantries and double doors.
The arrangement was unusual, and Spike had several times hinted that there was
a history connected with that cabin; though what the history was Mulford never
could induce him to relate. The latter knew that the brig had been used for a
forced trade on the Spanish Main, and had heard something of her deeds in bringing
off specie, and proscribed persons, at different epochs in the revolutions of
that part of the world, and he had always understood that her present commander
and owner had sailed in her, as mate, for many years before he had risen to his
present station. Now, all was regular in the way of records, bills of sale, and
other documents; Stephen Spike appearing in both the capacities just named. The
register proved that the brig had been built as far back as the last English
war, as a private cruiser, but recent and extensive repairs had made her “better
than new,” as her owner insisted, and there was no question as to her
seaworthiness. It is true the insurance offices blew upon her, and would have
nothing to do with a craft that had seen her two score years and ten; but this
gave none who belonged to her any concern, inasmuch as they could scarcely have
been underwritten in their trade, let the age of the vessel be what it might.
It was enough for them that the brig was safe and exceedingly fast, insurances
never saving the lives of the people, whatever else might be their advantages.
With Mulford it was an additional recommendation, that the Swash was usually
thought to be of uncommonly just proportions.
By half-past two, P.
M., everything was ready for getting the brigantine under way. Her
fore-topsail--or fore- tawsail as Spike called it--was loose, the fasts were
singled, and a spring had been carried to a post in the wharf, that was well
forward of the starboard bow, and the brig’s head turned to the southwest, or
down the stream, and consequently facing the young flood. Nothing seemed to
connect the vessel with the land but a broad gangway plank, to which Mulford
had attached life-lines, with more care than it is usual to meet with on board
of vessels employed in short voyages. The men stood about the decks with their
arms thrust into the bosoms of their shirts, and the whole picture was one of
silent, and possibly of somewhat uneasy expectation. Nothing was said, however;
Mulford walking the quarter-deck alone, occasionally looking up the still
little tenanted streets of that quarter of the suburbs, as if to search for a
carriage. As for the revenue-steamer, she had long before gone through the
southern passage of Blackwell’s, steering for the Gate.
“Dat’s dem, Mr.
Mulford,” Josh at length cried, from the look-out he had taken in a stern-port,
where he could see over the low bulwarks of the vessel. “Yes, dat’s dem, sir. I
know dat old gray horse dat carries his head so low and sorrowful like, as a
horse has a right to do dat has to drag a cab about this big town. My eye! what
a horse it is, sir!”
Josh was right, not
only as to the gray horse that carried his head “sorrowful like,” but as to the
cab and its contents. The vehicle was soon on the wharf, and in its door soon
appeared the short, sturdy figure of Capt. Spike, backing out, much as a bear
descends a tree. On top of the vehicle were several light articles of female
appliances, in the shape of bandboxes, bags, &c., the trunks having
previously arrived in a cart. Well might that over-driven gray horse appear
sorrowful, and travel with a lowered head. The cab, when it gave up its
contents, discovered a load of no less than four persons besides the driver,
all of weight, and of dimensions in proportion, with the exception of the
pretty and youthful Rose Budd. Even she was plump, and of a well-rounded
person; though still light and slender. But her aunt was a fair picture of a
ship-master’s widow; solid, comfortable and buxom. Neither was she old, nor
ugly. On the contrary, her years did not exceed forty, and being well
preserved, in consequence of never having been a mother, she might even have
passed for thirty-five. The great objection to her appearance was the somewhat
indefinite character of her shape, which seemed to blend too many of its charms
into one. The fourth person, in the fare, was Biddy Noon, the Irish servant and
factotum of Mrs. Budd, who was a pock-marked, red-faced, and red-armed single
woman, about her mistress’s own age and weight, though less stout to the eye.
Of Rose we shall not
stop to say much here. Her deepblue eye, which was equally spirited and gentle,
if one can use such contradictory terms, seemed alive with interest and
curiosity, running over the brig, the wharf, the arm of the sea, the two
islands, and all near her, including the Alms-House, with such a devouring
rapidity as might be expected in a town-bred girl, who was setting out on her
travels for the first time. Let us be understood; we say town-bred, because
such was the fact; for Rose Budd had been both born and educated in Manhattan,
though we are far from wishing to be understood that she was either very
well-born, or highly educated. Her station in life may be inferred from that of
her aunt, and her education from her station. Of the two, the last was,
perhaps, a trifle the highest.
We have said that the
fine blue eye of Rose passed swiftly over the various objects near her, as she
alighted from the cab, and it naturally took in the form of Harry Mulford, as
he stood in the gangway, offering his arm to aid her aunt and herself in
passing the brig’s side. A smile of recognition was exchanged between the young
people, as their eyes met, and the colour, which formed so bright a charm in
Rose’s sweet face, deepened, in a way to prove that that colour spoke with a
tongue and eloquence of its own. Nor was Mulford’s cheek mute on the occasion,
though he helped the hesitating, half-doubting, half-bold girl along the plank
with a steady hand and rigid muscles. As for the aunt, as a captain’s widow,
she had not felt it necessary to betray any extraordinary emotions in ascending
the plank, unless, indeed, it might be those of delight on finding her foot
once more on the deck of a vessel!
Something of the same
feeling governed Biddy, too, for, as Mulford civilly extended his hand to her
also, she exclaimed--
“No fear of me, Mr.
Mate--I came from Ireland by wather, and knows all about ships and brigs, I do.
If you could have seen the times we had, and the saas we crossed, you’d not
think it nadeful to say much to the likes iv me.”
Spike had tact enough
to understand he would be out of his element in assisting females along that
plank, and he was busy in sending what he called “the old lady’s dunnage” on
board, and in discharging the cabman. As soon as this was done, he sprang into
the main-channels, and thence vid the bulwarks, on deck, ordering the plank to
be hauled aboard. A solitary labourer was paid a quarter to throw off the fasts
from the ring-bolts and posts, and everything was instantly in motion to cast
the brig loose. Work went on as if the vessel were in haste, and it
consequently went on with activity. Spike bestirred himself, giving his orders
in a way to denote he had been long accustomed to exercise authority on the deck
of a vessel, and knew his calling to its minutiæ. The only ostensible
difference between his deportment to-day and on any ordinary occasion, perhaps,
was in the circumstance that he now seemed anxious to get clear of the wharf,
and that in a way which might have attracted notice in any suspicious and
attentive observer. It is possible that such a one was not very distant, and
that Spike was aware of his presence, for a respectable-looking, well-dressed,
middle-aged man had come down one of the adjacent streets, to a spot within a
hundred yards of the wharf, and stood silently watching the movements of the
brig, as he leaned against a fence. The want of houses in that quarter enabled
any person to see this stranger from the deck of the Swash, but no one on board
her seemed to regard him at all, unless it might be the master.
“Come, bear a hand, my
hearty, and toss that bow-fast clear,” cried the captain, whose impatience to
be off seemed to increase as the time to do so approached nearer and nearer. “Off
with it, at once, and let her go.”
The man on the wharf
threw the turns of the hawser clear of the post, and the Swash was released
forward. A smaller line, for a spring, had been run some distance along the
wharves, ahead of the vessel, and brought in aft. Her people clapped on this,
and gave way to their craft, which, being comparatively light, was easily
moved, and was very manageable. As this was done, the distant spectator who had
been leaning on the fence moved toward the wharf with a step a little quicker
than common. Almost at the same instant, a short, stout, sailor-like looking
little person, waddled down the nearest street, seeming to be in somewhat of a
hurry, and presently he joined the other stranger, and appeared to enter into
conversation with him; pointing toward the Swash as he did so. All this time,
both continued to advance toward the wharf.
In the meanwhile, Spike
and his people were not idle. The tide did not run very strong near the wharves
and in the sort of a bight in which the vessel had lain; but, such as it was,
it soon took the brig on her inner bow, and began to cast her head off shore.
The people at the spring pulled away with all their force, and got sufficient
motion on their vessel to overcome the tide, and to give the rudder an
influence. The latter was put hard a-starboard, and helped to cast the brig’s
head to the southward.
Down to this moment,
the only sail that was loose on board the Swash was the fore-topsail, as
mentioned. This still hung in the gear, but a hand had been sent aloft to
overhaul the buntlines and clewlines, and men were also at the sheets. In a
minute the sail was ready for hoisting. The Swash carried a wapper of a
fore-and-aft mainsail, and, what is more, it was fitted with a standing gaff,
for appearance in port. At sea, Spike knew better than to trust to this
arrangement; but in fine weather, and close in with the land, he found it
convenient to have this sail haul out and brail like a ship’s spanker. As the
gaff was now aloft, it was only necessary to let go the brails to loosen this
broad sheet of canvas, and to clap on the out-hauler, to set it. This was
probably the reason why the brig was so unceremoniously cast into the stream,
without showing more of her cloth. The jib and flying-jibs, however, did at
that moment drop beneath their booms, ready for hoisting.
Such was the state of
things as the two strangers came first upon the wharf. Spike was on the
taffrail, overhauling the main-sheet, and Mulford was near him, casting the
fore-topsail braces from the pins, preparatory to clapping on the halyards.
“I say, Mr. Mulford,”
asked the captain, “did you ever see either of them chaps afore? These jokers
on the wharf, I mean.”
“Not to my
recollection, sir,” answered the mate, looking over the taffrail to examine the
parties. “The little one is a burster! The funniest-looking little fat old
fellow I’ve seen in many a day.”
“Ay, ay, them fat
little bursters, as you call ’em, are sometimes full of the devil. I do n’t
like either of the chaps, and am right glad we are well cast, before they got
here.”
“I do not think either
would be likely to do us much harm, Capt. Spike.”
“There’s no knowing
sir. The biggest fellow looks as if he might lug out a silver oar at any
moment.”
“I believe the silver
oar is no longer used, in this country at least,” answered Mulford, smiling. “And
if it were, what have we to fear from it? I fancy the brig has paid her
reckoning.”
“She do n’t owe a cent,
nor ever shall for twenty-four hours after the bill is made out, while I own
her. They call me ready-money Stephen, round among the ship-chandlers and
caulkers. But I do n’t like them chaps, and what I do n’t relish I never
swallow, you know.”
“They ’ll hardly try to
get aboard us, sir; you see we are quite clear of the wharf, and the mainsail
will take now, if we set it.”
Spike ordered the mate
to clap on the outhauler, and spread that broad sheet of canvas at once to the
little breeze there was. This was almost immediately done, when the sail
filled, and began to be felt on the movement of the vessel. Still, that
movement was very slow, the wind being so light, and the vis inertiœ of so
large a body remaining to be overcome. The brig receded from the wharf, almost
in a line at right angles to its face, inch by inch, as it might be, dropping
slowly up with the tide at the same time. Mulford now passed forward to set the
jibs, and to get the topsail on the craft, leaving Spike on the taffrail,
keenly eyeing the strangers, who, by this time, had got down nearly to the end
of the wharf, at the berth so lately occupied by the Swash. That the captain
was uneasy was evident enough, that feeling being exhibited in his countenance,
blended with a malignant ferocity.
“Has that brig any
pilot?” asked the larger and better-looking of the two strangers.
“What’s that to you,
friend?” demanded Spike, in return. “Have you a Hell-Gate branch?”
“I may have one, or I
may not. It is not usual for so large a craft to run the Gate without a pilot.”
“Oh! my gentleman’s
below, brushing up his logarithms. We shall have him on deck to take his
departure before long, when I’ll let him know your kind inquiries after his
health.”
The man on the wharf
seemed to be familiar with this sort of sea-wit, and he made no answer, but
continued that close scrutiny of the brig, by turning his eyes in all
directions, now looking below, and now aloft, which had in truth occasioned
Spike’s principal cause for uneasiness.
“Is not that Capt.
Stephen Spike, of the brigantine Molly Swash?” called out the little, dumpling-looking
person, in a cracked, dwarfish sort of a voice, that was admirably adapted to
his appearance. Our captain fairly started; turned full toward the speaker;
regarded him intently for a moment; and gulped the words he was about to utter,
like one confounded. As he gazed, however, at little dumpy, examining his
bow-legs, red broad cheeks, and coarse snub nose, he seemed to regain his
self-command, as if satisfied the dead had not really returned to life.
“Are you acquainted
with the gentleman you have named?” he asked, by way of answer. “You speak of
him like one who ought to know him.”
“A body is apt to know
a shipmate. Stephen Spike and I sailed together twenty years since, and I hope
to live to sail with him again.”
“You sail with Stephen
Spike? when and where, may I ask, and in what v’y’ge, pray?”
“The last time was
twenty years since. Have you forgotten little Jack Tier, Capt. Spike?”
Spike looked
astonished, and well he might, for he had supposed Jack to be dead fully
fifteen years. Time and hard service had greatly altered him, but the general
resemblance in figure, stature, and waddle, certainly remained.
Notwithstanding, the Jack Tier that Spike remembered was quite a different
person from this Jack Tier. That Jack had worn his intensely black hair clubbed
and curled, whereas this Jack had cut his locks into short bristles, which time
had turned into an intense gray. That Jack was short and thick, but he was flat
and square; whereas this Jack was just as short, a good deal thicker, and as round
as a dumpling. In one thing, however, the likeness still remained perfect. Both
Jacks chewed tobacco, to a degree that became a distinct feature in their
appearance.
Spike had many reasons
for wishing Jack Tier were not resuscitated in this extraordinary manner, and
some for being glad to see him. The fellow had once been largely in his
confidence, and knew more than was quite safe for any one to remember but
himself, while he might be of great use to him in his future, operations. It is
always convenient to have one at your elbow who thoroughly understands you, and
Spike would have lowered a boat and sent it to the wharf to bring Jack off,
were it not for the gentleman who was so inquisitive about pilots. Under the
circumstances, he determined to forego the advantages of Jack’s presence,
reserving the right to hunt him up on his return.
The reader will readily
enough comprehend, that the Molly Swash was not absolutely standing still while
the dialogue related was going on, and the thoughts we have recorded were
passing through her master’s mind. On the contrary, she was not only in motion,
but that motion was gradually increasing, and by the time all was said that has
been related, it had become necessary for those who spoke to raise their voices
to an inconvenient pitch in order to be heard. This circumstance alone would
soon have put an end to the conversation, had not Spike’s pausing to reflect
brought about the same result, as mentioned.
In the mean time,
Mulford had got the canvas spread. Forward, the Swash showed all the cloth of a
full-rigged brig, even to royals and flying jib; while aft, her mast was the
raking, tall, naked pole of an American schooner. There was a taunt topmast,
too, to which a gaff-topsail was set, and the gear proved that she could also
show, at need, a staysail in this part of her, if necessary. As the Gate was
before them, however, the people had set none but the plain, manageable canvas.
The Molly Swash kept
close on a wind, luffing athwar the broad reach she was in, until far enough to
weather Blackwell’s, when she edged off to her course, and went through the
southern passage. Although the wind remained light, and a little baffling, the
brig was so easily impelled, and was so very handy, that there was no
difficulty in keeping her perfectly in command. The tide, too, was fast
increasing in strength and volocity, and the movement from this cause alone was
getting to be sufficiently rapid.
As for the passengers,
of whom we have lost sight in order to get the brig under way, they were now on
deck again. At first, they had all gone below, under the care of Josh, a
somewhat rough groom of the chambers, to take possession of their apartment, a
sufficiently neat, and exceedingly comfortable cabin, supplied with everything
that could be wanted at sea, and, what was more, lined on two of its sides with
state-rooms. It is true, all these apartments were small, and the state-rooms
were very low, but no fault could be found with their neatness and general
arrangements, when it was recollected that one was on board a vessel.
“Here ebbery t’ing
heart can wish,” said Josh, exultingly, who, being an old-school black, did not
disdain to use some of the old-school dialect of his caste. “Yes, ladies,
ebbery t’ing. Let Cap’n Spike alone for dat! He won’erful at accommodation! Not
a bed-bug aft--know better dan come here; jest like de people, in dat respects,
and keep deir place forrard. You nebber see a pig come on de quarter-deck,
nudder.”
“You must maintain
excellent discipline, Josh,” cried Rose, in one of the sweetest voices in the
world, which was easily attuned to merriment--“and we are delighted to learn
what you tell us. How do you manage to keep up these distinctions, and make
such creatures know their places so well?”
“Nuttin easier, if you
begin right, miss. As for de pig, I teach dem wid scaldin’ water. Wheneber I
sees a pig come aft, I gets a little water from de copper, and just scald him
wid it. You can’t t’ink, miss, how dat mend his manners, and make him squeel
fuss, and t’ink arter. In dat fashion I soon get de ole ones in good trainin’,
and den I has no more trouble with dem as comes fresh aboard; for de ole hog
tell de young one, and ’em won’erful cunnin’, and know how to take care of ’emself.”
Rose Budd’s sweet eyes
were full of fun and expectation, and she could no more repress her laugh than
youth and spirits can always be discreet.
“Yes, with the pigs,”
she cried, “that might do very well; but how is it with those--other creatures?”
“Rosy, dear,”
interrupted the aunt, “I wish you would say no more about such shocking things.
It’s enough for us that Capt. Spike has ordered them all to stay forward among
the men, which is always done on board well disciplined vessels. I’ve heard
your uncle say, a hundred times, that the quarter-deck was sacred, and that
might be enough to keep such animals off it.”
It was barely necessary
to look at Mrs. Budd in the face to get a very accurate general notion of her
character. She was one of those inane, uncultivated beings who seem to be protected
by a benevolent Providence in their pilgrimage on earth, for they do not seem
to possess the power to protect themselves. Her very countenance expressed
imbecility and mental dependence, credulity and a love of gossip.
Notwithstanding these radical weaknesses, the good woman had some of the better
instincts of her sex, and was never guilty of anything that could properly
convey reproach.
She was no monitress
for Rose, however, the niece much oftener influencing the aunt, than the aunt
influencing the niece. The latter had been fortunate in having had an excellent
instructress, who, though incapable of teaching her much in the way of
accomplishments, had imparted a great deal that was respectable and useful.
Rose had character, and strong character, too, as the course of our narrative
will show; but her worthy aunt was a pure picture of as much mental imbecility
as at all comported with the privileges of self-government.
The conversation about “those
other creatures” was effectually checked by Mrs. Budd’s horror of the “animals,”
and Josh was called on deck so shortly after as to prevent its being renewed.
The females staid below a few minutes, to take possession, and then they
re-appeared on deck, to gaze at the horrors of the Hell Gate passage. Rose was
all eyes, wonder and admiration of everything she saw. This was actually the
first time she had ever been on the water, in any sort of craft, though born
and brought up in sight of one of the most thronged havens in the world. But
there must be a beginning to everything, and this was Rose Budd’s beginning on
the water. It is true the brigantine was a very beautiful, as well as an
exceedingly swift vessel; but all this was lost on Rose, who would have admired
a horse-jockey bound to the West Indies, in this the incipient state of her
nautical knowledge. Perhaps the exquisite neatness that Mulford maintained
about everything that came under his care, and that included everything on
deck, or above-board, and about which neatness Spike occasionally muttered an
oath, as so much senseless trouble, contributed somewhat to Rose’s pleasure;
but her admiration would scarcely have been less with anything that had sails,
and seemed to move through the water with a power approaching that of volition.
It was very different
with Mrs. Budd, She, good woman, had actually made one voyage with her late
husband, and she fancied that she knew all about a vessel. It was her delight
to talk on nautical subjects, and never did she really feel her great
superiority over her niece, so very unequivocally, as when the subject of the
ocean was introduced, about which she did know something, and touching which
Rose was profoundly ignorant, or as ignorant as a girl of lively imagination
could remain with the information gleaned from others.
“I am not surprised you
are astonished at the sight of the vessel, Rosy,” observed the self-complacent
aunt at one of her niece’s exclamations of admiration. “A vessel is a very
wonderful thing, and we are told what extr’orny beings they are that ‘go down
to the sea in ships.’ But you are to know this is not a ship at all, but only a
half-jigger rigged, which is altogether a different thing.”
“Was my uncle’s vessel,
The Rose In Bloom, then, very different from the Swash?”
“Very different indeed,
child! Why, The Rose In Bloom was a full-jiggered ship, and had twelve
masts--and this is only a half-jiggered brig, and has but two masts. See, you
may count them--one--two!”
Harry Mulford was
coiling away a top-gallant-brace, directly in front of Mrs. Budd and Rose, and,
at hearing this account of the wonderful equipment of The Rose In Bloom, he
suddenly looked up, with a lurking expression about his eye that the niece very
well comprehended, while he exclaimed, without much reflection, under the impulse
of surprise--
“Twelve masts! Did I
understand you to say, ma’am, that Capt. Budd’s ship had twelve masts?”
“Yes, sir, twelve! and
I can tell you all their names, for I learnt them by heart--it appearing to me
proper that a ship-master’s wife should know the names of all the masts in her
husband’s vessel. Do you wish to hear their names, Mr. Mulford?”
Harry Mulford would
have enjoyed this conversation to the top of his bent, had it not been for
Rose. She well knew her aunt’s general weakness of intellect, and especially
its weakness on this particular subject, but she would suffer no one to
manifest contempt for either, if in her power to prevent it. It is seldom one
so young, so mirthful, so ingenuous and innocent in the expression of her
countenance, assumed so significant and rebuking a frown as did pretty Rose
Budd when she heard the mate’s involuntary exclamation about the “twelve masts.”
Harry, who was not easily checked by his equals, or any of his own sex,
submitted to that rebuking frown with the meekness of a child, and stammered
out, in answer to the well-meaning, but weak-minded widow’s question--
“If you please, Mrs.
Budd--just as you please, ma’am-- only twelve is a good many masts--” Rose
frowned again --“that is--more than I’m used to seeing--that’s all.”
“I dare say, Mr.
Mulford--for you sail in only a half-jigger; but Capt. Budd always sailed in a
full-jigger--and his full-jiggered ship had just twelve masts, and, to prove it
to you, I’ll give you the names--first then, there were the fore, main, and
mizen masts--”
“Yes--yes--ma’am,”
stammered Harry, who wished the twelve masts and The Rose In Bloom at the
bottom of the ocean, since her owner’s niece still continued to look coldly
displeased--“that’s right, I can swear!”
“Very true, sir, and
you’ll find I am right as to all the rest. Then, there were the fore, main, and
mizen top-masts --they make six, if I can count, Mr. Mulford?”
“Ah!” exclaimed the
mate, laughing, in spite of Rose’s frowns, as the manner in which the old
sea-dog had quizzed his wife became apparent to him. “I see how it is--you are
quite right, ma’am--I dare say The Rose In Bloom had all these masts, and some
to spare.”
“Yes, sir--I knew you
would be satisfied. The fore, main and mizen top-gallant-masts make nine--and
the fore, main and mizen royals make just twelve. Oh, I’m never wrong in
anything about a vessel, especially if she is a full-jiggered ship.”
Mulford had some
difficulty in restraining his smiles each time the full-jigger was mentioned,
but Rose’s expression of countenance kept him in excellent order--and she,
innocent creature, saw nothing ridiculous in the term, though the twelve masts
had given her a little alarm. Delighted that the old lady had got through her
enumeration of the spars with so much success, Rose cried, in the exuberance of
her spirits--
“Well, aunty, for my
part, I find a half-jigger vessel, so very, very beautiful, that I do not know
how I should behave were I to go on board a full-jigger.”
Mulford turned abruptly
away, the circumstance of Rose’s making herself ridiculous giving him sudden
pain, though he could have laughed at her aunt by the hour.
“Ah, my dear, that is
on account of your youth and inexperience--but you will learn better in time. I
was just so, myself, when I was of your age, and thought the fore-rafters were
as handsome as the squared-jiggers, but soon after I married Capt. Budd I felt
the necessity of knowing more than I did about ships, and I got him to teach
me. He did n’t like the business, at first, and pretended I would never learn;
but, at last, it came all at once like, and then he used to be delighted to
hear me ‘talk ship,’ as he called it. I’ve known him laugh, with his cronies,
as if ready to die, at my expertness in sea-terms, for half an hour together --and
then he would swear--that was the worst fault your uncle had, Rosy--he would
swear, sometimes, in a way that frightened me, I do declare!”
“But he never swore at
you, aunty?”
“I can’t say that he
did exactly do that, but he would swear all round me, even if he did n’t
actually touch me, when things went wrong--but it would have done your heart
good to hear him laugh! he had a most excellent heart, just like your own, Rosy
dear; but, for that matter, all the Budds have excellent hearts, and one of the
commonest ways your uncle had of showing it was to laugh, particularly when we
were together and talking. Oh, he used to delight in hearing me converse,
especially about vessels, and never failed to get me at it when he had company.
I see his good-natured, excellent-hearted countenance at this moment, with the
tears running down his fat, manly cheeks, as he shook his very sides with
laughter. I may live a hundred years, Rosy, before I meet again with your uncle’s
equal.”
This was a subject that
invariably silenced Rose. She remembered her uncle, herself, and remembered his
affectionate manner of laughing at her aunt, and she always wished the latter
to get through her eulogiums on her married happiness, as soon as possible,
whenever the subject was introduced.
All this time the Molly
Swash kept in motion. Spike never took a pilot when he could avoid it, and his
mind was too much occupied with his duty, in that critical navigation, to share
at all in the conversation of his passengers, though he did endeavour to make
himself agreeable to Rose, by an occasional remark, when a favourable
opportunity offered.
As soon as he had
worked his brig over into the south or weather passage of Blackwell’s, however,
there remained little for him to do, until she had drifted through it, a
distance of a mile or more; and this gave him leisure to do the honours. He
pointed out the castellated edifice on Blackwell’s as the new penitentiary, and
the hamlet of villas, on the other shore, as Ravenswood, though there is neither
wood nor ravens to authorize the name. But the “Sunswick,” which satisfied the
Delafields and Gibbses of the olden, time, and which distinguished their lofty
halls and broad lawns, was not elegant enough for the cockney tastes of these
latter days, so “wood” must be made to usurp the place of cherries and apples,
and “ravens” that of gulls, in order to satisfy its cravings. But all this was
lost on Spike. He remembered the shore as it had been twenty years before, and
he saw what it was now, but little did he care for the change. On the whole, he
rather preferred the Grecian Temples, over which the ravens would have been
compelled to fly, had there been any ravens in that neighbourhood, to the
old-fashioned and highly respectable residence that once alone occupied the
spot. The point he did understand, however, and on the merits of which he had
something to say, was a little farther ahead. That, too, had been
re-christened--the Hallet’s Cove of the mariner being converted into
Astoria--not that bloody-minded place at the mouth of the Oregon, which has
come so near bringing us to blows with our “ancestors in England,” as the
worthy denizens of that quarter choose to consider themselves still, if one can
judge by their language. This Astoria was a very different place, and is one of
the many suburban villages that are shooting up, like mushrooms in a night,
around the great Commercial Emporium. This spot Spike understood perfectly, and
it was not likely that he should pass it without communicating a portion of his
knowledge to Rose.
“There, Miss Rose,” he
said, with a didactic sort of air, pointing with his short, thick finger at the
little bay which was just opening to their view; “there’s as neat a cove as a
craft need bring up in. That used to be a capital place to lie in, to wait for
a wind to pass the Gate; but it has got to be most too public for my taste. I’m
rural, I tell Mulford, and love to get in out-of-the-way berths with my brig,
where she can see salt-meadows, and smell the clover. You never catch me down
in any of the crowded slips, around the markets, or anywhere in that part of
the town, for I do love country air. That’s Hallet’s Cove, Miss Rose, and a
pretty anchorage it would be for us, if the wind and tide didn’t sarve to take
us through the Gate.”
“Are we near the Gate,
Capt. Spike?” asked Rose, the fine bloom on her cheek lessening a little, under
the apprehension that formidable name is apt to awaken in the breasts of the
inexperienced.
“Half a mile, or so. It
begins just at the other end of this island on our larboard hand, and will be
all over in about another half mile, or so. It’s no such bad place, a’ter all,
is Hell-Gate, to them that’s used to it. I call myself a pilot in Hell-Gate,
though I have no branch.”
“I wish, Capt. Spike, I
could teach you to give that place its proper and polite name. We call it
Whirl-Gate altogether now,” said the relict.
“Well, that’s new to
me,” cried Spike. “I have heard some chicken-mouthed folk say Hurl-Gate, but
this is the first time I ever heard it called Whirl-Gate--they’ll get it to
Whirligig-Gate next. I do n’t think that my old commander, Capt. Budd, called
the passage anything but honest up and down Hell-Gate.”
“That he did--that he
did--and all my arguments and reading could not teach him any better. I proved
to him that it was Whirl-Gate, as any one can see that it ought to be. It is
full of whirlpools, they say, and that shows what Nature meant the name to be.”
“But, aunty,” put in
Rose, half reluctantly, half anxious to speak, “what has gate to do with
whirlpools? You will remember it is called a gate--the gate to that wicked
place I suppose is meant.”
“Rose, you amaze me!
How can you, a young woman of only nineteen, stand up for so vulgar a name as
Hell-Gate!”
“Do you think it as
vulgar as Hurl-Gate, aunty?” To me it always seems the most vulgar to be
straining at gnats.”
“Yes,” said Spike
sentimentally, “I’m quite of Miss Rose’s way of thinking--straining at gnats is
very ill-manners, especially at table. I once knew a man who strained in this
way, until I thought he would have choked, though it was with a fly to be sure;
but gnats are nothing but small flies, you know, Miss Rose. Yes, I’m quite of
your way of thinking, Miss Rose; it is very vulgar to be straining at gnats and
flies, more particularly at table. But you’ll find no flies or gnats aboard
here, to be straining at, or brushing away, or to annoy you. Stand by there, my
hearties, and see all clear to run through Hell-Gate. Do n’t let me catch you
straining at anything, though it should be the fin of a whale!”
The people forward
looked at each other, as they listened to this novel admonition, though they
called out the customary “ay, ay, sir,” as they went to the sheets, braces and
bowlines. To them the passage of no Hell-Gate conveyed the idea of any
particular terror, and with the one they were about to enter, they were much
too familiar to care anything about it.
The brig was now
floating fast, with the tide, up abreast of the east end of Blackwell’s, and in
two or three more minutes she would be fairly in the Gate. Spike was aft, where
he could command a view of everything forward, and Mulford stood on the
quarter-deck, to look after the head-braces. An old and trustworthy seaman, who
acted as a sort of boatswain, had the charge on the forecastle, and was to tend
the sheets and tack. His name was Rove.
“See all clear,” called
out Spike. “D’ye hear there, for’ard! I shall make a half-board in the Gate, if
the wind favour us, and the tide prove strong enough to hawse us to wind’ard
sufficiently to clear the Pot--so mind your--”
The captain breaking
off in the middle of this harangue, Mulford turned his head, in order to see
what might be the matter. There was Spike, levelling a spy-glass at a boat that
was pulling swiftly out of the north channel, and shooting like an arrow
directly athwart the brig’s bows into the main passage of the Gate. He stepped
to the captain’s elbow.
“Just take a look at
them chaps, Mr. Mulford,” said Spike, handing his mate the glass.
“They seem in a hurry,”
answered Harry, as he adjusted the glass to his eye, “and will go through the
Gate in less time than it will take to mention the circumstance.”
“What do you make of
them, sir?”
“The little man who
called himself Jack Tier is in the stern-sheets of the boat, for one,” answered
Mulford.
“And the other,
Harry--what do you make of the other?”
“It seems to be the
chap who hailed to know if we had a pilot. He means to board us at Riker’s
Island, and make us pay pilotage, whether we want his services or not.”
“Blast him and his
pilotage too! Give me the glass”-- taking another long look at the boat, which
by this time was glancing, rather than pulling, nearly at right angles across
his bows. “I want no such pilot aboard here, Mr. Mulford. Take another look at
him--here, you can see him, away on our weather bow, already.”
Mulford did take
another look at him, and this time his examination was longer and more
scrutinizing than before.
“It is not easy to
cover him with the glass,” observed the young man--“the boat seems fairly to
fly.”
“We’re forereaching too
near the Hog’s Back, Capt. Spike,” roared the boatswain, from forward.
“Ready about--hard a
lee,” shouted Spike. “Let all fly, for’ard--help her round, boys, all you can,
and wait for no orders! Bestir yourselves--bestir yourselves.”
It was time the crew
should be in earnest. While Spike’s attention had been thus diverted by the
boat, the brig had got into the strongest of the current, which, by setting her
fast to windward, had trebled the power of the air, and this was shooting her
over toward one of the greatest dangers of the passage on a flood tide. As
everybody bestirred themselves, however, she was got round and filled on the
opposite tack, just in time to clear the rocks. Spike breathed again, but his
head was still full of the boat. The danger he had just escaped as Scylla met
him as Charybdis. The boatswain again roared to go about. The order was given
as the vessel began to pitch in a heavy swell. At the next instant she rolled
until the water came on deck, whirled with her stern down the tide, and her
bows rose as if she were about to leap out of water. The Swash had hit the Pot
Rock!
Watch. If we know him to be a
thief, shall we not lay hands on him?
Dogb. Truly, by your office, you
may; but I think they that touch pitch will be defiled; the most peaceable way
for you, if you do take a thief, is, to let him show himself what he is, and
steal out of your company.
Much Ado About Nothing
We left the brigantine
of Capt. Spike in a very critical situation, and the master himself in great
confusion of mind.
A thorough seaman, this
accident would never have happened, but for the sudden appearance of the boat
and its passengers; one of whom appeared to be a source of great uneasiness to
him. As might be expected, the circumstance of striking a place as dangerous as
the Pot Rock in Hell-Gate, produced a great sensation on board the vessel. This
sensation betrayed itself in various ways, and according to the characters,
habits, and native firmness of the parties. As for the ship-master’s relict,
she seized hold of the main-mast, and screamed so loud and perseveringly, as to
cause the sensation to extend itself into the adjacent and thriving village of
Astoria, where it was distinctly heard by divers of those who dwelt near the
water. Biddy Noon had her share in this clamour, lying down on the deck in
order to prevent rolling over, and possibly to scream more at her leisure,
while Rose had sufficient self-command to be silent, though her cheeks lost
their colour.
Nor was there anything
extraordinary in females betraying this alarm, when one remembers the somewhat
astounding signs of danger by which these persons were surrounded. There is
always something imposing in the swift movement of a considerable body of
water. When this movement is aided by whirlpools and the other similar
accessories of an interrupted current, it frequently becomes startling, more
especially to those who happen to be on the element itself. This is peculiarly
the case with the Pot Rock, where, not only does the water roll and roar as if
agitated by a mighty wind, but where it even breaks, the foam seeming to glance
up stream, in the rapid succession of wave to wave. Had the Swash remained in
her terrific berth more than a second or two, she would have proved what is
termed a “total loss;” but she did not. Happily, the Pot Rock lies so low that
it is not apt to fetch up anything of a light draught of water, and the
brigantine’s fore-foot had just settled on its summit, long enough to cause the
vessel to whirl round and make her obeisance to the place, when a succeeding
swell lifted her clear, and away she went down stream, rolling as if scudding
in a gale, and, for a moment, under no command whatever. There lay another
danger ahead, or it would be better to say astern, for the brig was drifting
stern foremost; and that was in an eddy under a bluff, which bluff lies at an
angle in the reach, where it is no uncommon thing for craft to be cast ashore,
after they have passed all the more imposing and more visible dangers above. It
was in escaping this danger, and in recovering the command of his vessel, that
Spike now manifested the sort of stuff of which he was really made, in
emergencies of this sort. The yards were all sharp up when the accident
occurred, and springing to the lee braces, just as a man winks when his eye is
menaced, he seized the weather fore-brace with his own hands, and began to
round in the yard, shouting out to the man at the wheel to “port his helm” at
the same time. Some of the people flew to his assistance, and the yards were
not only squared, but braced a little up on the other tack, in much less time
than we have taken to relate the evolution. Mulford attended to the main-sheet,
and succeeded in getting the boom out in the right direction. Although the wind
was in truth very light, the velocity of the drift filled the canvas, and
taking the arrow-like current on her lee bow, the Swash, like a frantic steed
that is alarmed with the wreck made by his own madness, came under command, and
sheered out into the stream again, where she could drift clear of the
apprehended danger astern.
“Sound the pumps!”
called out Spike to Mulford, the instant he saw he had regained his seat in the
saddle. Harry sprang amidships to obey, and the eye of every mariner in that
vessel was on the young man, as, in the midst of a death-like silence, he
performed this all-important duty. It was like the physician’s feeling the
pulse of his patient before he pronounces on the degree of his danger.
“Well, sir?” cried out
Spike, impatiently, as the rod reappeared.
“All right, sir,”
answered Harry, cheerfully--“the well is nearly empty.”
“Hold on a moment
longer, and give the water time to find its way amidships, if there be any.”
The mate remained
perched up on the pump, in order to comply, while Spike and his people, who now
breathed more freely again, improved the leisure to brace up and haul aft, to
the new course.
“Biddy,” said Mrs. Budd
considerately, during this pause in the incidents, “you need n’t scream any
longer. The danger seems to be past, and you may get up off the deck now. See,
I have let go of the mast. The pumps have been sounded, and are found tight.”
Biddy, like an obedient
and respectful servant, did as directed, quite satisfied if the pumps were
tight. It was some little time, to be sure, before she was perfectly certain
whether she were alive or not--but, once certain of this circumstance, her
alarm very sensibly abated, and she became reasonable. As for Mulford, he
dropped the sounding rod again, and had the same cheering report to make.
“The brig is as tight
as a bottle, sir.”
“So much the better,”
answered Spike. “I never had such a whirl in her before in my life, and I
thought she was going to stop and pass the night there. That’s the very spot on
which ‘The Hussar’ frigate was wrecked.”
“So I have heard, sir.
But she drew so much water that she hit slap against the rock, and started a
butt. We merely touched on its top with our fore-foot, and slid off.”
This was the simple
explanation of the Swash’s escape, and, everybody being now well assured that
no harm had been done, things fell into their old and regular train again. As
for Spike, his gallantry, notwithstanding, was upset for some hours, and glad
enough was he when he saw all three of his passengers quit the deck to go
below. Mrs. Budd’s spirits had been so much agitated that she told Rose she
would go down into the cabin and rest a few minutes on its sofa. We say sofa,
for that article of furniture, now-a-days, is far more common in vessels than
it was thirty years ago in the dwellings of the country.
“There, Mulford,”
growled Spike, pointing ahead of the brig, to an object on the water that was
about half a mile ahead of them, “there’s that bloody boat--d’ye see? I should
like of all things to give it the slip. There’s a chap in that boat I do n’t
like.”
“I do n’t see how that
can be very well done, sir, unless we anchor, repass the Gate at the turn of
the tide, and go to sea by the way of Sandy Hook.”
“That will never do. I’ve
no wish to be parading the brig before the town. You see, Mulford, nothing can
be more innocent and proper than the Molly Swash, as you know from having
sailed in her these twelve months. You’ll give her that character, I’ll be
sworn?”
“I know no harm of her,
Capt. Spike, and hope I never shall.”
“No, sir--you know no
harm of her, nor does any one else. A nursing infant is not more innocent than
the Molly Swash, or could have a clearer character if nothing but truth was
said of her. But the world is so much given to lying, that one of the old
saints, of whom we read in the good book, such as Calvin and John Rogers, would
be vilified if he lived in these times. Then, it must be owned, Mr. Mulford,
whatever may be the raal innocence of the brig, she has a most desperate wicked
look.”
“Why, yes, sir--it must
be owned she is what we sailors call a wicked-looking craft. But some of Uncle
Sam’s cruisers have that appearance, also.”
“I know it--I know it,
sir, and think nothing of looks myself. Men are often deceived in me, by my
looks, which have none of your long-shore softness about ’em, perhaps; but my
mother used to say I was one of the most tender-hearted boys she had ever heard
spoken of--like one of the babes in the woods, as it might be. But mankind go
so much by appearances that I do n’t like to trust the brig too much afore
their eyes. Now, should we be seen in the lower bay, waiting for a wind, or for
the ebb tide to make, to carry us over the bar, ten to one but some philotropic
or other would be off with a complaint to the District Attorney that we looked
like a slaver, and have us all fetched up to be tried for our lives as pirates.
No, no--I like to keep the brig in out-of-the-way places, where she can give no
offence to your ’tropics, whether they be philos, or of any other sort.”
“Well, sir, we are to
the eastward of the Gate, and all’s safe. That boat cannot bring us up.”
“You forget, Mr.
Mulford, the revenue-craft that steamed up, on the ebb. That vessel must be off
Sands’ Point by this time, and she may hear something to our disparagement from
the feller in the boat, and take it into her smoky head to walk us back to
town. I wish we were well to the eastward of that steamer! But there’s no use
in lamentations. If there is really any danger, it’s some distance ahead yet,
thank Heaven!”
“You have no fears of
the man who calls himself Jack Tier, Capt. Spike?”
“None in the world.
That feller, as I remember him, was a little bustlin’ chap that I kept in the
cabin, as a sort of steward’s mate. There was neither good nor harm in him, to
the best of my recollection. But Josh can tell us all about him--just give Josh
a call.”
The best thing in the
known history of Spike was the fact that his steward had sailed with him for
more than twenty years. Where he had picked up Josh no one could say, but Josh
and himself, and neither chose to be very communicative on the subject. But
Josh had certainly been with him as long as he had sailed the Swash, and that
was from a time actually anterior to the birth of Mulford. The mate soon had
the negro in the council.
“I say, Josh,” asked
Spike, “do you happen to remember such a hand aboard here as one Jack Tier?”
“Lor’ bless you, yes
sir--’members he as well as I do the pea soup that was burnt, and which you t’rowed
all over him, to scald him for punishment.”
“I’ve had to do that so
often, to one careless fellow or other, that the circumstance does n’t recall
the man. I remember him--but not as clear as I could wish. How long did he sail
with us?”
“Sebberal v’y’ge, sir,
and got left ashore down on the main, one night, when’e boat were obliged to
shove off in a hurry. Yes, ’members little Jack, right well I does.”
“Did you see the man
that spoke us from the wharf, and hailed for this very Jack Tier?”
“I see’d a man, sir,
dat was won’erful Jack Tier built like, sir, but I did n’t hear the
conwersation, habbin’ the ladies to ’tend to. But Jack was oncommon short in
his floor timbers, sir, and had no length of keel at all. His beam was won’erful
for his length, altogedder--what you call jolly-boat, or bum-boat build, and
was only good afore’e wind, Cap’n Spike.”
“Was he good for
anything aboard ship, Josh? Worth heaving-to for, should he try to get aboard
of us again?”
“Why, sir, can’t say
much for him in dat fashion. Jack was handy in the cabin, and capital feller to
carry soup from the gally, aft. You see, sir, he was so low-rigged that the
brig’s lurchin’ and pitchin’ could n’t get him off his pins, and he stood up
like a church in the heaviest wea’der. Yes, sir, Jack was right good for dat.”
Spike mused a
moment--then he rolled the tobacco over in his mouth, and added, in the way a
man speaks when his mind is made up--
“Ay ay! I see into the
fellow. He’ll make a handy lady’s maid, and we want such a chap just now. It’s
better to have an old friend aboard, than to be pickin’ up strangers, ’long
shore. So, should this Jack Tier come off to us, from any of the islands or
points ahead, Mr. Mulford, you’ll round to and take him aboard. As for the
steamer, if she will only pass out into the Sound where there’s room, it shall
go hard with us but I get to the eastward of her, without speaking. On the
other hand, should she anchor this side of the fort, I’ll not attempt to pass
her. There is deep water inside of most of the islands, I know, and we’ll try
and dodge her in that way, if no better offer. I’ve no more reason than another
craft to fear a government vessel, but the sight of one of them makes me
oncomfortable; that’s all.”
Mulford shrugged his
shoulders and remained silent, perceiving that his commander was not disposed
to pursue the subject any further. In the mean time, the brig had passed beyond
the influence of the bluff, and was beginning to feel a stronger breeze, that was
coming down the wide opening of Flushing Bay. As the tide still continued
strong in her favour, and her motion through the water was getting to be four
or five knots, there was every prospect of her soon reaching Whitestone, the
point where the tides meet, and where it would become necessary to anchor;
unless, indeed, the wind, which was now getting to the southward and eastward,
should come round more to the south. All this Spike and his mate discussed
together, while the people were clearing the decks, and making the preparations
that are customary on board a vessel before she gets into rough water.
By this time it was
ascertained that the brig had received no damage by her salute of the Pot Rock,
and every trace of uneasiness on that account was removed. But Spike kept
harping on the boat, and “the pilot-looking chap who was in her.” As they
passed Riker’s Island, all hands expected a boat would put off with a pilot, or
to demand pilotage; but none came, and the Swash now seemed released from all
her present dangers, unless some might still be connected with the revenue
steamer. To retard her advance, however, the wind came out a smart working
breeze from the southward and eastward, compelling her to make “long legs and
short ones” on her way towards Whitestone.
“This is beating the
wind, Rosy dear,” said Mrs. Budd, complacently, she and her niece having
returned to the deck a few minutes after this change had taken place. “Your
respected uncle did a great deal of this in his time, and was very successful
in it. I have heard him say, that in one of his voyages between Liverpool and
New York, he beat the wind by a whole fortnight, everybody talking of it in the
insurance offices, as if it was a miracle.”
“Ay, ay, Madam Budd,”
put in Spike, “I’ll answer for that. They’re desperate talkers in and about
them there insurance offices in Wall street. Great gossips be they, and they
think they know everything. Now just because this brig is a little old or so,
and was built for a privateer in the last war, they’d refuse to rate her as
even B, No. 2, and my blessing on ’em.”
“Yes, B, No. 2, that’s
just what your dear uncle used to call me, Rosy--his charming B, No. 2, or
Betsy, No. 2; particularly when he was in a loving mood. Captain Spike, did you
ever beat the wind in a long voyage?”
“I can’t say I ever
did, Mrs. Budd,” answered Spike, looking grimly around, to ascertain if any one
dared to smile at his passenger’s mistake; “especially for so long a pull as
from New York to Liverpool.”
“Then your uncle used
to boast of the Rose In Bloom’s wearing and attacking. She would attack
anything that came in her way, no matter who, and as for wearing, I think he
once told me she would wear just what she had a mind to, like any human being.”
Rose was a little
mystified, but she looked vexed at the same time, as if she distrusted all was
not right.
“I remember all my sea
education,” continued the unsuspecting widow, “as if it had been learnt
yesterday. Beating the wind and attacking ship, my poor Mr. Budd used to say,
were nice manœuvres, and required most of his tactics, especially in heavy
weather. Did you know, Rosy dear, that sailors weigh the weather, and know when
it is heavy and when it is light?”
“I did not, aunt; nor
do I understand now how it can very well be done.”
“Oh! child, before you
have been at sea a week, you will learn so many things that are new, and get so
many ideas of which you never had any notion before, that you’ll not be the
same person. My captain had an instrument he called a thermometer, and with
that he used to weigh the weather, and then he would write down in the log-book
‘today, heavy weather, or to-morrow, light weather,’ just as it happened, and
that helped him mightily along in his voyages.”
“Mrs. Budd has merely
mistaken the name of the instrument--the ‘barometer’ is what she wished to say,”
put in Mulford, opportunely.
Rose looked grateful,
as well as relieved. Though profoundly ignorant on these subjects herself, she
had always suspected her aunt’s knowledge. It was, consequently, grateful to
her to ascertain that, in this instance, the old lady’s mistake had been so
trifling.
“Well, it may have been
the barometer, for I know he had them both,” resumed the aunt. “Barometer, or
thermometer, it do n’t make any great difference; or quadrant, or sextant. They
are all instruments, and sometimes he used one, and sometimes another. Sailors
take on board the sun, too, and have an instrument for that, as well as one to
weigh the weather with. Sometimes they take on board the stars, and the moon,
and ‘fill their ships with the heavenly bodies,’ as I’ve heard my dear husband
say, again and again! But the most curious thing at sea, as all sailors tell
me, is crossing the line, and I do hope we shall cross the line, Rosy, that you
and I may see it.”
“What is the line,
aunty, and how do vessels cross it.”
“The line, my dear, is
a place in the ocean where the earth is divided into two parts, one part being
called the North Pole, and the other part the South Pole. Neptune lives near
this line, and he allows no vessel to go out of one pole into the other,
without paying it a visit. Never! never! --he would as soon think of living on
dry land as think of letting even a canoe pass, without visiting it.”
“Do you suppose there
is such a being, really, as Neptune, aunty?”
“To be sure I do; he is
king of the sea. Why should n’t there be? The sea must have a king, as well as
the land.”
“The sea may be a
republic, aunty, like this country; then, no king is necessary. I have always
supposed Neptune to be an imaginary being.”
“Oh that’s
impossible--the sea is no republic; there are but two republics, America and
Texas. I’ve heard that the sea is a highway, it is true--the ‘highway of
nations,’ I believe it is called, and that must mean something particular. But
my poor Mr. Budd always told me that Neptune was king of the seas, and he was
always so accurate, you might depend on everything he said. Why, he called his
last Newfoundland dog Neptune; and do you think, Rosy, that your dear uncle
would call his dog after an imaginary being?-- and he a man to beat the wind,
and attack ship, and take the sun, moon and stars aboard! No, no, child;
fanciful folk may see imaginary beings, but solid folk see solid beings.”
Even Spike was
dumfounded at this, and there is no knowing what he might have said, had not an
old sea-dog, who had just come out of the fore-topmast cross-trees, come aft,
and, hitching up his trowsers with one hand while he touched his hat with the
other, said with immoveable gravity,
“The revenue-steamer
has brought up just under the fort, Capt. Spike.”
“How do you know that,
Bill?” demanded the captain, with a rapidity that showed how completely Mrs.
Budd and all her absurdities were momentarily forgotten.
“I was up on the
fore-topgallant yard, sir, a bit ago, just to look to the strap of the
jewel-block, which wants some sarvice on it, and I see’d her over the land,
blowin’ off steam and takin’ in her kites. Afore I got out of the cross-trees,
she was head to wind under bare-poles, and if she had n’t anchored, she was
about to do so. I’m sartin ’t was she, sir, and that she was about to bring up.”
Spike gave a long, low
whistle, after his fashion, and he walked away from the females, with the air
of a man who wanted room to think in. Half a minute later, he called out--
“Stand by to shorten
sail, boys. Man fore-clew-garnets, flying jib down haul, topgallant sheets, and
gaff-topsail gear. In with ’em all, my lads--in with everything, with a will.”
An order to deal with
the canvas in any way, on board ship, immediately commands the whole attention
of all whose duty it is to attend to such matters, and there was an end of all
discourse while the Swash was shortening sail. Everybody understood, too, that
it was to gain time, and prevent the brig from reaching Throg’s Neck sooner
than was desirable.
“Keep the brig off,”
called out Spike, “and let her ware --we’re too busy to tack just now.”
The man at the wheel
knew very well what was wanted, and he put his helm up, instead of putting it
down, as he might have done without this injunction. As this change brought the
brig before the wind, and Spike was in no hurry to luff up on the other tack,
the Swash soon ran over a mile of the distance she had already made, putting
her back that much on her way to the Neck. It is out of our power to say what
the people of the different craft in sight thought of all this, but an
opportunity soon offered of putting them on a wrong scent. A large coasting
schooner, carrying everything that would draw on a wind, came sweeping under
the stern of the Swash, and hailed.
“Has anything happened,
on board that brig?” demanded her master.
“Man overboard,”
answered Spike--“you hav’nt seen his hat, have you?”
“No--no,” came back,
just as the schooner, in her onward course, swept beyond the reach of the
voice. Her people collected together, and one or two ran up the rigging a short
distance, stretching their necks, on the look-out for the “poor fellow,” but
they were soon called down to “’bout ship.” In less than five minutes, another
vessel, a rakish coasting sloop, came within hail.
“Did n’t that brig
strike the Pot Rock, in passing the Gate?” demanded her captain.
“Ay, ay!--and a devil
of a rap she got, too.”
This satisfied him;
there being nothing remarkable in a vessel’s acting strangely that had hit the
Pot Rock in passing Hell Gate.
“I think we may get in
our mainsail on the strength of this, Mr. Mulford,” said Spike. “There can be
nothing oncommon in a craft’s shortening sail, that has a man overboard, and
which has hit the Pot Rock. I wonder I never thought of all this before.”
‘Here is a skiff trying
to get alongside of us, Capt. Spike,” called out the boatswain.
“Skiff be d--d! I want
no skiff here.”
“The man that called
himself Jack Tier is in her, sir.”
“The d--l he is!” cried
Spike, springing over to the opposite side of the deck to take a look for
himself. To his infinite satisfaction he perceived that Tier was alone in the
skiff, with the exception of a negro, who pulled its sculls, and that this was
a very different boat from that which had glanced through Hell Gate, like an
arrow darting from its bow.
“Luff, and shake your
topsail,” called out Spike. “Get a rope there to throw to this skiff.”
The orders were obeyed,
and Jack Tier, with his clothes-bag, was soon on the deck of the Swash. As for
the skiff and the negro, they were cast adrift the instant the latter had
received his quarter. The meeting between Spike and his quondam steward’s mate
was a little remarkable. Each stood looking intently at the other, as if to
note the changes which time had made. We cannot say that Spike’s hard, red,
selfish countenance betrayed any great feeling, though such was not the case
with Jack Tier’s. The last, a lymphatic, puffy sort of a person at the best,
seemed really a little touched, and he either actually brushed a tear from his
eye, or he affected so to do.
“So, you are my old
shipmate, Jack Tier, are ye?” exclaimed Spike, in a half-patronizing,
half-hesitating way --and you want to try the old craft ag’in. Give us a leaf
of your log, and let me know where you have been this many a day, and what you
have been about? Keep the brig off, Mr. Mulford. We are in no particular hurry
to reach Throg’s, you’ll remember, sir.”
Tier gave an account of
his proceedings, which could have no interest with the reader. His narrative
was anything but very clear, and it was delivered in a cracked, octave sort of
a voice, such as little dapper people not unfrequently enjoy--tones between
those of a man and a boy. The substance of the whole story was this. Tier had
been left ashore, as sometimes happens to sailors, and, by necessary
connection, was left to shift for himself. After making some vain endeavours to
rejoin his brig, he had shipped in one vessel after another, until he accidentally
found himself in the port of New York, at the same time as the Swash. He know’d
he never should be truly happy ag’in until he could once more get aboard the
old hussy, and had hurried up to the wharf, where he understood the brig was
lying. As he came in sight, he saw she was about to cast off, and, dropping his
clothes-bag, he had made the best of his way to the wharf, where the
conversation passed that has been related.
“The gentleman on the
wharf was about to take boat, to go through the Gate,” concluded Tier, “and so
I begs a passage of him. He was good-natured enough to wait until I could find
my bag, and as soon a’terwards as the men could get their grog we shoved off.
The Molly was just getting in behind Blackwell’s as we left the wharf, and, having
four good oars, and the shortest road, we come out into the Gate just ahead on
you. My eye! what a place that is to go through in a boat, and on a strong
flood! The gentleman, who watched the brig as a cat watches a mouse, says you
struck on the Pot, as he called it, but I says ‘no,’ for the Molly Swash was
never know’d to hit rock or shoal in my time aboard her.”
“And where did you quit
that gentleman, and what has become of him?” asked Spike.
“He put me ashore on
that point above us, where I see’d a nigger with his skiff, who I thought would
be willin’ to ’arn his quarter by giving me a cast alongside. So here I am, and
a long pull I’ve had to get here.”
As this was said, Jack
removed his hat and wiped his brow with a handkerchief, which, if it had never
seen better days, had doubtless been cleaner. After this, he looked about him,
with an air not entirely free from exultation.
This conversation had
taken place in the gangway, a somewhat public place, and Spike beckoned to his
recruit to walk aft, where he might be questioned without being overheard.
“What became of the
gentleman in the boat, as you call him?” demanded Spike.
“He pulled ahead,
seeming to be in a hurry.”
“Do you know who he
was?”
“Not a bit of it. I
never saw the man before, and he did n’t tell me his business, sir.”
“Had he anything like a
silver oar about him.”
“I saw nothing of the
sort, Capt. Spike, and knows nothing consarning him.”
“What sort of a boat
was he in, and where did he get it?”
“Well, as to the boat,
sir, I can say a word, seein’ it was so much to my mind, and pulled so
wonderful smart. It was a light ship’s yawl, with four oars, and came round the
Hook just a’ter you had got the brig’s head round to the eastward. You must
have seen it, I should think, though it kept close in with the wharves, as if
it wished to be snug.”
“Then the gentleman, as
you call him, expected that very boat to come and take him off?”
“I suppose so, sir,
because it did come and take him off. That’s all I knows about it.”
“Had you no jaw with
the gentleman? You was n’t mnm the whole time you was in the boat with him?”
“Not a bit of it, sir.
Silence and I does n’t agree together long, and so we talked most of the time.”
“And what did the
stranger say of the brig?”
“Lord, sir, he catechised
me like as if I had been a child at Sunday-school. He asked me how long I had
sailed in her; what ports we’d visited, and what trade we’d been in. You can’t
think the sight of questions he put, and how cur’ous he was for the answers.”
“And what did you tell
him in your answers? You said nothin’ about our call down on the Spanish Main,
the time you were left ashore, I hope, Jack?”
“Not I, sir. I played
him off surprisin’ly. He got nothin’ to count upon out of me. Though I do owe
the Molly Swash a grudge, I’m not goin’ to betray her.”
“You owe the Molly
Swash a grudge! Have I taken an enemy on board her, then?”
Jack started, and
seemed sorry he had said so much; while Spike eyed him keenly. But the answer
set all right. It was not given, however, without a moment for recollection.
“Oh, you knows what I
mean, sir. I owe the old hussy a grudge for having desarted me like; but it’s
only a love quarrel atween us. The old Molly will never come to harm by my
means.”
“I hope not, Jack. The
man that wrongs the craft he sails in can never be a true-hearted sailor. Stick
by your ship in all weathers is my rule, and a good rule it is to go by. But
what did you tell the stranger?”
“Oh! I told him I’d
been six v’y’ges in the brig. The first was to Madagascar--”
“The d--l you did? Was
he soft enough to believe that?”
“That’s more than I
knows, sir. I can only tell you what I said; I do n’t pretend to know how much
he believed.”
“Heave ahead--what
next?”
“Then I told him we
went to Kamschatka for gold dust and ivory.”
“Whe-e-ew! What did the
man say to that?”
“Why, he smiled a bit,
and a’ter that he seemed more cur’ous than ever to hear all about it. I told
him my third v’y’ge was to Canton, with a cargo of broom-corn, where we took in
salmon and dun-fish for home. A’ter that we went to Norway with ice, and
brought back silks and money. Our next run was to the Havana, with salt and ’nips--”
“’Nips! what the devil
be they?”
“Turnips, you knows,
sir. We always calls ’em ’nips in cargo. At the Havana I told him we took in
leather and jerked beef, and came home. Oh! he got nothin’ from me, Capt.
Spike, that’ll ever do the brig a morsel of harm!”
“I am glad of that,
Jack. You must know enough of the seas to understand that a close mouth is
sometimes better for a vessel than a clean bill of health. Was there nothing
said about the revenue-steamer?”
“Now you name her, sir,
I believe there was--ay, ay, sir, the gentleman did say, if the steamer fetched
up to the westward of the fort, that he should overhaul her without difficulty,
on this flood.
“That’ll do, Jack; that’ll
do, my honest fellow. Go below, and tell Josh to take you into the cabin again,
as steward’s mate. You’re rather too Dutch built, in your old age, to do much
aloft.”
One can hardly say
whether Jack received this remark as complimentary, or not. He looked a little
glum, for a man may be as round as a barrel, and wish to be thought genteel and
slender; but he went below, in quest of Josh, without making any reply.
The succeeding
movements of Spike appeared to be much influenced by what he had just heard. He
kept the brig under short canvas for near two hours, sheering about in the same
place, taking care to tell everything which spoke him that he had lost a man
overboard. In this way, not only the tide, but the day itself, was nearly
spent. About the time the former began to lose its strength, however, the
fore-course and the main-sail were got on the brigantine, with the intention of
working her up toward Whitestone, where the tides meet, and near which the
revenue-steamer was known to be anchored. We say near, though it was, in fact,
a mile or two more to the eastward, and close to the extremity of the Point.
Notwithstanding these
demonstrations of a wish to work to windward, Spike was really in no hurry. He
had made up his mind to pass the steamer in the dark, if possible, and the
night promised to favour him; but, in order to do this, it might be necessary
not to come in sight of her at all; or, at least, not until the obscurity
should in some measure conceal his rig and character. In consequence of this
plan, the Swash made no great progress, even after she had got sail on her, on
her old course. The wind lessened, too, after the sun went down, though it
still hung to the eastward, or nearly ahead. As the tide gradually lost its
force, moreover, the set to windward became less and less, until it finally
disappeared altogether.
There is necessarily a
short reach in this passage, where it is always slack water, so far as current
is concerned. This is precisely where the tides meet, or, as has been
intimated, at Whitestone, which is somewhat more than a mile to the westward of
Throgmorton’s Neck, near the point of which stands Fort Schuyler, one of the
works recently erected for the defence of New York. Off the pitch of the point,
nearly mid-channel, had the steamer anchored, a fact of which Spike had made
certain, by going aloft himself, and reconnoitering her over the land, before
it had got to be too dark to do so. He entertained no manner of doubt that this
vessel was in waiting for him, and he well knew there was good reason for it;
but he would not return and attempt the passage to sea by way of Sandy Hook.
His manner of regarding the whole matter was cool and judicious. The distance
to the Hook was too great to be made in such short nights ere the return of
day, and he had no manner of doubt he was watched for in that direction, as
well as in this. Then he was particularly unwilling to show his craft at all in
front of the town, even in the night. Moreover, he had ways of his own for
effecting his purposes, and this was the very spot and time to put them in
execution.
While these things were
floating in his mind, Mrs. Budd and her handsome niece were making preparations
for passing the night, aided by Biddy Noon. The old lady was factotum, or
factota, as it might be most classical to call her, though we are entirely
without authorities on the subject, and was just as self-complacent and
ambitious of seawomanship below decks, as she had been above board. The effect,
however, gave Spike great satisfaction, since it kept her out of sight, and
left him more at liberty to carry out his own plans. About nine, however, the
good woman came on deck, intending to take a look at the weather, like a
skilful marineress as she was, before she turned in. Not a little was she
astonished at what she then and there beheld, as she whispered to Rose and
Biddy, both of whom stuck close to her side, feeling the want of good pilotage,
no doubt, in strange waters.
The Molly Swash was
still under her canvas, though very little sufficed for her present purposes.
She was directly off Whitestone, and was making easy stretches across the
passage, or river, as it is called, having nothing set but her huge
fore-and-aft mainsail and the jib. Under this sail she worked like a top, and
Spike sometimes fancied she travelled too fast for his purposes, the night air
having thickened the canvas as usual, until it “held the wind as a bottle holds
water.” There was nothing in this, however, to attract the particular attention
of the ship-master’s widow, a sail, more or less, being connected with
observation much too critical for her schooling, nice as the last had been. She
was surprised to find the men stripping the brig forward, and converting her
into a schooner. Nor was this done in a loose and slovenly manner, under favour
of the obscurity. On the contrary, it was so well executed that it might have
deceived even a seaman under a noon-day sun, provided the vessel were a mile or
two distant. The manner in which the metamorphosis was made was as follows: the
studding-sail booms had been taken off the topsail-yard, in order to shorten it
to the eye, and the yard itself was swayed up about half-mast, to give it the
appearance of a schooner’s fore-yard. The brig’s real lower yard was lowered on
the bulwarks, while her royal yard was sent down altogether, and the
topgallant-mast was lowered until the heel rested on the topsail yard, all of
which, in the night, gave the gear forward very much the appearance of that of
a fore-topsail schooner, instead of that of a half-rigged brig, as the craft
really was. As the vessel carried a try-sail on her foremast, it answered very
well, in the dark, to represent a schooner’s foresail. Several other little
dispositions of this nature were made, about which it might weary the
uninitiated to read, but which will readily suggest themselves to the mind of a
sailor.
These alterations were
far advanced when the females re-appeared on deck. They at once attracted their
attention, and the captain’s widow felt the imperative necessity, as connected
with her professional character, of proving the same. She soon found Spike, who
was bustling around the deck, now looking around to see that his brig was kept
in the channel, now and then issuing an order to complete her disguise.
“Captain Spike, what
can be the meaning of all these changes? The tamper of your vessel is so much
altered that I declare I should not have known her!”
“Is it, by George! Then
she is just in the state I want her to be in.”
“But why have you done
it--and what does it all mean?”
“Oh, Molly’s going to
bed for the night, and she’s only undressing herself--that’s all.”
“Yes, Rosy dear,
Captain Spike is right. I remember that my poor Mr. Budd used to talk about The
Rose In Bloom having her clothes on, and her clothes off, just as if she was a
born woman! But do n’t you mean to navigate at all in the night, Captain Spike?
Or will the brig navigate without sails?”
“That’s it--she’s just
as good in the dark, under one sort of canvas, as under another. So, Mr.
Mulford, we’ll take a reef in that mainsail; it will bring it nearer to the
size of our new foresail, and seem more ship-shape and Brister fashion--then I
think she’ll do, as the night is getting to be rather darkish.”
“Captain Spike,” said
the boatswain, who had been set to look-out for that particular change--“the
brig begins to feel the new tide, and sets to windward.”
“Let her go, then--now
is as good a time as another. We’ve got to run the gantlet, and the sooner it
is done the better.”
As the moment seemed
propitious, not only Mulford, but all the people, heard this order with
satisfaction. The night was star-light, though not very clear at that. Objects
on the water, however, were more visible than those on the land, while those on
the last could be seen well enough, even from the brig, though in confused and
somewhat shapeless piles. When the Swash was brought close by the wind, she had
just got into the last reach of the “river,” or that which runs parallel with
the Neck for near a mile, doubling where the Sound expands itself, gradually,
to a breadth of many leagues. Still the navigation at the entrance of this end
of the Sound was intricate and somewhat dangerous, rendering it indispensable
for a vessel of any size to make a crooked course. The wind stood at
south-east, and was very scant to lay through the reach with, while the tide
was so slack as barely to possess a visible current at that place. The steamer
lay directly off the Point, mid-channel, as mentioned, showing lights, to mark
her position to anything which might be passing in or out. The great thing was
to get by her without exciting her suspicion. As all on board, the females
excepted, knew what their captain was at, the attempt was made amid an anxious
and profound silence; or, if any one spoke at all, it was only to give an order
in a low tone, or its answer in a simple monosyllable.
Although her aunt
assured her that everything which had been done already, and which was now
doing, was quite in rule, the quick-eyed and quick-witted Rose noted these
unusual proceedings, and had an opinion of her own on the subject. Spike had
gone forward, and posted himself on the weather-side of the forecastle, where
he could get the clearest look ahead, and there he remained most of the time,
leaving Mulford on the quarter-deck, to work the vessel, Perceiving this, she
managed to get near the mate, without attracting her aunt’s attention, and at
the same time out of ear-shot.
“Why is everybody so
still and seemingly so anxious, Harry Mulford?” she asked, speaking in a low
tone herself, as if desirous of conforming to a common necessity. “Is there any
new danger here? I thought the Gate had been passed altogether, some hours ago?”
“So it has. D’ye see
that large dark mass on the water, off the Point, which seems almost as huge as
the fort, with lights above it? That is a revenue-steamer which came out of
York a few hours before us. We wish to get past her without being troubled by
any of her questions.”
“And what do any in
this brig care about her questions? They can be answered, surely.”
“Ay, ay, Rose--they may
be answered, as you say, but the answers sometimes are unsatisfactory. Captain
Spike, for some reason or other, is uneasy, and would rather not have anything
to say to her. He has the greatest aversion to speaking the smallest craft when
on a coast.”
“And that’s the reason
he has undressed his Molly, as he calls her, that he might not be known.”
Mulford turned his head
quickly toward his companion, as if surprised by her quickness of apprehension,
but he had too just a sense of his duty to make any reply. Instead of pursuing
the discourse, he adroitly contrived to change it, by pointing out to Rose the
manner in which they were getting on, which seemed to be very successfully.
Although the Swash was
under much reduced canvas, she glided along with great ease and with
considerable rapidity of motion. The heavy night air kept her canvas distended,
and the weatherly set of the tide, trifling as it yet was, pressed her up
against the breeze, so as to turn all to account. It was apparent enough, by
the manner in which objects on the land were passed, that the crisis was fast
approaching. Rose rejoined her aunt, in order to await the result, in nearly
breathless expectation. At that moment, she would have given the world to be
safe on shore. This wish was not the consequence of any constitutional
timidity, for Rose was much the reverse from timid, but it was the fruit of a
newly-awakened and painful, though still vague, suspicion. Happy, thrice happy
was it for one of her naturally confiding and guileless nature, that distrust
was thus opportunely awakened, for she was without a guardian competent to
advise and guide her youth, as circumstances required.
The brig was not long
in reaching the passage that opened to the Sound. It is probable she did this
so much the sooner because Spike kept her a little off the wind, with a view of
not passing too near the steamer. At this point, the direction of the passage
changes at nearly a right angle, the revenue-steamer lying on a line with the
Neck, and leaving a sort of bay, in the angle, for the Swash to enter. The land
was somewhat low in all directions but one, and that was by drawing a straight
line from the Point, through the steamer, to the Long Island shore. On the
latter, and in that quarter, rose a bluff of considerable elevation, with deep
water quite near it; and, under the shadows of that bluff, Spike intended to
perform his nicest evolutions. He saw that the revenue vessel had let her fires
go down, and that she was entirely without steam. Under canvas, he had no doubt
of beating her hand over hand, could he once fairly get to windward; and then
she was at anchor, and would lose some time in getting under way, should she
even commence a pursuit. It was all important, therefore, to gain as much to
windward as possible, before the people of the government vessel took the
alarm.
There can be no doubt
that the alterations made on board the Swash served her a very good turn on
this occasion. Although the night could not be called positively dark, there
was sufficient obscurity to render her hull confused and indistinct at any
distance, and this so much the more when seen from the steamer outside, or
between her and the land. All this Spike very well understood, and largely
calculated on. In effect he was not deceived; the look-outs on board the
revenue craft could trace little of the vessel that was approaching beyond the
spars and sails which rose above the shores, and these seemed to be the spars
and sails of a common foretopsail schooner. As this was not the sort of craft
for which they were on the watch, no suspicion was awakened, nor did any
reports go from the quarter-deck to the cabin. The steamer had her quarter
watches, and officers of the deck, like a vessel of war, the discipline of
which was fairly enough imitated, but even a man-of-war may be overreached on
an occasion.
Spike was only great in
a crisis, and then merely as a seaman. He understood his calling to its minutiæ,
and he understood the Molly Swash better than he understood any other craft
that floated. For more than twenty years had he sailed her, and the careful
parent does not better understand the humours of the child, than he understood
exactly what might be expected from his brig. His satisfaction sensibly
increased, therefore, as she stole along the land, toward the angle mentioned,
without a sound audible but the gentle gurgling of the water, stirred by the
stem, and which sounded like the ripple of the gentlest wave, as it washes the
shingle of some placid beach.
As the brig drew nearer
to the bluff, the latter brought the wind more ahead, as respected the desired
course. This was unfavourable, but it did not disconcert her watchful
commander.
“Let her come round,
Mr. Mulford,” said this pilot-captain, in a low voice--“we are as near in as we
ought to go.”
The helm was put down,
the head sheets started, and away into the wind shot the Molly Swash,
fore-reaching famously in stays, and, of course, gaining so much on her true
course. In a minute she was round, and filled on the other tack. Spike was now
so near the land, that he could perceive the tide was beginning to aid him, and
that his weatherly set was getting to be considerable. Delighted at this, he
walked aft, and told Mulford to go about again as soon as the vessel had
sufficient way to make sure of her in stays. The mate inquired if he did not
think the revenue people might suspect something, unless they stood further out
toward mid-channel, but Spike reminded him that they would be apt to think the
schooner was working up under the southern shore, because the ebb first made
there. This reason satisfied Mulford, and, as soon as they were half-way
between the bluff and the steamer, the Swash was again tacked, with her head to
the former. This manœuvre was executed when the brig was about two hundred
yards from the steamer, a distance that was sufficient to preserve, under all
the circumstances, the disguise she had assumed.
“They do not suspect
us, Harry!” whispered Spike to his mate. “We shall get to windward of ’em, as
sartain as the breeze stands. That boatin’ gentleman might as well have staid
at home, as for any good his hurry done him or his employers!”
“Whom do you suppose
him to be, Captain Spike?”
“Who,--a feller that
lives by his own wicked deeds. No matter who he is. An informer, perhaps. At
any rate, he is not the man to outwit the Molly Swash, and her old, stupid,
foolish master and owner, Stephen Spike. Luff, Mr. Mulford, luff. Now’s the
time to make the most of your leg--Luff her up and shake her. She is setting to
windward fast, the ebb is sucking along that bluff like a boy at a molasses
hogshead. All she can drift on this tack is clear gain; there is no hurry, so
long as they are asleep aboard the steamer. That’s it--make a half-board at
once, but take care and not come round. As soon as we are fairly clear of the
bluff, and open the bay that makes up behind it, we shall get the wind more to
the southward, and have a fine long leg for the next stretch.”
Of course Mulford
obeyed, throwing the brig up into the wind, and allowing her to set to
windward, but filling again on the same tack, as ordered. This, of course,
delayed her progress toward the land, and protracted the agony, but it carried
the vessel in the direction she most wished to go, while it kept her not only
end on to the steamer, but in a line with the bluff, and consequently in the
position most favourable to conceal her true character. Presently, the bay
mentioned, which was several miles deep, opened darkly toward the south, and
the wind came directly out of it, or more to the southward. At this moment the
Swash was near a quarter of a mile from the steamer, and all that distance dead
to windward of her, as the breeze came out of the bay. Spike tacked his vessel
himself now, and got her head up so high that she brought the steamer on her
lee quarter, and looked away toward the island which lies northwardly from the
Point, and quite near to which all vessels of any draught of water are
compelled to pass, even with the fairest winds.
“Shake the reef out of
the mainsail, Mr. Mulford,” said Spike, when the Swash was fairly in motion
again on this advantageous tack. “We shall pass well to windward of the
steamer, and may as well begin to open our cloth again.”
“Is it not a little too
soon, sir?” Mulford ventured to remonstrate; “the reef is a large one, and will
make a great difference in the size of the sail.”
“They’ll not see it at
this distance. No, no, sir, shake out the reef, and sway away on the
topgallant-mast rope; I’m for bringing the Molly Swash into her old shape
again, and make her look handsome once more.”
“Do you dress the brig,
as well as undress her, o’mights; Captain Spike?” inquired the ship-master’s
reliet, a little puzzled with this fickleness of purpose. “I do not believe my
poor Mr. Budd ever did that.”
“Fashions change,
madam, with the times--ay, ay, sir --shake out the reef, and sway away on that
mast-rope, boys, as soon as you have manned it. We’ll convart our schooner into
a brig again.”
As these orders were
obeyed, of course, a general bustle now took place. Mulford soon had the reef
out, and the sail distended to the utmost, while the topgallant-mast was soon
up and fidded. The next thing was to sway upon the fore-yard, and get that into
its place. The people were busied at this duty, when a hoarse hail came across
the water on the heavy night air.
“Brig ahoy!” was the
call.
“Sway upon that
fore-yard,” said Spike, unmoved by this summons--“start it, start it at once.”
“The steamer hails us,
sir,” said the mate.
“Not she. She is
hailing a brig; we are a schooner yet.”
A moment of active
exertion succeeded, during which the fore-yard went into its place. Then came a
second hail.
“Schooner, ahoy!” was
the summons this time.
“The steamer hails us
again, Captain Spike.”
“The devil a bit. We’re
a brig now, and she hails a schooner. Come boys, bestir yourselves, and get the
canvas on Molly for’ard. Loose the fore-course before you quit the yard there,
then up aloft and loosen everything you can find.”
All was done as
ordered, and done rapidly, as is ever the case on board a well-ordered vessel
when there is occasion for exertion. That occasion now appeared to exist in earnest,
for while the men were sheeting home the topsail, a flash of light illuminated
the scene, when the roar of a gun came booming across the water, succeeded by
the very distinct whistling of its shot. We regret that the relict of the late
Captain Budd did not behave exactly as became a ship-master’s widow, under
fire. Instead of remaining silent and passive, even while frightened, as was
the case with Rose, she screamed quite as loud as she had previously done that
very day in Hell-Gate. It appeared to Spike, indeed, that practice was making
her perfect; and, as for Biddy, the spirit of emulation became so powerful in
her bosom, that, if anything, she actually outshrieked her mistress. Hearing
this, the widow made a second effort, and fairly recovered the ground some
might have fancied she had lost.
“Oh! Captain Spike,”
exclaimed the agitated widow, “do not--do not, if you love me, do not let them
fire again!”
“How am I to help it!”
asked the captain, a good deal to the point, though he overlooked the essential
fact, that, by heaving-to, and waiting for the steamer’s boat to board him, he
might have prevented a second shot, as completely as if he had the ordering of
the whole affair. No second shot was fired, however. As it afterward appeared,
the screams of Mrs. Budd and Biddy were heard on board the steamer, the captain
of which, naturally enough, supposing that the slaughter must be terrible where
such cries had arisen, was satisfied with the mischief he had already done, and
directed his people to secure their gun and go to the capstan-bars, in order to
help lift the anchor. In a word, the revenue vessel was getting under way,
man-of-war fashion, which means somewhat expeditiously.
Spike understood the
sounds that reached him, among which was the call of the boatswain, and he
bestirred himself accordingly. Experienced as he was in chases and all sorts of
nautical artifices, he very well knew that his situation was sufficiently
critical. It would have been so, with a steamer at his heels, in the open
ocean; but, situated as he was, he was compelled to steer but one course, and
to accept the wind on that course as it might offer. If he varied at all in his
direction it was only in a trifling way, though he did make some of these
variations. Every moment was now precious, however, and he endeavoured to
improve the time to the utmost. He knew that he could greatly outsail the
revenue vessel, under canvas, and some time would be necessary to enable her to
get up her steam; half an hour at the very least. On that half hour, then,
depended the fate of the Molly Swash.
“Send the booms on the
yards, and set stun’sails at once, Mr. Mulford,” said Spike, the instant the
more regular canvas was spread forward. “This wind will be free enough for all
but the lower stun’sail, and we must drive the brig on.”
“Are we not looking up
too high, Captain Spike? The Stepping-Stones are ahead of us, sir.”
“I know that very well,
Mulford. But it’s nearly high water, and the brig’s in light trim, and we may
rub and go. By making a short cut here, we shall gain a full mile on the
steamer; that mile may save us.”
“Do you really think it
possible to get away from that craft, which can always make a fair wind of it,
in these narrow waters, Captain Spike?”
“One don’t know, sir. Nothin’
is done without tryin’, and by tryin’ more is often done than was hoped for. I
have a scheme in my head, and Providence may favour me in bringing it about.”
Providence! The
religionist quarrels with the philosopher if the latter happen to remove this
interposition of a higher power, even so triflingly as by the intervention of
secondary agencies, while the biggest rascal dignifies even his success by such
phrases as Providential aid! But it is not surprising men should misunderstand
terms, when they make such sad confusion in the acts which these terms are
merely meant to represent. Spike had his Providence as well as a priest, and we
dare say he often counted on its succour, with quite as rational grounds of
dependence as many of the pharisees who are constantly exclaiming, “The Temple
of the Lord, the Temple of the Lord are these.”
Sail was made on board
the Swash with great rapidity, and the brig made a bold push at the
Stepping-Stones. Spike was a capital pilot. He insisted if he could once gain
sight of the spar that was moored on those rocks for a buoy, he should run with
great confidence. The two lights were of great assistance, of course; but the
revenue vessel could see these lights as well as the brig, and she, doubtless,
had an excellent pilot on board. By the time the studding-sails were set on
board the Swash, the steamer was aweigh, and her long line of peculiar sails
became visible. Unfortunately for men who were in a hurry, she lay so much
within the bluff as to get the wind scant, and her commander thought it
necessary to make a stretch over to the southern shore, before he attempted to
lay his course. When he was ready to tack, an operation of some time with a
vessel of her great length, the Swash was barely visible in the obscurity, gliding
off upon a slack bowline, at a rate which nothing but the damp night air, the
ballast-trim of the vessel, united to her excellent sailing qualities, could
have produced with so light a breeze.
The first half hour
took the Swash completely out of sight of the steamer. In that time, in truth,
by actual superiority in sailing, by her greater state of preparation, and by
the distance saved by a bold navigation, she had gained fully a league on her
pursuer. But, while the steamer had lost sight of the Swash, the latter kept
the former in view, and that by means of a signal that was very portentous. She
saw the light of the steamer’s chimneys, and could form some opinion of her
distance and position.
It was about eleven o’clock
when the Swash passed the light at Sands’ Point, close in with the land. The
wind stood much as it had been. If there was a change at all, it was half a
point more to the southward, and it was a little fresher. Such as it was, Spike
saw he was getting, in that smooth water, quite eight knots out of his craft,
and he made his calculations thereon. As yet, and possibly for half an hour
longer, he was gaining, and might hope to continue to gain on the steamer. Then
her turn would come. Though no great traveller, it was not to be expected that,
favoured by smooth water and the breeze, her speed would be less than ten
knots, while there was no hope of increasing his own without an increase of the
wind. He might be five miles in advance, or six at the most; these six miles
would be overcome in three hours of steaming, to a dead certainty, and they
might possibly be overcome much sooner. It was obviously necessary to resort to
some other experiment than that of dead sailing, if an escape was to be
effected.
The Sound was now
several miles in width, and Spike, at first, proposed to his mate, to keep off
dead before the wind, and by crossing over to the north shore, let the steamer
pass ahead, and continue a bootless chase to the eastward. Several vessels,
however, were visible in the middle of the passage, at distances varying from
one to three miles, and Mulford pointed out the hopelessness of attempting to
cross the sheet of open water, and expect to go unseen by the watchful eyes of
the revenue people.
“What you say is true
enough, Mr. Mulford,” answered Spike, after a moment of profound reflection, “and
every foot that they come nearer, the less will be our chance. But here is
Hempstead Harbour a few leagues ahead; if we can reach that before the
blackguards close, we may do well enough. It is a deep bay, and has high land
to darken the view. I don’t think the brig could be seen at midnight by
anything outside; if she was once fairly up that water a mile or two.”
“That is our chance,
sir!” exclaimed Mulford cheerfully. “Ay, ay, I know the spot; and everything is
favourable-- try that, Captain Spike; I’ll answer for it that we go clear.”
Spike did try it. For a
considerable time longer he stood on, keeping as close to the land as he
thought it safe to run, and carrying everything that would draw. But the
steamer was on his heels, evidently gaining fast. Her chimneys gave out flames,
and there was every sign that her people were in earnest. To those on board the
Swash these flames seemed to draw nearer each instant, as indeed was the fact, and
just as the breeze came fresher out of the opening in the hills, or the low
mountains, which surround the place of refuge in which they designed to enter,
Mulford announced that by aid of the night-glass he could distinguish both
sails and hull of their pursuer. Spike took a look, and throwing down the
instrument, in a way to endanger it, he ordered the studding-sails taken in.
The men went aloft like cats, and worked as if they could stand in air. In a
minute or two the Swash was under what Mrs. Budd might have called her “attacking”
canvas, and was close by the wind, looking on a good leg well up the harbour.
The brig seemed to be conscious of the emergency, and glided ahead at capital
speed. In five minutes she had shut in the flaming chimneys of the steamer. In
five minutes more Spike tacked, to keep under the western side of the harbour,
and out of sight as long as possible, and because he thought the breeze drew
down fresher where he was than more out in the bay.
All now depended on the
single fact whether the brig had been seen from the steamer or not, before she
hauled into the bay. If seen, she had probably been watched; if not seen, there
were strong grounds for hoping that she might still escape. About a quarter of
an hour after Spike hauled up, the burning chimneys came again into view. The
brig was then half a league within the bay, with a fine dark background of
hills to throw her into shadow. Spike ordered everything taken in but the
trysail, under which the brig was left to set slowly over toward the western
side of the harbour. He now rubbed his hands with delight, and pointed out to
Mulford the circumstance that the steamer kept on her course directly athwart
the harbour’s mouth! Had she seen the Swash, no doubt she would have turned
into the bay also. Nevertheless, an anxious ten minutes succeeded, during which
the revenue vessel steamed fairly past, and shut in her flaming chimneys again
by the eastern headlands of the estuary.
The western wave was
all a flame,
The day was well nigh
done,
Almost upon the western
wave
Rested the broad bright
sun;
When that strange ship
drove suddenly
Betwixt us and the sun.
The Ancient Mariner At that hour, on the
succeeding morning, when the light of day is just beginning to chase away the
shadows of night, the Molly Swash became visible within the gloom of the high
land which surrounds so much of the bay of Hempstead, under easy sail, backing
and filling, in order to keep within her hiding-place, until a look could be
had at the state of things without. Half an hour later, she was so near the
entrance of the estuary, as to enable the look-outs aloft to ascertain that the
coast was clear, when Spike ordered the helm to be put up, and the brig to be
kept away to her course. At this precise moment, Rose appeared on deck,
refreshed by the sleep of a quiet night; and with cheeks tinged with a colour
even more delicate than that which was now glowing in the eastern sky, and
which was almost as brilliant.
“We stopped in this bit
of a harbour for the night, Miss Rose, that is all;” said Spike, observing that
his fair passenger was looking about her, in some little surprise, at finding
the vessel so near the land, and seemingly so much out of her proper position. “Yes,
we always do that, when we first start on a v’y’ge, and before the brig gets
used to travelling--do n’t we, Mr. Mulford?”
Mr. Mulford, who knew
how hopeless was the attempt to mystify Rose, as one might mystify her
credulous and weak-minded aunt, and who had no disposition to deal any way but
fairly by the beautiful, and in one sense now helpless young creature before
him, did not see fit to make any reply. Offend Spike he did not dare to do,
more especially under present circumstances; and mislead Rose he would not do.
He affected not to hear the question, therefore, but issuing an order about the
head-sails, he walked forward as if to see it executed. Rose herself was not
under as much restraint as the young mate.
“It is convenient,
Captain Spike,” she coolly answered for Mulford, “to have stopping-places, for
vessels that are wearied, and I remember the time when my uncle used to tell me
of such matters, very much in the same vein; but, it was before I was twelve
years old.”
Spike hemmed, and he
looked a little foolish, but Clench, the boatswain, coming aft to say something
to him in confidence, just at that moment, he was enabled to avoid the
awkwardness of attempting to explain. This man Clench, or Clinch, as the name
was pronounced, was deep in the captain’s secrets; far more so than was his
mate, and would have been filling Mulford’s station at that very time, had he
not been hopelessly ignorant of navigation. On the present occasion, his
business was to point out to the captain, two or three lines of smoke, that
were visible above the water of the Sound, in the eastern board; one of which
he was apprehensive might turn out to be the smoke of the revenue craft, from
which they had so recently escaped.
“Steamers are no
rarities in Long Island Sound, Clench,” observed the captain, levelling his
glass at the most suspected of the smokes. “That must be a Providence, or
Stonington chap, coming west with the Boston train.”
“Either of them would
have been further west, by this time, Captain Spike,” returned the doubting,
but watchful boatswain. “It’s a large smoke, and I fear it is the revenue
fellow coming back, after having had a look well to the eastward, and
satisfying himself that we are not to be had in that quarter.”
Spike growled out his
assent to the possibility of such a conjecture, and promised vigilance. This
satisfied his subordinate for the moment, and he walked forward, or to the
place where he belonged. In the mean time, the widow came on deck, smiling, and
snuffing the salt air, and ready to be delighted with anything that was
maritime.
“Good morning, Captain
Spike,” she cried--“Are we in the offing, yet?--you know I desired to be told
when we are in the offing, for I intend to write a letter to my poor Mr. Budd’s
sister, Mrs. Sprague, as soon as we get to the offing.”
“What is the offing,
aunt?” inquired the handsome niece.
“Why you have hardly
been at sea long enough to understand me, child, should I attempt to explain.
The offing, however, is the place where the last letters are always written to
the owners, and to friends ashore. The term comes, I suppose, from the
circumstance that the vessel is about to be off, and it is natural to think of
those we leave behind, at such a moment. I intend to write to your aunt
Sprague, my dear, the instant I hear we are in the offing; and what is more, I
intend to make you my amanuensis.”
“But how will the
letter be sent, aunty?--I have no more objections to writing than any one else,
but I do not see how the letter is to be sent. Really, the sea is a curious
region, with its stopping-places for the night, and its offings to write
letters at!”
“Yes, it’s all as you
say, Rose--a most remarkable region is the sea! You’ll admire it, as I admire
it, when you come to know it better; and as your poor uncle admired it, and as
Captain Spike admires it, too. As for the letters, they can be sent ashore by
the pilot, as letters are always sent.”
“But, aunty, there is
no pilot in the Swash--for Captain Spike refused to take one on board.”
“Rose!--you don’t
understand what you are talking about! No vessel ever yet sailed without a
pilot, if indeed any can. It’s opposed to the law, not to have a pilot; and now
I remember to have heard your dear uncle say it wasn’t a voyage if a vessel
didn’t take away a pilot.”
“But if they take them
away, aunty, how can they send the letters ashore by them?”
“Poh! poh! child; you
don’t know what you’re saying; but you’ll overlook it, I hope, Captain Spike,
for Rose is quick, and will soon learn to know better. As if letters couldn’t
be sent ashore by the pilot, though he was a hundred thousand miles from land!
But, Captain Spike, you must let me know when we are about to get off the
Sound, for I know that the pilot is always sent ashore with his letters, before
the vessel gets off the Sound.”
“Yes, yes,” returned
the captain, a little mystified by the widow, though he knew her so well, and
understood her so well--“you shall know, ma’am, when we get off soundings, for
I suppose that is what you mean.”
“What is the
difference? Off the Sound, or off the soundings, of course, must mean the same
thing. But, Rosy, we will go below and write to your aunt at once, for I see a
light-house yonder, and light-houses are always put just off the soundings.”
Rose, who always
suspected her aunt’s nautical talk, though she did not know how to correct it,
and was not sorry to put an end to it, now, by going below, and spreading her
own writing materials, in readiness to write, as the other dictated. Biddy Noon
was present, sewing on some of her own finery.
“Now write, as I tell
you, Rose,” commenced the widow--
“My dear sister
Sprague--Here we are, at last, just off the soundings, with light-houses all
round us, and so many capes and islands in sight, that it does seem as if the
vessel never could find its way through them all. Some of these islands must be
the West Indies”--
“Aunty, that can never
be!” exclaimed Rose--“we left New York only yesterday.”
“What of that? Had it
been old times, I grant you several days might be necessary to get a sight of
the West Indies, but, now, when a letter can be written to a friend in Boston,
and an answer received in half an hour, it requires no such time to go to the
West Indies. Besides, what other islands are there in this part of the
world?--they can’t be England--”
“No--no,”--said Rose,
at once seeing it would be preferable to admit they were the West Indies; so
the letter went on:--
“Some of these islands
must be the West Indies, and it is high time we saw some of them, for we are
nearly off the Sound, and the light-houses are getting to be quite numerous. I
think we have already seen four since we left the wharf. But, my dear sister
Sprague, you will be delighted to hear how much better Rose’s health is already
becoming--”
“My health, aunty! Why,
I never knew an ill day in my life!”
“Don’t tell me that, my
darling; I know too well what all these deceptive appearances of health amount
to. I would not alarm you for the world, Rosy dear, but a careful parent--and I’m
your parent in affection, if not by nature-- but a careful parent’s eye is not
to be deceived. I know you look well, but you are ill, my child; though, Heaven
be praised, the sea air and hydropathy are already doing you a monstrous deal
of good.”
As Mrs. Budd concluded,
she wiped her eyes, and appeared really glad that her niece had a less
consumptive look than when she embarked. Rose sat, gazing at her aunt, in mute
astonishment. She knew how much and truly she was beloved, and that induced her
to be more tolerant of her connection’s foibles than even duty demanded. Feeling
was blended with her respect, but it was almost too much for her, to learn that
this long, and in some respects painful voyage, was undertaken on her account,
and without the smallest necessity for it. The vexation, however, would have
been largely increased, but for certain free communications that had
occasionally occurred between her and the handsome mate, since the moment of
her coming on board the brig. Rose knew that Harry Mulford loved her, too, for
he had told her as much with a seaman’s frankness; and though she had never let
him know that his partiality was returned, her woman’s heart was fast inclining
toward him, with all her sex’s tenderness. This made the mistake of her aunt
tolerable, though Rose was exceedingly vexed it should ever have occurred.
“Why, my dearest aunt,”
she cried, “they told me it was on your account that this voyage was
undertaken!”
“I know they did, poor,
dear Rosy, and that was in order not to alarm you. Some persons of delicate
constitutions--”
“But my constitution is
not in the least delicate, aunt; on the contrary, it is as good as possible; a
blessing for which, I trust, I am truly grateful, I did not know but you might
be suffering, though you do look so well, for they all agreed in telling me you
had need of a sea-voyage.”
“I, a subject for
hydropathy! Why, child, water is no more necessary to me than it is to a cat.”
“But going to sea,
aunty, is not hydropathy--”
“Don’t say that, Rosy;
do not say that, my dear. It is hydropathy on a large scale, as Captain Spike
says; and when he gets us into blue water, he has promised that you shall have
all the benefits of the treatment.”
Rose was silent and
thoughtful; after which she spoke quickly, like one to whom an important
thought had suddenly occurred.
“And Captain Spike,
then, was consulted in my case?” she asked.
“He was, my dear, and
you have every reason to be grateful to him. He was the first to discover a
change in your appearance, and to suggest a sea voyage. Marine Hydropathy, he
said, he was sure would get you up again; for Captain Spike thinks your
constitution good at the bottom, though the high colour you have proves too
high a state of habitual excitement.”
“Was Dr. Monson
consulted at all, aunt?”
“Not at all. You know
the doctors are all against hydropathy, and mesmerism, and the magnetic
telegraph, and everything that is new; so we thought it best not to consult
him.”
“And my aunt Sprague?”
“Yes, she was consulted
after everything was settled, and when I knew her notions could not undo what
had been already done. But she is a seaman’s widow, as well as myself, and has
a great notion of the virtue of sea air.”
“Then it would seem
that Doctor Spike was the principal adviser in my case!”
“I own that he was,
Rosy dear. Captain Spike was brought up by your uncle, who has often told me
what a thorough seaman he was. ‘There’s Spike, now,’ he said to me one day, ‘he
can almost make his brig talk’--this very brig too, your uncle meant, Rosy,
and, of course, one of the best vessels in the world to take hydropathy in.”
“Yes, aunty,” returned
Rose, playing with the pen, while her air proved how little her mind was in her
words. “Well, what shall I say next to my aunt Sprague?”
“Rose’s health is
already becoming confirmed,” resumed the widow, who thought it best to
encourage her niece by as strong terms as she could employ, “and I shall extol
hydropathy to the skies, as long as I live. As soon as we reach our port of
destination, my dear sister Sprague, I shall write you a line to let you know
it, by the magnetic telegraph--”
“But there is no
magnetic telegraph on the sea, aunty,” interrupted Rose, looking up from the
paper, with her clear, serene, blue eyes, expressing even her surprise, at this
touch of the relict’s ignorance.
“Don’t tell me that,
Rosy, child, when everybody says the sparks will fly round the whole earth,
just as soon as they will fly from New York to Philadelphia.”
“But they must have
something to fly on, aunty; and the ocean will not sustain wires, or posts.”
“Well, there is no need
of being so particular; if there is no telegraph, the letter must come by mail.
You can say telegraph, here, and when your aunt gets the letter, the postmark
will tell her how it came. It looks better to talk about telegraphic
communications, child.”
Rose resumed her pen,
and wrote at her aunt’s dictation, as follows:--“By the magnetic telegraph,
when I hope to be able to tell you that our dear Rose is well. As yet, we both
enjoy the ocean exceedingly; but when we get off the Sound, into blue water,
and have sent the pilot ashore, or discharged him, I ought to say, which puts
me in mind of telling you that a cannon was discharged at us only last night,
and that the ball whistled so near me, that I heard it as plain as ever you
heard Rose’s piano.”
“Had I not better first
tell my aunt Sprague what is to be done when the pilot is discharged?”
“No; tell her about the
cannon that was discharged, first, and about the ball that I heard. I had
almost forgot that adventure, which was a very remarkable one, was it not,
Biddy?”
“Indeed, Missus, and it
was! and Miss Rose might put in the letter how we both screamed at that cannon,
and might have been heard as plainly, every bit of it, as the ball.”
“Say nothing on the
subject, Rose, or we shall never hear the last of it. So, darling, you may
conclude in your own way, for I believe I have told your aunt all that comes to
mind.”
Rose did as desired,
finishing the epistle in a very few words, for, rightly enough, she had taken
it into her head there was no pilot to be discharged, and consequently that the
letter would never be sent. Her short but frequent conferences with Mulford
were fast opening her eyes, not to say her heart, and she was beginning to see
Captain Spike in his true character, which was that of a great scoundrel. It is
true, that the mate had not long judged his commander quite so harshly; but had
rather seen his beautiful brig, and her rare qualities, in her owner and
commander, than the man himself; but jealousy had quickened his observation of
late, and Stephen Spike had lost ground sensibly with Harry Mulford, within the
last week. Two or three times before, the young man had thought of seeking
another berth, on account of certain distrusts of Spike’s occupations; but he
was poor, and so long as he remained in the Swash, Harry’s opportunities of
meeting Rose were greatly increased. This circumstance, indeed, was the secret
of his still being in the “Molly,” as Spike usually called his craft; the last
voyage having excited suspicions that were rather of a delicate nature. Then
the young man really loved the brig, which, if she could not be literally made
to talk, could be made to do almost everything else. A vessel, and a small
vessel, too, is rather contracted as to space, but those who wish to converse
can contrive to speak together often, even in such narrow limits. Such had been
the fact with Rose Budd and the handsome mate. Twenty times since they sailed,
short as that time was, had Mulford contrived to get so near to Rose, as to
talk with her, unheard by others. It is true, that he seldom ventured to do
this, so long as the captain was in sight, but Spike was often below, and
opportunities were constantly occurring. It was in the course of these frequent
but brief conversations, that Harry had made certain dark hints touching the
character of his commander, and the known recklessness of his proceedings. Rose
had taken the alarm, and fully comprehending her aunt’s mental imbecility, her
situation was already giving her great uneasiness. She had some undefined hopes
from the revenue steamer; though, strangely enough as it appeared to her, her
youngest and most approved suitor betrayed a strong desire to escape from that
craft, at the very moment he was expressing his apprehensions on account of her
presence in the brig. This contradiction arose from a certain esprit de corps,
which seldom fails, more or less, to identify the mariner with his ship.
But the writing was
finished, and the letter sealed with wax, Mrs. Budd being quite as particular
in that ceremony as Lord Nelson, when the females again repaired on deck. They
found Spike and his mate sweeping the eastern part of the Sound with their
glasses, with a view to look out for enemies; or, what to them, just then, was
much the same thing, government craft. In this occupation, Rose was a little
vexed to see that Mulford was almost as much interested as Spike himself, the
love of his vessel seemingly overcoming his love for her, if not his love of
the right--she knew of no reason, however, why the captain should dread any
other vessel, and felt sufficiently provoked to question him a little on the
subject, if it were only to let him see that the niece was not as completely
his dupe as the aunt. She had not been on deck five minutes, therefore, during which
time several expressions had escaped the two sailors touching their
apprehensions of vessels seen in the distance, ere she commenced her inquiries.
“And why should we fear
meeting with other vessels?” Rose plainly demanded--“here in Long Island Sound,
and within the power of the laws of the country?”
“Fear?” exclaimed
Spike, a little startled, and a good deal surprised at this straight-forward
question--“Fear, Miss Rose! You do not think we are afraid, though there are
many reasons why we do not wish to be spoken by certain craft that are hovering
about. In the first place, you know it is war time--I suppose you know, Madam
Budd, that America is at war with Mexico?”
“Certainly,” answered
the widow, with dignity--“and that is a sufficient reason, Rose, why one vessel
should chase, and another should run. If you had heard your poor uncle relate,
as I have done, all his chasings and runnings away, in the war times, child,
you would understand these things better. Why, I’ve heard your uncle say that,
in some of his long voyages, he has run thousands and thousands of miles, with
sails set on both sides, and all over his ship!”
“Yes, aunty, and so
have I, but that was ‘running before the wind,’ as he used to call it.”
“I s’pose, however,
Miss Rose,” put in Spike, who saw that the niece would soon get the better of
the aunt;--“I s’pose, Miss Rose, that you’ll acknowledge that America is at war
with Mexico?”
“I am sorry to say that
such is the fact, but I remember to have heard you say, yourself, Captain Spike,
when my aunt was induced to undertake this voyage, that you did not consider
there was the smallest danger from any Mexicans.”
“Yes, you did, Captain
Spike,” added the aunt--“you did say there was no danger from Mexicans.”
“Nor is there a bit,
Madam Budd, if Miss Rose, and your honoured self, will only hear me. There is
no danger, because the brig has the heels of anything Mexico can send to sea.
She has sold her steamers, and, as for anything else under her flag, I would
not care a straw.”
“The steamer from which
we ran, last evening, and which actually fired off a cannon at us, was not
Mexican, but American,” said Rose, with a pointed manner that put Spike to his
trumps.
“Oh! that steamer--” he
stammered--“that was a race --only a race, Miss Rose, and I wouldn’t let her
come near me, for the world. I should never hear the last of it, in the
insurance offices, and on ’change, did I let her overhaul us. You see, Miss
Rose--you see, Madam Budd--” Spike ever found it most convenient to address his
mystifying discourse to the aunt, in preference to addressing it to the niece
--“You see, Madam Budd, the master of that craft and I are old cronies--sailed
together when boys, and set great store by each other. We met only last
evening, just a’ter I had left your own agreeable mansion, Madam Budd, and says
he, ‘Spike, when do you sail?’ ‘To-morrow’s flood, Jones,’ says I--his name is
Jones;--Peter Jones, and as good a fellow as ever lived. ‘Do you go by the
Hook, or by Hell-Gate--’ ”
“Hurl-Gate, Captain
Spike, if you please--or Whirl-Gate, which some people think is the true sound;
but the other way of saying it is awful.”
“Well, the captain, my
old master, always called it Hell-Gate, and I learned the trick from him--”
“I know he did, and so
do all sailors; but genteel people, now-a-days, say nothing but Hurl-Gate, or
Whirl-Gate.”
Rose smiled at this; as
did Mulford; but neither said anything, the subject having once before been up
between them. As for ourselves, we are still so old-fashioned as to say, and write,
Hell-Gate, and intend so to do, in spite of all the Yankees that have yet
passed through it, or who ever shall pass through it, and that is saying a
great deal. We do not like changing names to suit their uneasy spirits.
“Call the place
Hurl-Gate, and go on with your story,” said the widow, complacently.
“Yes, Madam Budd--‘Do
you go by the Hook, or by Whirl-Gate?’ said Jones. ‘By Whirl-a-Gig-Gate,’ says
I. ‘Well,’ says he, ‘I shall go through the Gate myself, in the course of the
morning. We may meet somewhere to the eastward, and, if we do, I’ll bet you a
beaver,’ says he, ‘that I show you my stern.’ ‘Agreed,’ says I, and we shook
hands upon it. That’s the whole history of our giving the steamer the slip,
last night, and of my not wishing to let her speak me.”
“But you went into a
bay, and let her go past you,” said Rose, coolly enough as to manner, but with
great point as to substance. “Was not that a singular way of winning a race?”
“It does seem so, Miss
Rose, but it’s all plain enough, when understood. I found that steam was too
much for sails, and I stood up into the bay to let them run past us, in hopes
they would never find out the trick. I care as little for a hat as any man, but
I do care a good deal about having it reported on ’change that the Molly was
beat, by even a steamer.”
This ended the
discourse for the moment, Clench again having something to say to his captain
in private.
“How much of that
explanation am I to believe, and how much disbelieve?” asked Rose, the instant
she was left alone with Harry. “If it be all invention, it was a ready and
ingenious story.”
“No part of it is true.
He no more expected that the steamer would pass through Hell-Gate, than I
expected it myself. There was no bet, or race, therefore; but it was our wish
to avoid Uncle Sam’s cruiser, that was all.”
“And why should you
wish any such thing?”
“On my honour, I can
give you no better reason, so far as I am concerned, than the fact that,
wishing to keep clear of her, I do not like to be overhauled. Nor can I tell
you why Spike is so much in earnest in holding the revenue vessel at arm’s
length; I know he dislikes all such craft, as a matter of course, but I can see
no particular reason for it just now. A more innocent cargo was never stuck
into a vessel’s hold.”
“What is it?”
“Flour; and no great
matter of that. The brig is not half full, being just in beautiful ballast
trim, as if ready for a race. I can see no sufficient reason, beyond native
antipathy, why Captain Spike should wish to avoid any craft, for it is humbug
his dread of a Mexican, and least of all, here, in Long Island Sound. All that
story about Jones is a tub for whales.”
“Thank you for the
allusion; my aunt and myself being the whales.”
“You know I do
mean--can mean nothing, Rose, that is disrespectful to either yourself or your
aunt.”
Rose looked up, and she
looked pleased. Then she mused in silence, for some time, when she again spoke.
“Why have you remained
another voyage with such a man, Harry?” she asked, earnestly.
“Because, as his first
officer, I have had access to your house, when I could not have had it
otherwise; and because I have apprehended that he might persuade Mrs. Budd, as
he had boasted to me it was his intention to do, to make this voyage.”
Rose now looked
grateful; and deeply grateful did she feel, and had reason to feel. Harry had
concealed no portion of his history from her. Like herself, he was a
ship-master’s child, but one better educated and better connected than was
customary for the class. His father had paid a good deal of attention to the
youth’s early years, but had made a seaman of him, out of choice. The father
had lost his all, however, with his life, in a shipwreck; and Harry was thrown
upon his own resources, at the early age of twenty. He had made one or two
voyages as a second mate, when chance threw him in Spike’s way, who, pleased
with some evidences of coolness and skill, that he had shown in a foreign port,
on the occasion of another loss, took him as his first officer; in which
situation he had remained ever since, partly from choice and partly from
necessity. On the other hand, Rose had a fortune; by no means a large one, but
several thousands in possession, from her own father, and as many more in
reversion from her uncle. It was this money, taken in connection with the
credulous imbecility of the aunt, that had awakened the cupidity, and excited
the hopes of Spike. After a life of lawless adventure, one that had been
chequered by every shade of luck, he found himself growing old, with his brig growing
old with him, and little left beside his vessel and the sort of half cargo that
was in her hold. Want of means, indeed, was the reason that the flour-barrels
were not more numerous.
Rose heard Mulford’s
explanation favourably, as indeed she heard most of that which came from him,
but did not renew the discourse, Spike’s conference with the boatswain just
then terminating. The captain now came aft, and began to speak of the
performances of his vessel in a way to show that he took great pride in them.
“We are travelling at
the rate of ten knots, Madam Budd,” he said exultingly, “and that will take us
clear of the land, before night shuts in ag’in. Montauk is a good place for an
offing; I ask for no better.”
“Shall we then have two
offings, this voyage, Captain Spike?” asked Rose, a little sarcastically. “If
we are in the offing now, and are to be in the offing when we reach Montauk,
there must be two such places.”
“Rosy, dear, you amaze
me!” put in the aunt. “There is no offing until the pilot is discharged, and
when he’s discharged there is nothing but offing. It’s all offing. On the
Sound, is the first great change that befalls a vessel as she goes to sea; then
comes the offing; next the pilot is discharged--then--then--what comes next,
Captain Spike?”
“Then the vessel takes
her departure--an old navigator like yourself, Madam Budd, ought not to forget
the departure.”
“Quite true, sir. The
departure is a very important portion of a seaman’s life. Often and often have
I heard my poor dear Mr. Budd talk about his departures. His departures, and
his offings and his--”
“Land-falls,” added
Spike, perceiving that the ship-master’s relict was a little at fault.
“Thank you, sir; the
hint is quite welcome. His land-falls, also, were often in his mouth.”
“What is a land-fall,
aunty?” inquired Rose--“It appears a strange term to be used by one who lives
on the water.”
“Oh! there is no end to
the curiosities of sailors! A ‘land-fall,’ my dear, means a shipwreck, of
course. To fall on the land, and a very unpleasant fall it is, when a vessel
should keep on the water. I’ve heard of dreadful land-falls in my day, in which
hundreds of souls have been swept into eternity, in an instant.”
“Yes; yes, Madam
Budd--there are such accidents truly, and serious things be they to encounter,”
answered Spike, hemming a little to clear his throat, as was much his practice
whenever the widow ran into any unusually extravagant blunder; “yes, serious
things to encounter. But the land-fall that I mean is a different sort of
thing; being, as you well know, what we say when we come in sight of land, a’ter
a v’y’ge; or, meaning the land we may happen first to see. The departure is the
beginning of our calculation when we lose sight of the last cape or headland,
and the land-fall closes it, by letting us know where we are, at the other end
of our journey, as you probably remember.”
“Is there not such a
thing as clearing out in navigation?” asked Rose, quickly, willing to cover a
little confusion that was manifest in her aunt’s manner.
“Not exactly in
navigation, Miss Rose, but clearing out, with honest folk, ought to come first,
and navigation a’terwards. Clearing out means going through the Custom-House,
accordin’ to law.”
“And the Molly Swash
has cleared out, I hope?”
“Sartain--a more lawful
clearance was never given in Wall Street; it’s for Key West and a market. I did
think of making it Havana and a market, but port-charges are lightest at Key
West.”
“Then Key West is the
place to which we are bound?”
“It ought to be,
agreeable to papers; though vessels sometimes miss the ports for which they
clear.”
Rose put no more
questions; and her aunt, being conscious that she had not appeared to advantage
in the affair of the “land-fall,” was also disposed to be silent. Spike and
Mulford had their attention drawn to the vessel, and the conversation dropped.
The reader can readily
suppose that the Molly Swash had not been standing still all this time. So far
from this, she was running “down Sound,” with the wind on her quarter, or at
south-west, making great head-way, as she was close under the south shore, or
on the island side of the water she was in. The vessel had no other motion than
that of her speed, and the females escaped everything like sea-sickness, for
the time being. This enabled them to attend to making certain arrangements
necessary to their comforts below, previously to getting into rough water. In
acquitting herself of this task, Rose received much useful advice from Josh,
though his new assistant, Jack Tier, turned out to be a prize indeed, in the
cabins. The first was only a steward; but the last proved himself not only a
handy person of his calling, but one full of resources--a genius, in his way.
Josh soon became so sensible of his own inferiority, in contributing to the comforts
of females, that he yielded the entire management of the “ladies’ cabin,” as a
little place that might have been ten feet square, was called, to his
uncouth-looking, but really expert deputy. Jack waddled about below, as if born
and brought up in such a place, and seemed every way fitted for his office. In
height, and in build generally, there was a surprising conformity between the
widow and the steward’s deputy, a circumstance which might induce one to think
they must often have been in each other’s way, in a space so small; though, in
point of fact, Jack never ran foul of any one. He seemed to avoid this
inconvenience by a species of nautical instinct.
Towards the turn of the
day, Rose had everything arranged, and was surprised to find how much room she
had made for her aunt and herself, by means of Jack’s hints, and how much more
comfortable it was possible to be, in that small cabin, than she had at first
supposed.
After dinner, Spike
took his siesta. He slept in a little state-room that stood on the starboard
side of the quarter-deck, quite aft; as Mulford did in one on the larboard.
These two state-rooms were fixtures; but a light deck overhead, which connected
them, shipped and unshipped, forming a shelter for the man at the wheel, when
in its place, as well as for the officer of the watch, should he see fit to use
it, in bad weather. This sort of cuddy, Spike termed his “coach-house.”
The captain had no
sooner gone into his state-room, and closed its window, movements that were
understood by Mulford, than the latter took occasion to intimate to Rose, by
means of Jack Tier, the state of things on deck, when the young man was
favoured with the young lady’s company.
“He has turned in for
his afternoon’s nap, and will sleep for just one hour, blow high, or blow low,”
said the mate, placing himself at Rose’s side on the trunk, which formed the
usual seat for those who could presume to take the liberty of sitting down on
the quarter-deck. “It’s a habit with him, and we can count on it, with perfect
security.”
“His doing so, now, is
a sign that he has no immediate fears of the revenue steamer?”
“The coast is quite
clear of her. We have taken good looks at every smoke, but can see nothing that
appears like our late companion. She has doubtless gone to the eastward, on
duty, and merely chased us, on her road.”
“But why should she
chase us, at all?”
“Because we ran. Let a
dog run, or a man run, or a cat run, ten to one but something starts in chase.
It is human nature, I believe, to give chase; though I will admit there was
something suspicious about that steamer’s movements--her anchoring off the
Fort, for instance. But let her go, for the present; are you getting things
right, and to your mind, below decks?”
“Very much so. The
cabin is small, and the two state-rooms the merest drawers that ever were used,
but, by putting everything in its place, we have made sufficient room, and no
doubt shall be comfortable.”
“I am sorry you did not
call on me for assistance. The mate has a prescriptive right to help stow away.”
“We made out without
your services,” returned Rose, slightly blushing--“Jack Tier, as he is called,
Josh’s assistant, is a very useful person, and has been our adviser and
manager. I want no better for such services.”
“He is a queer fellow,
all round. Take him altogether, I hardly ever saw so droll a being! As thick as
he’s long, with a waddle like a duck, a voice that is cracked, hair like
bristles, and knee high; the man might make a fortune as a show. Tom Thumb is
scarcely a greater curiosity.”
“He is singular in ‘build,’
as you call it,” returned Rose, laughing, “but, I can assure you that he is a
most excellent fellow in his way--worth a dozen of Josh. Do you know, Harry,
that I suspect he has strong feelings towards Captain Spike; though whether of
like or dislike, friendship or enmity, I am at a loss to say.”
“And why do you think
that he has any feeling at all? I have heard Spike say he left the fellow
ashore, somewhere down on the Spanish Main, or in the Islands, quite twenty years
since; but a sailor would scarce carry a grudge so long a time, for such a
thing as that.”
“I do not know--but
feeling there is, and much of it, too; though, whether hostile or friendly, I
will not undertake to say.”
“I’ll look to the chap,
now you tell me this. It is a little odd, the manner in which he got on board
us, taken in connection with the company he was in, and a discovery may be
made. Here he is, however; and, as I keep the keys of the magazine, he can do
us no great harm, unless he scuttles the brig.”
“Magazine! Is there
such a thing here?”
“To be sure there is,
and ammunition enough in it to keep eight carronades in lively conversation for
a couple of hours.”
“A carronade is what
you call a gun, is it not?”
“A piece of a
one--being somewhat short, like your friend, Jack Tier, who is shaped a good
deal like a carronade.”
Rose smiled--nay, half
laughed, for Harry’s pleasantries almost took the character of wit in her eyes,
but she did not the less pursue her inquiries.
“Guns! And where are
they, if they be on this vessel?”
“Do not use such a
lubberly expression, my dear Rose, if you respect your father’s profession. On
a vessel, is a new-fangled Americanism, that is neither fish, flesh, nor
red-herring, as we sailors say--neither English nor Greek.”
“What should I say,
then? My wish is not to parade sea-talk, but to use it correctly, when I use it
at all.”
“The expression is
hardly ‘sea-talk,’ as you call it, but every-day English--that is, when rightly
used. On a vessel is no more English than it is nautical--no sailor ever used
such an expression.”
“Tell me what I ought
to say, and you will find me a willing, if not an apt scholar. I am certain of
having often read it, in the newspapers, and that quite lately.”
“I’ll answer for that,
and it’s another proof of its being wrong. In a vessel is as correct as in a
coach, and on a vessel as wrong as can be; but you can say on board a vessel,
though not ‘on the boards of a vessel;’ as Mrs. Budd has it.”
“Mr. Mulford!”
“I beg a thousand pardons,
Rose, and will offend no more--though she does make some very queer mistakes!”
“My aunt thinks it an
honour to my uncle’s memory, to be able to use the language of his professional
life, and if she does sometimes make mistakes that are absurd, it is with
motives so respectable that no sailor should deride them.”
“I am rebuked for ever.
Mrs. Budd may call the anchor a silver spoon, hereafter, without my even
smiling. But if the aunt has this kind remembrance of a seaman’s life, why
cannot the niece think equally well of it?”
“Perhaps she does,”
returned Rose, smiling again-- “seeing all its attractions through the claims
of Captain Spike.”
“I think half the
danger from him gone, now that you seem so much on your guard. What an odious
piece of deception, to persuade Mrs. Budd that you were fast falling into a
decline!”
“One so odious that I
shall surely quit the brig at the first port we enter, or even in the first
suitable vessel that we may speak.”
“And Mrs. Budd--could
you persuade her to such a course?”
“You scarce know us,
Harry Mulford. My aunt commands, when there is no serious duty to perform, but
we change places when there is. I can persuade her to anything that is right,
in ten minutes.”
“You might persuade a
world!” cried Harry, with strong admiration expressed in his countenance; after
which he began to converse with Rose, on a subject so interesting to
themselves, that we do not think it prudent to relate any more of the
discourse, forgetting all about the guns.
About four o’clock, of
a fine summer’s afternoon, the Swash went through the Race, on the best of the
ebb, and with a staggering south-west wind. Her movement by the land, just at
that point, could not have been less than at the rate of fifteen miles in the
hour. Spike was in high spirits, for his brig had got on famously that day, and
there was nothing in sight to the eastward. He made no doubt, as he had told
his mate, that the steamer had gone into the Vineyard Sound, and that she was
bound over the shoals.
“They want to make
political capital out of her,” he added, using one of the slang phrases, that
the “business habits” of the American people are so rapidly incorporating with
the common language of the country--“They want to make political capital out of
her, Harry, and must show her off to the Boston folk, who are full of notions.
Well, let them turn her to as much account in that way as they please, so long
as they keep her clear of the Molly. Your sarvant, Madam Budd”--addressing the
widow, who just at that moment came on deck--“a fine a’ternoon, and likely to
be a clear night to run off the coast in.”
“Clear nights are
desirable, and most of all at sea, Captain Spike,” returned the relict, in her
best, complacent manner, “whether it be to run off a coast, or to run on a
coast. In either case, a clear night, or a bright moon must be useful.”
Captain Spike rolled
his tobacco over in his mouth, and cast a furtive glance at the mate, but he
did not presume to hazard any further manifestations of his disposition to
laugh.
“Yes, Madam Budd,” he
answered, “it is quite as you say, and I am only surprised where you have
picked up so much of what I call useful nautical knowledge.”
“We live and learn,
sir. You will recollect that this is not my first voyage, having made one before,
and that I passed a happy, happy, thirty years, in the society of my poor, dear
husband, Rose’s uncle. One must have been dull, indeed, not to have picked up,
from such a companion, much of a calling that was so dear to him, and the
particulars of which were so very dear to him. He actually gave me lessons in
the ‘sea dialect,’ as he called it, which probably is the true reason I am so
accurate and general in my acquisitions.”
“Yes, Madam
Budd--yes--hem--you are--yes, you are wonderful in that way. We shall soon get
an offing, now, Madam Budd--yes, soon get an offing, now.”
“And take in our
departure, Captain Spike--” added the widow, with a very intelligent smile.
“Yes, take our
departure. Montauk is yonder, just coming in sight; only some three hours’ run
from this spot. When we get there, the open ocean will lie before us; and give
me the open sea, and I’ll not call the king my uncle.”
“Was he your uncle,
Captain Spike?”
“Only in a
philanthropic way, Madam Budd. Yes, let us get a good offing, and a rapping to’gallant
breeze, and I do not think I should care much for two of Uncle Sam’s
new-fashioned revenue craft, one on each side of me.”
“How delightful do I
find such conversation, Rose! It’s as much like your poor, dear uncle’s, as one
pea is like another. ‘Yes,’ he used to say, too, ‘let me only have one on each
side of me, and a wrapper round the topgallant sail to hold the breeze, and I’d
not call the king my uncle.’ Now I think of it, he used to talk about the king
as his uncle, too.”
“It was all talk,
aunty. He had no uncle, and, what is more, he had no king.”
“That’s quite true,
Miss Rose,” rejoined Spike, attempting a bow, which ended in a sort of jerk. “It
is not very becoming in us republicans to be talking of kings, but a habit is a
habit. Our forefathers had kings, and we drop into their ways without thinking
of what we are doing. Fore-topgallant yard, there?”
“Sir.”
“Keep a bright
look-out, ahead. Let me know the instant you make anything in the neighbourhood
of Montauk.”
“Ay, ay, sir.”
“As I was saying, Madam
Budd, we seamen drop into our forefathers’ ways. Now, when I was a youngster, I
remember, one day, that we fell in with a ketch--you know, Miss Rose, what a
ketch is, I suppose?”
“I have not the least
notion of it, sir.”
“Rosy, you amaze me!”
exclaimed the aunt--“and you a ship-master’s niece, and a ship-master’s
daughter! A catch is a trick that sailors have, when they quiz landsmen.”
“Yes, Madam Budd, yes;
we have them sort of catches, too; but I now mean the vessel with a peculiar
rig, which we call a ketch, you know.”
“Is it the full-jigger,
or the half-jigger sort, that you mean?”
Spike could hardly
stand this, and he had to hail the top-gallant-yard again, in order to keep the
command of his muscles, for he saw by the pretty frown that was gathering on
the brow of Rose, that she was regarding the matter a little seriously.
Luckily, the answer of the man on the yard diverted the mind of the widow from
the subject, and prevented the necessity of any reply.
“There’s a light, of
course, sir, on Montauk, is there not, Captain Spike?” demanded the seaman who
was aloft.
“To be sure there
is--every head-land, hereabouts, has its light; and some have two.”
“Ay, ay, sir--it’s that
which puzzles me; I think I see one light-house, and I’m not certain but I see
two.”
“If there is anything
like a second, it must be a sail. Montauk has but one light.”
Mulford sprang into the
fore-rigging, and in a minute was on the yard. He soon came down, and reported
the light-house in sight, with the afternoon’s sun shining on it, but no sail
near.
“My poor, dear Mr. Budd
used to tell a story of his being cast away on a light-house, in the East
Indies,” put in the relict, as soon as the mate had ended his report, “which
always affected me. It seems there were three ships of them together, in an
awful tempest directly off the land--”
“That was comfortable,
any how,” cried Spike;--“if it must blow hard, let it come off the land, say I.”
“Yes, sir, it was
directly off the land, as my poor husband always said, which made it so much
the worse you must know, Rosy; though Captain Spike’s gallant spirit would
rather encounter danger than not. It blew what they call a Hyson, in the
Chinese seas--”
“A what, aunty?--Hyson
is the name of a tea, you know.”
“A Hyson, I’m pretty
sure it was; and I suppose the wind is named after the tea, or the tea after
the wind.”
“The ladies do get in a
gale, sometimes, over their tea,” said Spike gallantly. “But I rather think
Madam Budd must mean a Typhoon.”
“That’s it--a Typhoon,
or a Hyson--there is not much difference between them, you see. Well, it blew a
Typhoon, and they are always mortal to somebody. This my poor Mr. Budd well
knew, and he had set his chronometer for that Typhoon--”
“Excuse me, aunty, it
was the barometer that he was watching--the chronometer was his watch.”
“So it was--his watch
on deck was his chronometer, I declare. I am forgetting a part of my education.
Do you know the use of a chronometer, now, Rose? You have seen your uncle’s
often, but do you know how he used it?”
“Not in the least,
aunty. My uncle often tried to explain it, but I never could understand him.”
“It must have been,
then, because Captain Budd did not try to make himself comprehended,” said
Mulford, “for I feel certain nothing would be easier than to make you
understand the uses of the chronometer.”
“I should like to learn
it from you, Mr. Mulford,” answered the charming girl, with an emphasis so
slight on the ‘you,’ that no one observed it but the mate, but which was clear
enough to him, and caused every nerve to thrill.
“I can attempt it,”
answered the young man, “if it be agreeable to Mrs. Budd, who would probably
like to hear it herself.”
“Certainly, Mr.
Mulford; though I fancy you can say little on such a subject that I have not
often heard already, from my poor, dear Mr. Budd.”
“This was not very
encouraging, truly; but Rose continuing to look interested, the mate proceeded.
“The use of the
chronometer is to ascertain the longitude,” said Harry, “and the manner of
doing it is, simply this: A chronometer is nothing more nor less than a watch,
made with more care than usual, so as to keep the most accurate time. They are
of all sizes, from that of a clock, down to this which I wear in my fob, and
which is a watch in size and appearance. Now, the nautical almanacs are all
calculated to some particular meridian--”
“Yes,” interrupted the
relict, “Mr. Budd had a great deal to say about meridians.”
“That of London, or
Greenwich, being the meridian used by those who use the English Almanacs, and
those of Paris or St. Petersburg, by the French and Russians. Each of these
places has an observatory, and chronometers that are kept carefully regulated,
the year round. Every chronometer is set by the regulator of the particular
observatory or place to which the almanac used is calculated.”
“How wonderfully like
my poor, dear Mr. Budd, all this is, Rosy! Meridians, and calculated, and
almanacs! I could almost think I heard your uncle entertaining me with one of
his nautical discussions, I declare!”
“Now the sun rises
earlier in places east, than in places west of us.”
“It rises earlier in
the summer, but later in the winter, everywhere, Mr. Mulford.”
“Yes, my dear Madam;
but the sun rises earlier every day, in London, than it does in New York.”
“That is impossible,”
said the widow, dogmatically-- “Why should not the sun rise at the same time in
England and America?”
“Because England is
east of America, aunty. The sun does not move, you know, but only appears to us
to move, because the earth turns round from west to east, which causes those
who are farthest east to see it first. That is what Mr. Mulford means.”
“Rose has explained it
perfectly well,” continued the mate. “Now the earth is divided into 360
degrees, and the day is divided into 24 hours. If 360 be divided by 24, the
quotient will be 15. If follows that, for each fifteen degrees of longitude,
there is a difference of just one hour in the rising of the sun, all over the
earth, where it rises at all. New York is near five times 15 degrees west of
Greenwich, and the sun consequently rises five hours later at New York than at
London.”
“There must be a
mistake in this, Rosy,” said the relict, in a tone of desperate resignation, in
which the desire to break out in dissent, was struggling oddly enough with an
assumed dignity of deportment. “I’ve always heard that the people of London are
some of the latest in the world. Then, I’ve been in London, and know that the
sun rises in New York, in December, a good deal earlier than it does in London,
by the clock--yes, by the clock.”
“True enough, by the
clock, Mrs. Budd, for London is more than ten degrees north of New York, and
the farther north you go, the later the sun rises in winter, and the earlier in
summer.”
The relict merely
shrugged her shoulders, as much as to say that she knew no such thing; but
Rose, who had been well taught, raised her serene eyes to her aunt’s face, and
mildly said--
“All true, aunty, and
that is owing to the fact that the earth is smaller at each end than in the
middle.”
“Fiddle faddle with
your middles and ends, Rose--I’ve been in London, dear, and know that the sun
rises later there than in New York, in the month of December, and that I know
by the clock, I tell you.”
“The reason of which
is,” resumed Mulford, “because the clocks of each place keep the time of that
place. Now, it is different with the chronometers; they are set in the
observatory of Greenwich, and keep the time of Greenwich. This watch
chronometer was set there, only six months since; and this time, as you see, is
near nine o’clock, when in truth it is only about four o’clock here, where we
are.”
“I wonder you keep such
a watch, Mr. Mulford!”
“I keep it,” returned
the mate, smiling, “because I know it to keep good time. It has the Greenwich
time; and, as your watch has the New York time, by comparing them together, it
is quite easy to find the longitude of New York.”
“Do you, then, keep
watches to compare with your chronometers?” asked Rose, with interest.
“Certainly not; as that
would require a watch for every separate part of the ocean, and then we should
only get known longitudes. It would be impracticable, and load a ship with
nothing but watches. What we do is this: We set our chronometers at Greenwich,
and thus keep the Greenwich true time wherever we go. The greatest attention is
paid to the chronometers, to see that they receive no injuries; and usually
there are two, and often more of them, to compare one with another, in order to
see that they go well. When in the middle of the ocean, for instance, we find
the true time of the day at that spot, by ascertaining the height of the sun.
This we do by means of our quadrants, or sextants; for, as the sun is always in
the zenith at twelve o’clock, nothing is easier than to do this, when the sun
can be seen, and an arc of the heavens measured. At the instant the height of
the sun is ascertained by one observer, he calls to another, who notes the time
on the chronometer. The difference in these two times, or that of the chronometer
and that of the sun, gives the distance in degrees and minutes, between the
longitude of Greenwich and that of the place on the ocean where the observer
is; and that gives him his longitude. If the difference is three hours and
twenty minutes, in time, the distance from Greenwich is fifty degrees of
longitude, because the sun rises three hours and twenty minutes sooner in
London, than in the fiftieth degree of west longitude.”
“A watch is a watch,
Rosy,” put in the aunt, doggedly --“and time is time.--When it’s four o’clock
at our house, it’s four o’clock at your aunt Sprague’s, and it’s so all over
the world. The world may turn round--I’ll not deny it, for your uncle often
said as much as that, but it cannot turn in the way Mr. Mulford says, or we
should all fall off it, at night, when it was bottom upwards. No, sir, no; you’ve
started wrong. My poor, dear, late Mr. Budd, always admitted that the world
turned round, as the books say; but when I suggested to him the difficulty of
keeping things in their places, with the earth upside down, he acknowledged
candidly--for he was all candour, I must say that for him-- and owned that he
had made a discovery by means of his barometer, which showed that the world did
not turn round in the way you describe, or by rolling over, but by whirling
about, as one turns in a dance. You must remember your uncle’s telling me this,
Rose?”
Rose did remember her
uncle’s telling her aunt this, as well as a great many other similar prodigies.
Captain Budd had married his silly wife on account of her pretty face, and when
the novelty of that was over, he often amused himself by inventing all sorts of
absurdities, to amuse both her and himself. Among other things, Rose well
remembered his quieting her aunt’s scruples about falling off the earth, by
laying down the theory that the world did not “roll over,” but “whirl round.”
But Rose did not answer the question.
“Objects are kept in
their places on the earth by means of attraction,” Mulford ventured to say,
with a great deal of humility of manner. “I believe it is thought there is no
up or down, except as we go from or towards the earth; and that would make the
position of the last a matter of indifference, as respects objects keeping on
it.”
“Attractions are great
advantages, I will own, sir, especially to our sex. I think it will be
acknowledged there has been no want of them in our family, any more than there
has been of sense and information. Sense and information we pride ourselves on;
attractions being gifts from God, we try to think less of them. But all the
attractions in the world could not keep Rosy, here, from falling off the earth,
did it ever come bottom upwards. And, mercy on me, where would she fall to!”
Mulford saw that
argument was useless, and he confined his remarks, during the rest of the
conversation, to showing Rose the manner in which the longitude of a place
might be ascertained, with the aid of the chronometer, and by means of
observations to get the true time of day, at the particular place itself. Rose
was so quick-witted, and already so well instructed, as easily to comprehend
the principles; the details being matters of no great moment to one of her sex
and habits. But Mrs. Budd remained antagonist to the last. She obstinately
maintained that twelve o’clock was twelve o’clock; or, if there was any
difference, “London hours were notoriously later than those of New York.”
Against such assertions
arguments were obviously useless, and Mulford, perceiving that Rose began to
fidget, had sufficient tact to change the conversation altogether.
And still the Molly
Swash kept in swift motion. Montauk was by this time abeam, and the little
brigantine began to rise and fall, on the long swells of the Atlantic, which
now opened before her, in one vast sheet of green and rolling waters. On her
right lay the termination of Long Island; a low, rocky cape, with its light,
and a few fields in tillage, for the uses of those who tended it. It was the “land’s
end” of New York, while the island that was heaving up out of the sea, at a
distance of about twenty miles to the eastward, was the property of Rhode
Island, being called Blok Island. Between the two, the Swash shaped her course
for the ocean.
Spike had betrayed
uneasiness, as his brig came up with Montauk; but the coast seemed clear, with
not even a distant sail in sight, and he came aft, rubbing his hands with
delight, speaking cheerfully.
“All right, Mr.
Mulford,” he cried--“everything ship-shape and brister-fashion--not even a
smack fishing hereaway, which is a little remarkable. Ha!--what are you staring
at, over the quarter, there?”
“Look here, sir,
directly in the wake of the setting sun, which we are now opening from the
land--is not that a sail?”
“Sail! Impossible, sir.
What should a sail be doing in there, so near Montauk--no man ever saw a sail
there in his life. It’s a spot in the sun, Madam Budd, that my mate has got a
glimpse at, and, sailor-like, he mistakes it for a sail! Ha--ha--ha--yes,
Harry, it’s a spot in the sun.”
“It is a spot on the
sun, as you say, but it’s a spot made by a vessel--and here is a boat pulling
towards her, might and main; going from the light, as if carrying news.”
It was no longer
possible for Spike’s hopes to deceive him. There was a vessel, sure enough;
though, when first seen, it was so directly in a line with the fiery orb of the
setting sun, as to escape common observation. As the brig went foaming on
towards the ocean, however, the black speck was soon brought out of the range
of the orb of day, and Spike’s glass was instantly levelled at it.
“Just as one might
expect, Mr. Mulford,” cried the captain, lowering his glass, and looking aloft
to see what could be done to help his craft along; “a bloody revenue cutter, as
I’m a wicked sinner! There she lies, sir, within musket shot of the shore, hid
behind the point, as it might be in waiting for us, with her head to the
southward, her helm hard down, topsail aback, and foresail brailed; as wicked
looking a thing as Free Trade and Sailor’s Rights ever ran from. My life on it,
sir, she’s been put in that precise spot, in waiting for the Molly to arrive.
You see, as we stand on, it places her as handsomely to windward of us, as the
heart of man could desire.”
“It is a revenue
cutter, sir; now she’s out of the sun’s wake, that is plain enough. And that is
her boat, which has been sent to the light to keep a look-out for us. Well,
sir, she’s to windward; but we have everything set for our course, and as we
are fairly abeam, she must be a great traveller to overhaul us.”
“I thought these bloody
cutters were all down in the Gulf,” growled the captain, casting his eyes aloft
again, to see that everything drew. “I’m sure the newspapers have mentioned as
many as twenty that are down there, and here is one, lying behind Montauk, like
a snake in the grass!”
“At any rate, by the
time he gets his boat up we shall get the start of him--ay, there he fills and
falls off, to go and meet her. He’ll soon be after us, Captain Spike, at racing
speed.”
Everything occurred as
those two mariners had foreseen. The revenue cutter, one of the usual
fore-top-sail schooners that are employed in that service, up and down the
coast, had no sooner hoisted up her boat, than she made sail, a little off the
wind, on a line to close with the Swash. As for the brig, she had hauled up to
an easy bowline, as she came round Montauk, and was now standing off south
south-east, still having the wind at south-west. The weatherly position of the
cutter enabled her to steer rather more than one point freer. At the
commencement of this chase, the vessels were about a mile and a half apart, a
distance too great to enable the cutter to render the light guns she carried
available, and it was obvious from the first, that everything depended on
speed. And speed it was, truly; both vessels fairly flying; the Molly Swash
having at last met with something very like her match. Half an hour satisfied
both Spike and Mulford that, by giving the cutter the advantage of one point in
a freer wind, she would certainly get alongside of them, and the alternative
was therefore to keep off.
“A starn chase is a
long chase, all the world over,” cried Spike--“edge away, sir; edge away, sir,
and bring the cutter well on our quarter.”
This order was obeyed;
but to the surprise of those in the Swash, the cutter did not exactly follow,
though she kept off a little more. Her object seemed to be to maintain her
weatherly position, and in this manner the two vessels ran on for an hour
longer, until the Swash had made most of the distance between Montauk and Blok Island.
Objects were even becoming dimly visible on the last, and the light on the
point was just becoming visible, a lone star above a waste of desert, the sun
having been down now fully a quarter of an hour, and twilight beginning to draw
the curtain of night over the waters.
“A craft under Blok,”
shouted the look-out, that was still kept aloft as a necessary precaution.
“What sort of a craft?”
demanded Spike, fiercely; for the very mention of a sail, at that moment,
aroused all his ire. “Arn’t you making a frigate out of an apple-orchard?”
“It’s the steamer, sir.
I can now see her smoke. She’s just clearing the land, on the south side of the
island, and seems to be coming round to meet us.”
A long, low, eloquent
whistle from the captain, succeeded this announcement. The man aloft was right.
It was the steamer, sure enough; and she had been lying hid behind Blok Island,
exactly as her consort had been placed behind Montauk, in waiting for their
chase to arrive. The result was, to put the Molly Swash in exceeding jeopardy,
and the reason why the cutter kept so well to windward was fully explained. To
pass out to sea between these two craft was hopeless. There remained but a
single alternative from capture by one or by the other,--and that Spike adopted
instantly. He kept his brig dead away, setting studding-sails on both sides.
This change of course brought the cutter nearly aft, or somewhat on the other
quarter, and laid the brig’s head in a direction to carry her close to the
northern coast of the island. But the principal advantage was gained over the
steamer, which could not keep off, without first standing a mile or two, or
even more, to the westward, in order to clear the land. This was so much clear
gain to the Swash, which was running off at racing speed, on a north-east
course, while her most dangerous enemy was still heading to the westward. As
for the cutter, she kept away; but it was soon apparent that the brig had the
heels of her, dead before the wind.
Darkness now began to
close around the three vessels; the brig and the schooner soon becoming visible
to each other principally by means of their night-glasses; though the steamer’s
position could be easily distinguished by means of her flaming chimney. This
latter vessel stood to the westward for a quarter of an hour, when her
commander appeared to become suddenly conscious of the ground he was losing,
and he wore short round, and went off before the wind, under steam and canvas;
intending to meet the chase off the northern side of the island. The very
person who had hailed the Swash, as she was leaving the wharf, who had passed
her in Hell-Gate, with Jack Tier in his boat, and who had joined her off
Throgmorton’s, was now on her deck, urging her commander by every consideration
not to let the brig escape. It was at his suggestion that the course was
changed. Nervous, and eager to seize the brig, he prevailed on the commander of
the steamer to alter his course. Had he done no more than this, all might have
been well; but so exaggerated were his notions of the Swash’s sailing, that,
instead of suffering the steamer to keep close along the eastern side of the
island, he persuaded her commander of the necessity of standing off a long
distance to the northward and eastward, with a view to get ahead of the chase.
This was not bad advice, were there any certainly that Spike would stand on, of
which, however, he had no intention.
The night set in dark
and cloudy; and, the instant that Spike saw, by means of the flaming chimney,
that the steamer had wore, and was going to the eastward of Blok, his plan was
laid. Calling to Mulford, he communicated it to him, and was glad to find that
his intelligent mate was of his own way of thinking. The necessary orders were
given, accordingly, and everything was got ready for its execution.
In the meantime, the
two revenue craft were much in earnest. The schooner was one of the fastest in
the service, and had been placed under Montauk, as described, in the confident
expectation of her being able to compete with even the Molly Swash
successfully, more especially if brought upon a bowline. Her commander watched
the receding form of the brig with the closest attention, until it was entirely
swallowed up in the darkness, under the land, towards which he then sheered
himself, in order to prevent the Swash from hauling up, and turning to
windward, close in under the shadow of the island. Against this manœuvre,
however, the cutter had now taken an effectual precaution, and her people were
satisfied that escape in that way was impossible.
On the other hand, the
steamer was doing very well. Driven by the breeze, and propelled by her wheels,
away she went, edging further and further from the island, as the person from
the Custom-House succeeded, as it might be, inch by inch, in persuading the
captain of the necessity of his so doing. At length a sail was dimly seen
ahead, and then no doubt was entertained that the brig had got to the northward
and eastward of them. Half an hour brought the steamer alongside of this sail,
which turned out to be a brig that had come over the shoals, and was beating
into the ocean, on her way to one of the southern ports. Her captain said there
had nothing passed to the eastward.
Round went the steamer,
and in went all her canvas. Ten minutes later the look-out saw a sail to the
westward, standing before the wind. Odd as it might seem, the steamer’s people
now fancied they were sure of the Swash. There she was, coming directly for
them, with squared yards! The distance was short, or a vessel could not have
been seen by that light, and the two craft were soon near each other. A gun was
actually cleared on board the steamer, ere it was ascertained that the stranger
was the schooner! It was now midnight, and nothing was in sight but the
coasting brig. Reluctantly, the revenue people gave the matter up; the Molly
Swash having again eluded them, though by means unknown.
Leander dived for love,
Leucadia’s cliff
The Lesbian Sappho leap’d
from in a miff,
To punish Phaon; Icarus
went dead,
Because the wax did not
continue stiff;
And, had he minded what
his father said,
He had not given a name
unto his watery bed.
Sands. We must now advance the
time several days, and change the scene to a distant part of the ocean; within
the tropics indeed. The females had suffered slight attacks of sea-sickness,
and recovered from them, and the brig was safe from all her pursuers. The
manner of Spike’s escape was simple enough, and without any necromancy. While
the steamer, on the one hand, was standing away to the northward and eastward,
in order to head him off, and the schooner was edging in with the island, in
order to prevent his beating up to windward of it, within its shadows, the brig
had run close round the northern margin of the land, and hauled up to leeward
of the island, passing between it and the steamer. All this time, her movements
were concealed from the schooner by the island itself, and from the steamer, by
its shadow and dark back-ground, aided by the distance. By making short tacks,
this expedient answered perfectly well; and, at the very moment when the two
revenue vessels met, at midnight, about three leagues to leeward of Blok
Island, the brigantine, Molly Swash, was just clearing its most weatherly
point, on the larboard tack, and coming out exactly at the spot where the
steamer was when first seen that afternoon. Spike stood to the westward, until
he was certain of having the island fairly between him and his pursuers, when
he went about, and filled away on his course, running out to sea again on an
easy bowline. At sunrise the next day he was fifty miles to the southward and
eastward of Montauk; the schooner was going into New London, her officers and
people quite chop-fallen; and the steamer was paddling up the Sound, her
captain being fully persuaded that the runaways had returned in the direction
from which they had come, and might yet be picked up in that quarter.
The weather was light,
just a week after the events related in the close of the last chapter. By this
time the brig had got within the influence of the trades; and, it being the
intention of Spike to pass to the southward of Cuba, he had so far profited by
the westerly winds, as to get well to the eastward of the Mona Passage, the
strait through which he intended to shape his course on making the islands.
Early on that morning Mrs. Budd had taken her seat on the trunk of the cabin,
with a complacent air, and arranged her netting, some slight passages of
gallantry, on the part of the captain, having induced her to propose netting him
a purse. Biddy was going to and fro, in quest of silks and needles, her
mistress having become slightly capricious in her tastes of late, and giving
her, on all such occasions, at least a double allowance of occupation. As for
Rose, she sat reading beneath the shade of the coach-house deck, while the
handsome young mate was within three feet of her, working up his logarithms,
but within the sanctuary of his own state-room; the open door and window of
which, however, gave him every facility he could desire to relieve his
mathematics, by gazing at the sweet countenance of his charming neighbor. Jack
Tier and Josh were both passing to and fro, as is the wont of stewards, between
the camboose and the cabin, the breakfast table being just then in the course of
preparation. In all other respects, always excepting the man at the wheel, who
stood within a fathom of Rose, Spike had the quarter-deck to himself, and did
not fail to pace its weather-side with an air that denoted the master and
owner. After exhibiting his sturdy, but short, person in this manner, to the
admiring eyes of all beholders, for some time, the captain suddenly took a seat
at the side of the relict, and dropped into the following discourse.
“The weather is
moderate, Madam Budd; quite moderate,” observed Spike, a sentimental turn
coming over him at the moment. “What I call moderate and agreeable.”
“So much the better for
us; the ladies are fond of moderation, sir.”
“Not in admiration,
Madam Budd--ha! ha! ha! no, not in admiration. Immoderation is what they like
when it comes to that. I’m a single man, but I know that the ladies like
admiration--mind where you’re sheering to,” the captain said, interrupting
himself a little fiercely, considering the nature of the subject, in
consequence of Jack Tier’s having trodden on his toe in passing--“or I’ll teach
you the navigation of the quarter-deck, Mr. Burgoo!”
“Moderation--moderation,
my good captain,” said the simpering relict. “As to admiration, I confess that
it is agreeable to us ladies; more especially when it comes from gentlemen of
sense, and intelligence, and experience.”
Rose fidgeted, having
heard every word that was said, and her face flushed; for she doubted not that
Harry’s ears were as good as her own. As for the man at the wheel, he turned
the tobacco over in his mouth, hitched up his trousers, and appeared
interested, though somewhat mystified--the conversation was what he would have
termed “talking dictionary,” and he had some curiosity to learn how the captain
would work his way out of it. It is probable that Spike himself had some
similar gleamings of the difficulties of his position, for he looked a little
troubled, though still resolute. It was the first time he had ever lain
yard-arm and yard-arm with a widow, and he had long entertained a fancy that
such a situation was trying to the best of men.
“Yes, Madam Budd, yes,”
he said, “exper’ence and sense carry weight with ’em, wherever they go. I’m
glad to find that you entertain these just notions of us gentlemen, and make a
difference between boys and them that’s seen and known exper’ence. For my part,
I count youngsters under forty as so much lumber about decks, as to any comfort
and calculations in keepin’ a family, as a family ought to be kept.”
Mrs. Budd looked
interested, but she remained silent on hearing this remark, as became her sex.
“Every man ought to
settle in life, some time or other, Madam Budd, accordin’ to my notion, though
no man ought to be in a boyish haste about it,” continued the captain. “Now, in
my own case, I’ve been so busy all my youth-- not that I’m very old now, but I’m
no boy--but all my younger days have been passed in trying to make things meet,
in a way to put any lady who might take a fancy to me--”
“Oh! captain--that is
too strong! The ladies do not take fancies for gentlemen, but the gentlemen
take fancies for ladies!”
“Well, well, you know
what I mean, Madam Budd; and so long as the parties understand each other, a
word dropped, or a word put into a charter-party, makes it neither stronger nor
weaker. There’s a time, howsomever, in every man’s life, when he begins to
think of settling down, and of considerin’ himself as a sort of mooring-chain,
for children and the likes of them to make fast to. Such is my natur’, I will
own; and ever since I’ve got to be intimate in your family, Madam Budd, that
sentiment has grown stronger and stronger in me, till it has got to be
uppermost in all my idees. Bone of my bone, and flesh of my flesh, as a body
might say.”
Mrs. Budd now looked
more than interested, for she looked a little confused, and Rose began to
tremble for her aunt. It was evident that the parties most conspicuous in this
scene were not at all conscious that they were overheard, the intensity of
their attention being too much concentrated on what was passing to allow of any
observation without their own narrow circle. What may be thought still more
extraordinary, but what in truth was the most natural of all, each of the
parties was so intently bent on his, or her, own train of thought, that neither
in the least suspected any mistake.
“Grown with your
growth, and strengthened with your strength,” rejoined the relict, smiling
kindly enough on the captain to have encouraged a much more modest man than he
happened to be.
“Yes, Madam Budd--very
just that remark; grown with my strength, and strengthened with my growth, as
one might say; though I’ve not done much at growing for a good many years. Your
late husband, Captain Budd, often remarked how very early I got my growth; and
rated me as an ‘able-bodied’ hand, when most lads think it an honour to be
placed among the ‘or’naries.’ ”
The relict looked
grave; and she wondered at any man’s being so singular as to allude to a first
husband, at the very moment he was thinking of offering himself for a second.
As for herself, she had not uttered as many words in the last four years, as
she had uttered in that very conversation, without making some allusion to her “poor
dear Mr. Budd.” The reader is not to do injustice to the captain’s widow,
however, by supposing for a moment that she was actually so weak as to feel any
tenderness for a man like Spike, which would be doing a great wrong to both her
taste and her judgment, as Rose well knew, even while most annoyed by the
conversation she could not but overhear. All that influenced the good relict
was that besetting weakness of her sex, which renders admiration so universally
acceptable; and predisposes a female, as it might be, to listen to a suitor
with indulgence, and some little show of kindness, even when resolute to reject
him. As for Rose, to own the truth, her aunt did not give her a thought, as
yet, notwithstanding Spike was getting to be so sentimental.
“Yes, your late
excellent and honourable consort always said that I got my growth sooner than
any youngster he ever fell in with,” resumed the captain, after a short pause;
exciting fresh wonder in his companion, that he would persist in lugging in the
“dear departed” so very unseasonably. “I am a great admirer of all the Budd
family, my good lady, and only wish my connection with it had never tarminated;
if tarminated it can be called.”
“It need not be
terminated, Captain Spike, so long as friendship exists in the human heart.”
“Ay, so it is always
with you ladies; when a man is bent on suthin’ closer and more interestin’
like, you’re for putting it off on friendship. Now friendship is good enough in
its way, Madam Budd, but friendship is n’t love.”
“Love!” echoed the
widow, fairly starting, though she looked down at her netting, and looked as
confused as she knew how. “That is a very decided word, Captain Spike, and
should never be mentioned to a woman’s ear lightly.”
So the captain now
appeared to think, too, for no sooner had he delivered himself of the important
monosyllable, than he left the widow’s side, and began to pace the deck, as it
might be to moderate his own ardour. As for Rose, she blushed, if her more
practised aunt did not; while Harry Mulford laughed heartily, taking good care,
however, not to be heard. The man at the wheel turned the tobacco again, gave
his trousers another hitch, and wondered anew whither the skipper was bound.
But the drollest manifestation of surprise came from Josh, the steward, who was
passing along the lee-side of the quarter-deck, with a tea-pot in his hand, when
the energetic manner of the captain sent the words “friendship is n’t love” to
his ears. This induced him to stop for a single instant, and to cast a
wondering glance behind him; after which he moved on toward the galley,
mumbling as he went--“Lub! what he want of lub, or what lub want of him! Well,
I do t’ink Captain Spike bowse his jib out pretty ’arly dis mornin’.”
Captain Spike soon got
over the effects of his effort, and the confusion of the relict did not last
any material length of time. As the former had gone so far, however, he thought
the present an occasion as good as another to bring matters to a crisis.
“Our sentiments
sometimes get to be so strong, Madam Budd,” resumed the lover, as he took his
seat again on the trunk, “that they run away with us. Men is liable to be run
away with as well as ladies. I once had a ship run away with me, and a pretty
time we had of it. Did you ever hear of a ship’s running away with her people,
Madam Budd, just as your horse ran away with your buggy?”
“I suppose I must have
heard of such things, sir, my education having been so maritime, though just at
this moment I cannot recall an instance. When my horse ran away, the buggy was
cap-asided. Did your vessel cap-aside on the occasion you mention?”
“No, Madam Budd, no.
The ship was off the wind at the time I mean, and vessels do not capsize when
off the wind. I’ll tell you how it happened. We was a scuddin’ under a
goose-wing foresail--”
“Yes, yes,” interrupted
the relict, eagerly. “I’ve often heard of that sail, which is small, and used
only in tempests.”
“Heavy weather, Madam
Budd--only in heavy weather.”
“It is amazing to me,
captain, how you seamen manage to weigh the weather. I have often heard of
light weather and heavy weather, but never fairly understood the manner of
weighing it.”
“Why we do make out to
ascertain the difference,” replied the captain, a little puzzled for an answer;
“and I suppose it must be by means of the barometer, which goes up and down
like a pair of scales. But the time I mean, we was a scuddin’ under a
goose-wing foresail--”
“A sail made of goose’s
wings, and a beautiful object it must be; like some of the caps and cloaks that
come from the islands, which are all of feathers, and charming objects are
they. I beg pardon--you had your goose’s wings spread--”
“Yes, Madam Budd, yes;
we was steering for a Mediterranean port, intending to clear a mole-head, when
a sea took us under the larboard-quarter, gave us such a sheer to-port as sent
our cat-head ag’in a spile, and raked away the chain-plates of the top-mast
back-stays, bringing down all the forrard hamper about our ears.”
This description
produced such a confusion in the mind of the widow, that she was glad when it
came to an end. As for the captain, fearful that the “goose’s wings” might be
touched upon again, he thought it wisest to attempt another flight on those of
Cupid.
“As I was sayin’, Madam
Budd, friendship is n’t love; no, not a bit of it! Friendship is a common sort
of feelin’: but love, as you must know by exper’ence, Madam Budd, is an
uncommon sort of feelin’.”
“Fie, Captain Spike,
gentlemen should never allude to ladies knowing any thing about love. Ladies
respect, and admire, and esteem, and have a regard for gentlemen; but it is
almost too strong to talk about their love.”
“Yes, Madam Budd, yes;
I dare say it is so, and ought to be so; and I ask pardon for having said as
much as I did. But my love for your niece is of so animated and lastin’ a natur’,
that I scarce know what I did say.”
“Captain Spike, you amaze
me! I declare I can hardly breathe for astonishment. My niece! Surely you do
not mean Rosy!”
“Who else should I
mean? My love for Miss Rose is so very decided and animated, I tell you, Madam
Budd, that I will not answer for the consequences, should you not consent to
her marryin’ me.”
“I can scarce believe
my ears! You, Stephen Spike, and an old friend of her uncle’s, wishing to marry
his niece!”
“Just so, Madam Budd;
that’s it, to a shavin’. The regard I have for the whole family is so great,
that nothin’ less than the hand of Miss Rose in marriage can, what I call,
mitigate my feelin’s.”
Now the relict had not
one spark of tenderness herself in behalf of Spike; while she did love Rose
better than any human being, her own self excepted. But she had viewed all the
sentiment of that morning, and all the fine speeches of the captain, very
differently from what the present state of things told her she ought to have
viewed them; and she felt the mortification natural to her situation. The
captain was so much bent on the attainment of his own object, that he saw
nothing else, and was even unconscious that his extraordinary and somewhat loud
discourse had been overheard. Least of all did he suspect that his admiration
had been mistaken; and that in what he called “courtin’ ” the niece, he had
been all the while “courtin’ ” the aunt. But little apt as she was to discover
any thing, Mrs. Budd had enough of her sex’s discernment in a matter of this
sort, to perceive that she had fallen into an awkward mistake, and enough of
her sex’s pride to resent it. Taking her work in her hand, she left her seat,
and descended to the cabin, with quite as much dignity in her manner as it was
in the power of one of her height and “build” to express. What is the most
extraordinary, neither she nor Spike ever ascertained that their whole dialogue
had been overheard. Spike continued to pace the quarter-deck for several
minutes, scarce knowing what to think of the relict’s manner, when his
attention was suddenly drawn to other matters by the familiar cry of “sail-ho!”
This was positively the
first vessel with which the Molly Swash had fallen in since she lost sight of
two or three craft that had passed her in the distance, as she left the
American coast. As usual, this cry brought all hands on deck, and Mulford out
of his state-room.
It has been stated
already that the brig was just beginning to feel the trades, and it might have
been added, to see the mountains of San Domingo. The winds had been variable
for the last day or two, and they still continued light, and disposed to be
unsteady, ranging from north-east to south-east, with a preponderance in favour
of the first point. At the cry of “sail-ho!” everybody looked in the indicated
direction, which was west, a little northerly, but for a long time without
success. The cry had come from aloft, and Mulford went up as high as the
fore-top before he got any glimpse of the stranger at all. He had slung a
glass, and Spike was unusually anxious to know the result of his examination.
“Well, Mr. Mulford,
what do you make of her?” he called out as soon as the mate announced that he
saw the strange vessel.
“Wait a moment, sir,
till I get a look,--she’s a long way off, and hardly visible.”
“Well, sir, well?”
“I can only see the
heads of her top-gallant sails. She seems a ship steering to the southward,
with as many kites flying as an Indiaman in the trades. She looks as if she
were carrying royal stun’-sails, sir.”
“The devil she does!
Such a chap must not only be in a hurry, but he must be strong-handed to give
himself all this trouble in such light and var’able winds. Are his yards
square?--Is he man-of-war-ish?”
“There’s no telling,
sir, at this distance; though I rather think its stun’-sails that I see. Go
down and get your breakfast, and in half an hour I’ll give a better account of
him.”
This was done, Mrs.
Budd appearing at the table with great dignity in her manner. Although she had
so naturally supposed that Spike’s attentions had been intended for herself,
she was rather mortified than hurt on discovering her mistake. Her appetite,
consequently, was not impaired, though her stomach might have been said to be
very full. The meal passed off without any scene, notwithstanding, and Spike
soon re-appeared on deck, still masticating the last mouthful like a man in a
hurry, and a good deal à l’ Américaine. Mulford saw his arrival, and
immediately levelled his glass again.
“Well, what news now,
sir?” called out the captain. “You must have a better chance at him by this
time, for I can see the chap from off the coach-house here.”
“Ay, ay, sir; he’s a
bit nearer, certainly. I should say that craft is a ship under stun’-sails,
looking to the eastward of south, and that there are caps with gold bands on
her quarter-deck.”
“How low down can you
see her?” demanded Spike, in a voice of thunder.
So emphatic and
remarkable was the captain’s manner in putting this question, that the mate
cast a look of surprise beneath him ere he answered it. A look with the glass
succeeded, when the reply was given.
“Ay, ay, sir; there can
be no mistake--it’s a cruiser, you may depend on it. I can see the heads of her
topsails now, and they are so square and symmetrical, that gold bands are below
beyond all doubt.”
“Perhaps he’s a
Frenchman--Johnny Crapaud keeps cruisers in these seas as well as the rest on’em.”
“Johnny Crapaud’s craft
don’t spread such arms, sir. The ship is either English or American; and he’s
heading for the Mona Passage as well as ourselves.”
“Come down, sir, come
down--there’s work to be done as soon as you have breakfasted.”
Mulford did come down,
and he was soon seated at the table, with both Josh and Jack Tier for
attendants. The aunt and the niece were in their own cabin, a few yards
distant, with the door open.
“What a fuss’e cap’in
make ’bout dat sail,” grumbled Josh, who had been in the brig so long that he
sometimes took liberties with even Spike himself. “What good he t’ink t’will do
to measure him inch by inch? Bye’m by he get alongside, and den ’e ladies even
can tell all about him.”
“He nat’rally wishes to
know who gets alongside,” put in Tier, somewhat apologetically.
“What matter dat. All
sort of folk get alongside of Molly Swash; and what good it do ’em? Yoh! yoh!
yoh! I do remem’er sich times vid’e ole hussy!”
“What old hussy do you
mean?” demanded Jack Tier a little fiercely, and in a way to draw Mulford’s
eyes from the profile of Rose’s face to the visages of his two attendants.
“Come, come, gentlemen,
if you please; recollect where you are,” interrupted the mate authoritatively. “You
are not now squabbling in your galley, but are in the cabin. What is it to you,
Tier, if Josh does call the brig an old hussy; she is old, as we all know, and
years are respectable; and as for her being a ‘hussy,’ that is a term of endearment
sometimes. I’ve heard the captain himself call the Molly a ‘hussy,’ fifty
times, and he loves her as he does the apple of his eye.”
This interference put
an end to the gathering storm as a matter of course, and the two disputants
shortly after passed on deck. No sooner was the coast clear than Rose stood in
the door of her own cabin.
“Do you think the
strange vessel is an American?” she asked eagerly.
“It is impossible to
say--English or American I make no doubt. But why do you inquire?”
“But my aunt and myself
desire to quit the brig, and if the stranger should prove to be an American
vessel of war, might not the occasion be favourable?”
“And what reason can
you give for desiring to do so?”
“What signifies a
reason,” answered Rose with spirit. “Spike is not our master, and we can come
and go as we may see fit.”
“But a reason must be
given to satisfy the commander of the vessel of war. Craft of that character
are very particular about the passengers they receive; nor would it be
altogether wise in two unprotected females to go on board a cruiser, unless in
a case of the most obvious necessity.”
“Will not what has
passed this morning be thought a sufficient reason,” added Rose, drawing nearer
to the mate, and dropping her voice so as not to be heard by her aunt.
Mulford smiled as he
gazed at the earnest but attractive countenance of his charming companion.
“And who could tell it,
or how could it be told? Would the commander of a vessel of war incur the risk
of receiving such a person as yourself on board his vessel, for the reason that
the master of the craft she was in when he fell in with her desired to marry
her?”
Rose appeared vexed,
but she was at once made sensible that it was not quite as easy to change her
vessel at sea, as to step into a strange door in a town. She drew slowly back
into her own cabin silent and thoughtful; her aunt pursuing her netting the
whole time with an air of dignified industry.
“Well, Mr. Mulford,
well,” called out Spike at the head of the cabin stairs, “what news from the
coffee?”
“All ready, sir,”
answered the mate, exchanging significant glances with Rose. “I shall be up in
a moment.”
That moment soon came,
and Mulford was ready for duty. While below, Spike had caused certain purchases
to be got aloft, and the main-hatch was open and the men collected around it,
in readiness to proceed with the work. Harry asked no questions, for the
preparations told him what was about to be done, but passing below, he took
charge of the duty there, while the captain superintended the part that was
conducted on deck. In the course of the next hour eight twelve-pound carronades
were sent up out of the hold, and mounted in as many of the ports which lined
the bulwarks of the brigantine. The men seemed to be accustomed to the sort of
work in which they were now engaged, and soon had their light batteries in
order, and ready for service. In the mean time the two vessels kept on their
respective courses, and by the time the guns were mounted, there was a sensible
difference in their relative positions. The stranger had drawn so near the
brigantine as to be very obvious from the latter’s deck, while the brigantine
had drawn so much nearer to the islands of San Domingo and Porto Rico, as to
render the opening between them, the well-known Mona Passage, distinctly
visible.
Of all this Spike
appeared to be fully aware, for he quitted the work several times before it was
finished, in order to take a look at the stranger, and at the land. When the
batteries were arranged, he and Mulford, each provided with a glass, gave a few
minutes to a more deliberate examination of the first.
“That’s the Mona ahead
of us,” said the captain; “of that there can be no question, and a very pretty
land-fall you’ve made of it, Harry. I’ll allow you to be as good a navigator as
floats.”
“Nevertheless, sir, you
have not seen fit to let me know whither the brig is really bound this voyage.”
“No matter for that,
young man--no matter, as yet. All in good time. When I tell you to lay your
course for the Mona, you can lay your course for the Mona; and, as soon as we
are through the passage, I’ll let you know what is wanted next--if that bloody
chap, who is nearing us, will let me.”
“And why should any
vessel wish to molest us on our passage, Captain Spike?”
“Why, sure enough! It’s
war-times, you know, and war-times always bring trouble to the trader--though
it sometimes brings profit, too.”
As Spike concluded, he
gave his mate a knowing wink, which the other understood to mean that he
expected himself some of the unusual profit to which he alluded. Mulford did
not relish this secret communication, for the past had induced him to suspect
the character of the trade in which his commander was accustomed to engage.
Without making any sort of reply, or encouraging the confidence by even a
smile, he levelled his glass at the stranger, as did Spike, the instant he
ceased to grin.
“That’s one of Uncle
Sam’s fellows!” exclaimed the captain, dropping the glass. “I’d swear to the
chap in any admiralty court on ’arth.”
“’T is a vessel of war,
out of all doubt,” returned the mate, “and under a cloud of canvas. I can make
out the heads of her courses now, and see that she is carrying hard, for a
craft that is almost close-hauled.”
“Ay, ay; no merchantmen
keeps his light stun’-sails set, as near the wind as that fellow’s going. He’s
a big chap, too--a frigate, at least, by his canvas.”
“I do not know,
sir--they build such heavy corvettes now-a-days, that I should rather take her
for one of them. They tell me ships are now sent to sea which mount only
two-and-twenty guns, but which measure quite a thousand tons.”
“With thunderin’
batteries, of course.”
“With short thirty-twos
and a few rapping sixty-eight Paixhans--or Columbiads, as they ought in justice
to be called.”
“And you think this
chap likely to be a craft of that sort?”
“Nothing is more
probable, sir. Government has several, and, since this war has commenced, it
has been sending off cruiser after cruiser into the Gulf. The Mexicans dare not
send a vessel of war to sea, which would be sending them to Norfolk, or New
York, at once; but no one can say when they may begin to make a prey of our
commerce.”
“They have taken
nothing as yet, Mr. Mulford, and, to tell you the truth, I’d much rather fall
in with one of Don Montezuma’s craft than one of Uncle Sam’s.”
“That is a singular
taste, for an American, Captain Spike, unless you think, now our guns are
mounted, we can handle a Mexican,” returned Mulford coldly. “At all events, it
is some answer to those who ask ‘What is the navy about?’ that months of war
have gone by, and not an American has been captured. Take away that navy, and
the insurance offices in Wall-street would tumble like a New York party-wall in
a fire.”
“Nevertheless, I’d
rather take my chance, just now, with Don Montezuma than with Uncle Sam.”
Mulford did not reply,
though the earnest manner in which Spike expressed himself, helped to increase
his distrust touching the nature of the voyage. With him the captain had no
further conference, but it was different as respects the boatswain. That worthy
was called aft, and for half an hour he and Spike were conversing apart,
keeping their eyes fastened on the strange vessel most of the time.
It was noon before all
uncertainly touching the character of the stranger ceased. By that time,
however, both vessels were entering the Mona Passage; the brig well to
windward, on the Porto Rico side; while the ship was so far to leeward as to be
compelled to keep everything close-hauled, in order to weather the island. The
hull of the last could now be seen, and no doubt was entertained about her
being a cruiser, and one of some size, too. Spike thought she was a frigate;
but Mulford still inclined to the opinion that she was one of the new ships;
perhaps a real corvette, or with a light spar-deck over her batteries. Two or
three of the new vessels were known to be thus fitted, and this might be one.
At length all doubt on the subject ceased, the stranger setting an American
ensign, and getting so near as to make it apparent that she had but a single
line of guns. Still she was a large ship, and the manner that she ploughed
through the brine, close-hauled as she was, extorted admiration even from
Spike.
“We had better begin to
shorten sail, Mr. Mulford,” the captain at length most reluctantly remarked. “We
might give the chap the slip, perhaps, by keeping close in under Porto Rico,
but he would give us a long chase, and might drive us away to windward, when I
wish to keep off between Cuba and Jamaica. He’s a traveller; look, how he
stands up to it under that could of canvas!”
Mulford was slow to
commence on the studding-sails, and the cruiser was getting nearer and nearer.
At length a gun was fired, and a heavy shot fell about two hundred yards short
of the brig, and a little out of line with her. On this hint, Spike turned the
hands up, and began to shorten sail. In ten minutes the Swash was under her
topsail, mainsail and jib, with her light sails hanging in the gear, and all
the steering canvas in. In ten minutes more the cruiser was so near as to admit
of the faces of the three or four men whose heads were above the hammock-cloths
being visible, when she too began to fold her wings. In went her royals,
topgallant-sails, and various kites, as it might be by some common muscular agency;
and up went her courses. Everything was done at once. By this time she was
crossing the brig’s wake, looking exceedingly beautiful, with her topsails
lifting, her light sails blowing out, and even her heavy courses fluttering in
the breeze. There flew the glorious stars and stripes also; of brief existence,
but full of recollections! The moment she had room, her helm went up, her bows
fell off, and down she came, on the weather quarter of the Swash, so near as to
render a trumpet nearly useless.
On board the brig
everybody was on deck; even the relict having forgotten her mortification in
curiosity. On board the cruiser no one was visible, with the exception of a few
men in each top, and a group of gold-banded caps on the poop. Among these
officers stood the captain, a red-faced, middle-aged man, with the usual signs
of his rank about him; and at his side was his lynx-eyed first lieutenant. The
surgeon and purser were also there, though they stood a little apart from the
more nautical dignitaries. The hail that followed came out of a trumpet that
was thrust through the mizzen-rigging; the officer who used it taking his cue
from the poop.
“What brig is that?”
commenced the discourse.
“The Molly Swash, of
New York, Stephen Spike, master.”
“Where from, and
whither bound?”
“From New York, and
bound to Key West and a market.”
A pause succeeded this
answer, during which the officers on the poop of the cruiser held some
discourse with him of the trumpet. During the interval the cruiser ranged
fairly up abeam.
“You are well to
windward of your port, sir,” observed he of the trumpet significantly.
“I know it; but it’s
war times, and I didn’t know but there might be piccaroons hovering about the
Havanna.”
“The coast is clear,
and our cruisers will keep it so. I see you have a battery, sir!”
“Ay, ay; some old guns
that I’ve had aboard these ten years: they’re useful, sometimes, in these seas.”
“Very true. I’ll range
ahead of you, and as soon as you’ve room, I’ll thank you to heave-to. I wish to
send a boat on board you.”
Spike was sullen enough
on receiving this order, but there was no help for it. He was now in the jaws
of the lion, and his wisest course was to submit to the penalties of his
position with the best grace he could. The necessary orders were consequently
given, and the brig no sooner got room than she came by the wind and backed her
topsail. The cruiser went about, and passing to windward, backed her
main-topsail just forward of the Swash’s beam. Then the latter lowered a boat,
and sent it, with a lieutenant and a midshipman in its stern-sheets, on board
the brigantine. As the cutter approached, Spike went to the gangway to receive
the strangers.
Although there will be
frequent occasion to mention this cruiser, the circumstances are of so recent
occurrence, that we do not choose to give either her name, or that of any one
belonging to her. We shall, consequently, tell the curious, who may be disposed
to turn to their navy-lists and blue-books, that the search will be of no use,
as all the names we shall use, in reference to this cruiser, will be
fictitious. As much of the rest of our story as the reader please may be taken
for gospel; but we tell him frankly, that we have thought it most expedient to
adopt assumed names, in connection with this vessel and all her officers. There
are good reasons for so doing; and, among others, is that of abstaining from
arming a clique to calumniate her commander, (who, by the way, like another
commander in the Gulf that might be named, and who has actually been exposed to
the sort of tracasserie to which there is allusion, is one of the very ablest
men in the service,) in order to put another in his place.
The officer who now
came over the side of the Swash we shall call Wallace; he was the second
lieutenant of the vessel of war. He was about thirty, and the midshipman who
followed him was a well-grown lad of nineteen. Both had a decided man-of-war
look, and both looked a little curiously at the vessel they had boarded.
“Your servant, sir,”
said Wallace, touching his cap in reply to Spike’s somewhat awkward bow. “Your
brig is the Molly Swash, Stephen Spike, bound from New York to Key West and a
market.”
“You’ve got it all as
straight, lieutenant, as if you was a readin’ it from the log.”
“The next thing, sir,
is to know of what your cargo is composed?”
“Flour; eight hundred
barrels of flour.”
“Flour! Would you not
do better to carry that to Liverpool? The Mississippi must be almost turned
into paste by the quantity of flour it floats to market.”
“Notwithstanding that,
lieutenant, I know Uncle Sam’s economy so well, as to believe I shall part with
every barrel of my flour to his contractors, at a handsome profit.”
“You read Whig
newspapers principally, I rather think, Mr. Spike,” answered Wallace, in his cool,
deliberate way, smiling, however, as he spoke.
We may just as well say
here, that nature intended this gentleman for a second lieutenant, the very
place he filled. He was a capital second lieutenant, while he would not have
earned his rations as first. So well was he assured of this peculiarity in his
moral composition, that he did not wish to be the first lieutenant of anything
in which he sailed. A respectable seaman, a well-read and intelligent man, a
capital deck officer, or watch officer, he was too indolent to desire to be
anything more, and was as happy as the day was long, in the easy berth he
filled. The first lieutenant had been his messmate as a midshipman, and ranked
him but two on the list in his present commission; but he did not envy him in
the least. On the contrary, one of his greatest pleasures was to get. “Working
Willy,” as he called his senior, over a glass of wine, or a tumbler of “hot
stuff,” and make him recount the labours of the day. On such occasions, Wallace
never failed to compare the situation of “Working Willy” with his own
gentlemanlike ease and independence. As second lieutenant, his rank raised him
above most of the unpleasant duty of the ship, while it did not raise him high
enough to plunge him into the never-ending labours of his senior. He delighted
to call himself the “ship’s gentleman,” a sobriquet he well deserved, on more
accounts than one.
“You read Whig
newspapers principally, I rather think, Mr. Spike,” answered the lieutenant, as
has been just mentioned, “while we on board the Poughkeepsie indulge in looking
over the columns of the Union, as well as over those of the Intelligencer, when
by good luck we can lay our hands on a stray number.”
“That ship, then, is
called the Poughkeepsie, is she, sir?” inquired Spike.
“Such is her name,
thanks to a most beneficent and sage provision of Congress, which has extended
its parental care over the navy so far as to imagine that a man chosen by the
people to exercise so many of the functions of a sovereign, is not fit to name
a ship. All our two and three deckers are to be called after states; the
frigates after rivers; and the sloops after towns. Thus it is that our craft
has the honour to be called the United States ship the ‘Poughkeepsie,’ instead
of the ‘Arrow,’ or the ‘Wasp,’ or the ‘Curlew,’ or the ‘Petrel,’ as might
otherwise have been the case. But the wisdom of Congress is manifest, for the
plan teaches us sailors geography.”
“Yes, sir, yes, one can
pick up a bit of l’arnin’ in that way cheap. The Poughkeepsie, Captain--?”
“The United States’
ship Poughkeepsie, 20, Captain Adam Mull, at your service. But, Mr. Spike, you
will allow me to look at your papers. It is a duty I like, for it can be
performed quietly, and without any fuss.”
Spike looked
distrustfully at his new acquaintance, but went for his vessel’s papers without
any very apparent hesitation. Every thing was en regle, and Wallace soon got
through with the clearance, manifest, &c. Indeed the cargo, on paper at
least, was of the simplest and least complicated character, being composed of
nothing but eight hundred barrels of flour.
“It all looks very well
on paper, Mr. Spike,” added the boarding officer. “With your permission, we
will next see how it looks in sober reality. I perceive your main hatch is open,
and I suppose it will be no difficult matter just to take a glance at your
hold.”
“Here is a ladder, sir,
that will take us at once to the half-deck, for I have no proper ’twixt decks
in this craft; she’s too small for that sort of outfit.”
“No matter, she has a
hold, I suppose, and that can contain cargo. Take me to it by the shortest
road, Mr. Spike, for I am no great admirer of trouble.”
Spike now led the way
below, Wallace following, leaving the midshipman on deck, who had fallen into
conversation with the relict and her pretty niece. The half-deck of the
brigantine contained spare sails, provisions, and water, as usual, while
quantities of old canvas lay scattered over the cargo; more especially in the
wake of the hatches, of which there were two besides that which led from the
quarter-deck.
“Flour to the number of
eight hundred barrels,” said Wallace, striking his foot against a barrel that
lay within his reach. “The cargo is somewhat singular to come from New York,
going to Key West, my dear Spike?”
“I suppose you know
what sort of a place Key West is, sir; a bit of an island in which there is
scarce so much as a potatoe grows.”
“Ay, ay, sir; I know
Key West very well, having been in and out a dozen times. All eatables are
imported, turtle excepted. But flour can be brought down the Mississippi so
much cheaper than it can be brought from New York.”
“Have you any idee,
lieutenant, what Uncle Sam’s men are paying for it at New Orleens, just to keep
soul and bodies together among the so’gers?”
“That may be true,
sir--quite true, I dare say, Mr. Spike. Have n’t you a bit of a chair that a
fellow can sit down on--this half-deck of your’s is none of the most
comfortable places to stand in. Thank you, sir--thank you with all my heart.
What lots of old sails you have scattered about the hold, especially in the
wake of the hatches!”
“Why, the craft being
little more than in good ballast trim, I keep the hatches off to air her; and
the spray might spit down upon the flour at odd times but for them ’ere sails.”
“Ay, a prudent caution.
So you think Uncle Sam’s people will be after this flour as soon as they learn
you have got it snug in at Key West?”
“What more likely, sir?
You know how it is with our government--always wrong, whatever it does! and I can
show you paragraphs in letters written from New Orleens, which tell us that
Uncle Sam is paying seventy-five and eighty per cent. more for flour than
anybody else.”
“He must be a flush old
chap to be able to do that, Spike.”
“Flush! I rather think
he is. Do you know that he is spendin’, accordin’ to approved accounts, at this
blessed moment, as much as half a million a day? I own a wish to be pickin’ up
some of the coppers while they are scattered about so plentifully.”
“Half a million a day!
why that is only at the rate of $187,000,000 per annum; a mere trifle, Spike,
that is scarce worth mentioning among us mariners.”
“It’s so in the
newspapers, I can swear, lieutenant.”
“Ay, ay, and the
newspapers will swear to it, too, and they that gave the newspapers their cue.
But no matter, our business is with this flour. Will you sell us a barrel or
two for our mess? I heard the caterer say we should want flour in the course of
a week or so.”
Spike seemed
embarrassed, though not to a degree to awaken suspicion in his companion.
“I never sold cargo at
sea, long as I’ve sailed and owned a craft,” he answered, as if uncertain what
to do. “If you’ll pay the price I expect to get in the Gulf, and will take ten
barrels, I do n’t know but we may make a trade on’t. I shall only ask expected
prices.”
“Which will be--?”
“Ten dollars a barrel.
For one hundred silver dollars I will put into your boat ten barrels of the
very best brand known in the western country.”
“This is dealing rather
more extensively than I anticipated, but we will reflect on it.”
Wallance now indolently
arose and ascended to the quarter-deck, followed by Spike, who continued to
press the flour on him, as if anxious to make money. But the lieutenant
hesitated about paying a price as high as ten dollars, or to take a quantity as
large as ten barrels.
“Our mess is no great
matter after all,” he said carelessly. “Four lieutenants, the purser, two
doctors, the master, and a marine officer, and you get us all. Nine men could
never eat ten barrels of flour, my dear Spike, you will see for yourself, with
the quantity of excellent bread we carry. You forget the bread.”
“Not a bit of it, Mr.
Wallace, since that is your name. But such flour as this of mine has not been
seen in the Gulf this many a day. I ought in reason to ask twelve dollars for
it, and insist on such a ship as your’n’s taking twenty instead of the ten
barrels.”
“I thank you, sir, the
ten will more than suffice; unless, indeed, the captain wants some for the
cabin. How is it with your steerage messes, Mr. Archer--do you want any flour?”
“We draw a little from
the ship, according to rule, sir, but we can’t go as many puddings latterly as
we could before we touched last at the Havanna,” answered the laughing
midshipman. “There is n’t a fellow among us, sir, that could pay a shore-boat
for landing him, should we go in again before the end of another month. I never
knew such a place as Havanna. They say midshipmen’s money melts there twice as
soon as lieutenants’ money.”
“It’s clear, then, you’ll
not take any of the ten. I am afraid after all, Mr. Spike, we cannot trade,
unless you will consent to let me have two barrels. I’ll venture on two at ten
dollars, high as the price is.”
“I should n’t forgive
myself in six months for making so had a bargain, lieutenant, so we’ll say no
more about it if you please.”
“Here is a lady that
wishes to say a word to you, Mr. Wallace, before we go back to the ship, if you
are at leisure to hear her, or them--for there are two of them,” put in Archer.
At this moment Mrs.
Budd was approaching with a dignified step, while Rose followed timidly a
little in the rear. Wallace was a good deal surprised at this application, and
Spike was quite as much provoked. As for Mulford, he watched the interview from
a distance, a great deal more interested in its result than he cared to have
known, more especially to his commanding officer. Its object was to get a
passage in the vessel of war.
“You are an officer of
that Uncle Sam vessel,” commenced Mrs. Budd, who thought that she would so much
the more command the respect and attention of her listener, by showing him
early how familiar she was with even the slang dialect of the seas.
“I have the honour, ma’am,
to belong to that Uncle Sam craft,” answered Wallace gravely, though he bowed
politely at the same time, looking intently at the beautiful girl in the
back-ground as he so did.
“So I’ve been told,
sir. She’s a beautiful vessel, lieutenant, and is full jiggered, I perceive.”
For the first time in
his life, or at least for the first time since his first cruise, Wallace wore a
mystified look, being absolutely at a loss to imagine what “full jiggered”
could mean. He only looked, therefore, for he did not answer.
“Mrs. Budd means that
you’ve a full rigged craft,” put in Spike, anxious to have a voice in the
conference, “this vessel being only a half-rigged brig.”
“Oh! ay; yes, yes--the
lady is quite right. We are full jiggered from our dead-eyes to our eye-bolts.”
“I thought as much,
sir, from your ground hamper and top-tackles,” added the relict smiling. “For
my part there is nothing in nature that I so much admire as a full jiggered
ship, with her canvas out of the bolt-ropes, and her clewlines and clew-garnets
braced sharp, and her yards all abroad.”
“Yes, ma’am, it is just
as you say, a very charming spectacle. Our baby was born full grown, and with
all her hamper aloft just as you see her. Some persons refer vessels to art,
but I think you are quite right in referring them to nature.”
“Nothing can be more natural
to me, lieutenant, than a fine ship standing on her canvas. It’s an object to
improve the heart and to soften the understanding.”
“So I should think, ma’am,”
returned Wallace, a little quizzically, “judging from the effect on yourself.”
This speech,
unfortunately timed as it was, wrought a complete change in Rose’s feelings,
and she no longer wished to exchange the Swash for the Poughkeepsie. She saw
that her aunt was laughed at in secret, and that was a circumstance that never
failed to grate on every nerve in her system. She had been prepared to second
and sustain the intended application--she was now determined to oppose it.
“Yes, sir,” resumed the
unconscious relict, “and to soften the understanding. Lieutenant, did you ever
cross the Capricorn?”
“No less than six
times; three going and three returning, you know.”
“And did Neptune come
on board you, and were you shaved?”
“Everything was done
secundem artem, ma’am. The razor was quite an example of what are called in
poetry ‘thoughts too deep for tears.’ ”
“That must have been
delightful. As for me, I’m quite a devotee of Neptune’s; but I’m losing time,
for no doubt your ship is all ready to pull away and carry on sail--”
“Aunt, may I say a word
to you before you go any further,” put in Rose in her quiet but very
controlling way.
The aunt complied, and
Wallace, as soon as left alone, felt like a man who was released from a
quick-sand, into which every effort to extricate himself only plunged him so
much the deeper. At this moment the ship hailed, and the lieutenant took a
hasty leave of Spike, motioned to the midshipman to precede him, and followed
the latter into his boat. Spike saw his visiter off in person, tending the side
and offering the man-ropes with his own hands. For this civility Wallace
thanked him, calling out as his boat pulled him from the brig’s side--“If we ‘pull
away,’ ” accenting the “pull” in secret derision of the relict’s mistake, “you
can pull away; our filling the topsail being a sign for you to do the same.”
“There you go, and joy
go with you,” muttered Spike, as he descended from the gangway. “A pretty
kettle of fish would there have been cooked had I let him have his two barrels
of flour.”
The man-of-war’s cutter
was soon under the lee of the ship, where it discharged its freight, when it
was immediately run up. During the whole time Wallace had been absent, Captain
Mull and his officers remained on the poop, principally occupied in examining
and discussing the merits of the Swash. No sooner had their officer returned,
however, than an order was given to fill away, it being supposed that the
Poughkeepsie had no further concern with the brigantine. As for Wallace, he
ascended to the poop and made the customary report.
“It’s a queer cargo to
be carrying to Key West from the Atlantic coast,” observed the captain in a
deliberating sort of manner, as if the circumstance excited suspicion; “Yet the
Mexicans can hardly be in want of any such supplies.”
“Did you see the flour,
Wallace?” inquired the first lieutenant, who was well aware of his messmate’s
indolence.
“Yes, sir, and felt it
too. The lower hold of the brig is full of flour, and of nothing else.”
“Ware round, sir--ware
round and pass athwart the brig’s wake,” interrupted the captain. “There’s
plenty of room now, and I wish to pass as near that craft as we can.”
This manœuvre was
executed. The sloop-of-war no sooner filled her maintop-sail than she drew
ahead, leaving plenty of room for the brigantine to make sail on her course.
Spike did not profit by this opening, however, but he sent several men aloft
forward, where they appeared to be getting ready to send down the upper yards
and the topgallant-mast. No sooner was the sloop-of-war’s helm put up than that
vessel passed close along the brigantine’s weather side, and kept off across
her stern on her course. As she did this the canvas was fluttering aboard her,
in the process of making sail, and Mull held a short discourse with Spike.
“Is anything the matter
aloft?” demanded the man-of-war’s man.
“Ay, ay; I’ve sprung my
topgallant-mast, and think this a good occasion to get another up in its place.”
“Shall I lend you a
carpenter or two, Mr. Spike?”
“Thank’ee, sir, thank’ee
with all my heart; but we can do without them. It’s an old stick, and it’s high
time a better stood where it does. Who knows but I may be chased and feel the
want of reliable spars.”
Captain Mull smiled and
raised his cap in the way of an adieu, when the conversation ended; the
Poughkeepsie sliding off rapidly with a free wind, leaving the Swash nearly
stationary. In ten minutes the two vessels were more than a mile apart; in
twenty, beyond the reach of shot.
Notwithstanding the
natural and common-place manner in which this separation took place, there was
much distrust on board each vessel, and a good deal of consummate management on
the part of Spike. The latter knew that every foot the sloop-of-war went on her
course, carried her just so far to leeward, placing his own brig, in-so-much,
dead to windward of her. As the Swash’s best point of sailing, relatively
considered, was close-hauled, this was giving to Spike a great security against
any change of purpose on the part of the vessel of war. Although his people
were aloft and actually sent down the topgallant-mast, it was only to send it up
again, the spar being of admirable toughness, and as sound as the day it was
cut.
“I don’t think, Mr.
Mulford,” said the captain sarcastically, “that Uncle Sam’s glasses are good
enough to tell the difference in wood at two leagues’ distance, so we’ll trust
to the old stick a little longer. Ay, ay, let ’em run off before it, we’ll find
another road by which to reach our port.”
“The sloop-of-war is
going round the south side of Cuba, Captain Spike,” answered the mate, “and I
have understood you to say that you intended to go by the same passage.”
“A body may change his
mind, and no murder. Only consider, Harry, how common it is for folks to change
their minds. I did intend to pass between Cuba and Jamaica, but I intend it no
longer. Our run from Montauk has been oncommon short, and I’ve time enough to
spare to go to the southward of Jamaica too, if the notion takes me.”
“That would greatly
prolong the passage, Captain Spike, --a week at least.”
“What if it does--I’ve
a week to spare; we’re nine days afore our time.”
“Our time for what,
sir? Is there any particular time set for a vessel’s going into Key West?”
“Don’t be womanish and
over-cur’ous, Mulford. I sail with sealed orders, and when we get well to
windward of Jamaica, ’t will be time enough to open them.”
Spike was as good as
his word. As soon as he thought the sloop-of-war was far enough to leeward, or
when she was hull down, he filled away and made sail on the wind to get nearer
to Porto Rico. Long ere it was dark he had lost sight of the sloop-of-war, when
he altered his course to south-westerly, which was carrying him in the
direction he named, or to windward of Jamaica.
While this artifice was
being practised on board the Molly Swash, the officers of the Poughkeepsie were
not quite satisfied with their own mode of proceeding with the brigantine. The
more they reasoned on the matter, the more unlikely it seemed to them that
Spike could be really carrying a cargo of flour from New York to Key West, in
the expectation of disposing of it to the United States’ contractors, and the
more out of the way did he seem to be in running through the Mona Passage.
“His true course should
have been by the Hole in the Wall, and so down along the north side of Cuba,
before the wind,” observed the first lieutenant. “I wonder that never struck
you, Wallace; you, who so little like trouble.”
“Certainly I knew it,
but we lazy people like running off before the wind, and I did not know but
such were Mr. Spike’s tastes,” answered the “ship’s gentleman.” “In my
judgment, the reluctance he showed to letting us have any of his flour, is much
the most suspicious circumstance in the whole affair.”
These two speeches were
made on the poop, in the presence of the captain, but in a sort of an aside
that admitted of some of the ward-room familiarity exhibited. Captain Mull was
not supposed to hear what passed, though hear it he in fact did, as was seen by
his own remarks, which immediately succeeded.
“I understood you to
say, Mr. Wallace,” observed the captain, a little drily, “that you saw the
flour yourself?”
“I saw the
flour-barrels, sir; and as regularly built were they as any barrels that ever
were branded. But a flour-barrel may have contained something beside flour.”
“Flour usually makes
itself visible in the handling; were these barrels quite clean?”
“Far from it, sir. They
showed flour on their staves, like any other cargo. After all, the man may have
more sense than we give him credit for, and find a high market for his cargo.”
Captain Mull seemed to
muse, which was a hint for his juniors not to continue the conversation, but
rather to seem to muse, too. After a short pause, the captain quietly
remarked--“Well, gentlemen, he will be coming down after us, I suppose, as soon
as he gets his new topgallant-mast on-end, and then we can keep a bright
look-out for him. We shall cruise off Cape St. Antonio for a day or two, and no
doubt shall get another look at him. I should like to have one baking from his
flour.”
But Spike had no
intention to give the Poughkeepsie the desired opportunity. As has been stated,
he stood off to the southward on a wind, and completely doubled the eastern end
of Jamaica, when he put his helm up, and went, with favouring wind and current,
toward the northward and westward. The consequence was, that he did not fall in
with the Poughkeepsie at all, which vessel was keeping a sharp look-out for him
in the neighbourhood of Cape St. Antonio and the Isle of Pines, at the very
moment he was running down the coast of Yucatan. Of all the large maritime
countries of the world, Mexico, on the Atlantic, is that which is the most
easily blockaded, by a superior naval power. By maintaining a proper force
between Key West and the Havanna, and another squadron between Cape St. Antonio
and Loggerhead Key, the whole country, the Bay of Honduras excepted, is shut
up, as it might be in a band-box. It is true the Gulf would be left open to the
Mexicans, were not squadrons kept nearer in; but, as for anything getting out
into the broad Atlantic, it would be next to hopeless. The distance to be
watched between the Havanna and Key West is only about sixty miles, while that
in the other direction is not much greater.
While the Swash was
making the circuit of Jamaica, as described, her captain had little communication
with his passengers. The misunderstanding with the relict embarrassed him as
much as it embarrassed her; and he was quite willing to let time mitigate her
resentment. Rose would be just as much in his power a fortnight hence as she
was today. This cessation in the captain’s attentions gave the females greater
liberty, and they improved it, singularly enough as it seemed to Mulford, by
cultivating a strange sort of intimacy with Jack Tier. The very day that
succeeded the delicate conversation with Mrs. Budd, to a part of which Jack had
been an auditor, the uncouth-looking steward’s assistant was seen in close
conference with the pretty Rose; the subject of their conversation being,
apparently, of a most engrossing nature. From that hour, Jack got to be not
only a confidant, but a favourite, to Mulford’s great surprise. A less inviting
subject for tête-à-têtes and confidential dialogues, thought the young man,
could not well exist; but so it was; woman’s caprices are inexplicable; and not
only Rose and her aunt, but even the captious and somewhat distrustful Biddy,
manifested on all occasions not only friendship, but kindness and consideration
for Jack.
“You quite put my nose
out o’ joint, you Jack Tier, with ’e lady,” grumbled Josh, the steward de jure,
if not now de facto, of the craft, “and I neber see nuttin’ like it! I s’pose
you expect ten dollar, at least, from dem passenger, when we gets in. But I’d
have you to know, Misser Jack, if you please, dat a steward be a steward, and
he do n’t like to hab trick played wid him, afore he own face.”
“Poh! poh! Joshua,”
answered Jack good-naturedly, “do n’t distress yourself on a consail. In the
first place, you’ve got no nose to be put out of joint; or, if you have really
a nose, it has no joint. It’s nat’ral for folks to like their own colour, and
the ladies prefar me, because I’m white.”
“No so werry white as
all dat, nudder,” grumbled Josh. “I see great many whiter dan you. But, if dem
lady like you so much as to gib you ten dollar, as I expects, when we gets in,
I presumes you’ll hand over half, or six dollar, of dat money to your superior
officer, as is law in de case.”
“Do you call six the
half of ten, Joshua, my scholar, eh?”
“Well, den, seven, if
you like dat better. I wants just half, and just half I means to git.”
“And half you shall
have, maty. I only wish you would just tell me where we shall be, when we gets
in.”
“How I know, white man?
Dat belong to skipper, and better ask him. If he do n’t gib you lick in de
chop, p’rhaps he tell you.”
As Jack Tier had no
taste for “licks in the chops,” he did not follow Josh’s advice. But his
agreeing to give half of the ten dollars to the steward kept peace in the
cabins. He was even so scrupulous of his word, as to hand to Josh a half-eagle
that very day; money he had received from Rose; saying he would trust to
Providence for his own half of the expected douceur. This concession placed
Jack Tier on high grounds with his “superior officer,” and from that time the
former was left to do the whole of the customary service of the ladies’ cabin.
As respects the vessel,
nothing worthy of notice occurred until she had passed Loggerhead Key, and was
fairly launched in the Gulf of Mexico. Then, indeed, Spike took a step that
greatly surprised his mate. The latter was directed to bring all his
instruments, charts, &c., and place them in the captain’s state-room, where
it was understood they were to remain until the brig got into port. Spike was
but an indifferent navigator, while Mulford was one of a higher order than
common. So much had the former been accustomed to rely on the latter, indeed,
as they approached a strange coast, that he could not possibly have taken any
step, that was not positively criminal, which would have given his mate more
uneasiness than this.
At first, Mulford
naturally enough suspected that Spike intended to push for some Mexican port,
by thus blinding his eyes as to the position of the vessel. The direction
steered, however, soon relieved the mate from this apprehension. From the eastern
extremity of Yucatan, the Mexican coast trends to the westward, and even to the
south of west, for a long distance, whereas the course steered by Spike was
north, easterly. This was diverging from the enemy’s coast instead of
approaching it, and the circumstance greatly relieved the apprehensions of
Mulford.
Nor was the
sequestration of the mate’s instruments the only suspicious act of Spike. He
caused the brig’s paint to be entirely altered, and even went so far toward
disguising her, as to make some changes aloft. All this was done as the vessel
passed swiftly on her course, and everything had been effected, apparently to
the captain’s satisfaction, when the cry of “land-ho!” was once more heard. The
land proved to be a cluster of low, small islands, part coral, part sand, that
might have been eight or ten in number, and the largest of which did not
possess a surface of more than a very few acres. Many were the merest islets
imaginable, and on one of the largest of the cluster rose a tall, gaunt light-house,
having the customary dwelling of its keeper at its base. Nothing else was
visible; the broad expanse of the blue waters of the Gulf excepted. All the
land in sight would not probably have made one field of twenty acres in extent,
and that seemed cut off from the rest of the world, by a broad barrier of
water. It was a spot of such singular situation and accessories, that Mulford
gazed at it with a burning desire to know where he was, as the brig steered
through a channel between two of the islets, into a capacious and perfectly
safe basin, formed by the group, and dropped her anchor in its centre.
He sleeps; but dreams
of massy gold,
And heaps of pearl. He stretch’d his hands-- He hears a voice--“Ill man withhold!”
A pale one near him stands. Dana.
It was near night-fall
when the Swash anchored among the low and small islets mentioned. Rose had been
on deck, as the vessel approached this singular and solitary haven, watching
the movements of those on board, as well as the appearance of objects on the
land, with the interest her situation would be-likely to awaken. She saw the
light and manageable craft glide through the narrow and crooked passages that
led into the port, the process of anchoring, and the scene of tranquil solitude
that succeeded; each following the other as by a law of nature. The light-house
next attracted her attention, and, as soon as the sun disappeared, her eyes
were fastened on the lantern, in expectation of beholding the watchful and
warning fires gleaming there, to give the mariner notice of the position of the
dangers that surrounded the place. Minute went by after minute, however, and
the customary illumination seemed to be forgotten.
“Why is not this light
shining?” Rose asked of Mulford, as the young man came near her, after having
discharged his duty in helping to moor the vessel, and in clearing the decks. “All
the light-houses we have passed, and they have been fifty, have shown bright
lights at this hour, but this.”
“I cannot explain it;
nor have I the smallest notion where we are. I have been aloft, and there was
nothing in sight but this cluster of low islets, far or near. I did fancy, for
a moment, I saw a speck like a distant sail, off here, to the northward and
eastward, but I rather think it was a gull, or some other sea-bird glancing
upward on the wing. I mentioned it to the captain when I came down, and he
appeared to believe it a mistake. I have watched that light-house closely, too,
ever since we came in, and I have not seen the smallest sign of life about it.
It is altogether an extraordinary place!”
“One suited to acts of
villany, I fear, Harry!”
“Of that we shall be
better judges to-morrow. You, at least, have one vigilant friend, who will die
sooner than harm shall come to you. I believe Spike to be thoroughly
unprincipled; still he knows he can go so far and no further, and has a
wholesome dread of the law. But the circumstance that there should be such a
port as this, with a regular light-house, and no person near the last, is so
much out of the common way, that I do not know what to make of it.”
“Perhaps the
light-house keeper is afraid to show himself, in the presence of the Swash?”
“That can hardly be,
for vessels must often enter the port, if port it can be called. But Spike is
as much concerned at the circumstance that the lamps are not lighted, as any of
us can be. Look, he is about to visit the building in the boat, accompanied by
two of his oldest sea-dogs.”
“Why might we not raise
the anchor, and sail out of this place, leaving Spike ashore?” suggested Rose,
with more decision and spirit than discretion.
“For the simple reason
that the act would be piracy, even if I could get the rest of the people to
obey my orders, as certainly I could not. No, Rose: you, and your aunt, and
Biddy, however, might land at these buildings, and refuse to return, Spike
having no authority over his passengers.”
“Still he would have
the power to make us come back to his brig. Look, he has left the vessel’s
side, and is going directly toward the light-house.”
Mulford made no
immediate answer, but remained at Rose’s side, watching the movements of the
captain. The last pulled directly to the islet with the buildings, a distance
of only a few hundred feet, the light-house being constructed on a rocky island
that was nearly in the centre of the cluster, most probably to protect it from
the ravages of the waves. The fact, however, proved, as Mulford did not fail to
suggest to his companion, that the beacon had been erected less to guide vessels
into the haven, than to warn mariners at a distance, of the position of the
whole group.
In less than five
minutes after he had landed, Spike himself was seen in the lantern, in the act
of lighting its lamps. In a very short time the place was in a brilliant blaze,
reflectors and all the other parts of the machinery of the place performing
their duties as regularly as if tended by the usual keeper. Soon after Spike
returned on board, and the anchor-watch was set. Then everybody sought the rest
that it was customary to take at that hour.
Mulford was on deck
with the appearance of the sun; but he found that Spike had preceded him, had
gone ashore again, had extinguished the lamps, and was coming alongside of the
brig on his return. A minute later the captain came over the side.
“You were right about
your sail, last night, a’ter all, Mr. Mulford,” said Spike, on coming aft. “There
she is, sure enough; and we shall have her alongside to strike cargo out and
in, by the time the people have got their breakfasts.”
As Spike pointed toward
the light-house while speaking, the mate changed his position a little, and saw
that a schooner was coming down toward the islets before the wind. Mulford now
began to understand the motives of the captain’s proceedings, though a good
deal yet remained veiled in mystery. He could not tell where the brig was, nor
did he know precisely why so many expedients were adopted to conceal the
transfer of a cargo as simple as that of flour. But he who was in the secret
left but little time for reflection; for swallowing a hasty breakfast on deck,
he issued orders enough to his mate to give him quite as much duty as he could
perform, when he again entered the yawl, and pulled toward the stranger.
Rose soon appeared on
deck, and she naturally began to question Harry concerning their position and
prospects. He was confessing his ignorance, as well as lamenting it, when his
companion’s sweet face suddenly flushed. She advanced a step eagerly toward the
open window of Spike’s state-room, then compressed her full, rich under-lip
with the ivory of her upper teeth, and stood a single instant, a beautiful
statue of irresolution instigated by spirit. The last quality prevailed; and
Mulford was really startled when he saw Rose advance quite to the window,
thrust in an arm, and turn toward him with his own sextant in her hand. During
the course of the passage out, the young man had taught Rose to assist him in
observing the longitude; and she was now ready to repeat the practice. Not a
moment was lost in executing her intention. Sights were had, and the instrument
was returned to its place without attracting the attention of the men, who were
all busy in getting up purchases, and in making the other necessary
dispositions for discharging the flour. The observations answered the purpose,
though somewhat imperfectly made. Mulford had a tolerable notion of their
latitude, having kept the brig’s run in his head since quitting Yutacan; and he
now found that their longitude was about 83 ° west from Greenwich. After
ascertaining this fact, a glance at the open chart, which lay on Spike’s desk,
satisfied him that the vessel was anchored within the group of the Dry
Tortugas, or at the western termination of the well-known, formidable, and
extensive Florida Reef. He had never been in that part of the world before, but
had heard enough in sea-gossip, and had read enough in books, to be at once
apprised of the true character of their situation. The islets were American;
the light-house was American; and the haven in which the Swash lay was the very
spot in the contemplation of government for an outer man-of-war harbour, where
fleets might rendezvous in the future wars of that portion of the world. He now
saw plainly enough the signs of the existence of a vast reef, a short distance
to the southward of the vessel, that formed a species of sea-wall, or mole, to
protect the port against the waves of the gulf in that direction. This reef he
knew to be miles in width.
There was little time
for speculation, Spike soon bringing the strange schooner directly alongside of
the brig. The two vessels immediately became a scene of activity, one
discharging, and the other receiving the flour as fast as it could be struck
out of the hold of the Swash and lowered upon the deck of the schooner.
Mulford, however, had practised a little artifice, as the stranger entered the
haven, which drew down upon him an anathema or two from Spike, as soon as they
were alone. The mate had set the brig’s ensign, and this compelled the stranger
to be markedly rude, or to answer the compliment. Accordingly he had shown the
ancient flag of Spain. For thus extorting a national symbol from the schooner,
the mate was sharply rebuked at a suitable moment, though nothing could have
been more forbearing than the deportment of his commander when they first met.
When Spike returned to
his own vessel, he was accompanied by a dark-looking, well-dressed, and
decidedly gentleman-like personage, whom he addressed indifferently, in his
very imperfect Spanish, as Don Wan, (Don Juan, or John,) or Señor
Montefalderon. By the latter appellation he even saw fit to introduce the very
respectable-looking stranger to his mate. This stranger spoke English well,
though with an accent.
“Don Wan has taken all
the flour, Mr. Mulford, and intends shoving it over into Cuba, without
troubling the custom-house, I believe; but that is not a matter to give us any
concern, you know.”
The wink, and the
knowing look by which this speech was accompanied, seemed particularly
disagreeable to Don Juan, who now paid his compliments to Rose, with no little
surprise betrayed in his countenance, but with the ease and reserve of a
gentleman. Mulford thought it strange that a smuggler of flour should be so
polished a personage, though his duty did not admit of his bestowing much
attention on the little trifling of the interview that succeeded.
For about an hour the
work went steadily and rapidly on. During that time Mulford was several times
on board the schooner, as, indeed, was Josh, Jack Tier, and others belonging to
the Swash. The Spanish vessel was Baltimore, or clipper built, with a
trunk-cabin, and had every appearance of sailing fast. Mulford was struck with
her model, and, while on board of her, he passed both forward and aft to
examine it. This was so natural in a seaman, that Spike, while he noted the
proceeding, took it in good part. He even called out to his mate, from his own
quarter-deck, to admire this or that point in the schooner’s construction. As
is customary with the vessels of southern nations, this stranger was full of
men, but they continued at their work, some half dozen of brawny negroes among
them, shouting their songs as they swayed at the falls, no one appearing to
manifest jealousy or concern. At length Tier came near the mate, and said,
“Uncle Sam will not be
pleased when he hears the reason that the keeper is not in his light-house.”
“And what is that
reason, Jack? If you know it, tell it to me.”
“Go aft and look down
the companion-way, maty, and see it for yourself.”
Mulford did go aft, and
he made an occasion to look down into the schooner’s cabin, where he caught a
glimpse of the persons of a man and a boy, whom he at once supposed had been
taken from the light-house. This one fact of itself doubled his distrust of the
character of Spike’s proceedings. There was no sufficient apparent reason why a
mere smuggler should care about the presence of an individual more or less in a
foreign port. Everything that had occurred, looked like pre-concert between the
brig and the schooner; and the mate was just beginning to entertain the
strongest distrust that their vessel was holding treasonable communication with
the enemy, when an accident removed all doubt on the subject, from his own mind
at least. Spike had, once or twice, given his opinion that the weather was
treacherous, and urged the people of both crafts to extraordinary exertions, in
order that the vessels might get clear of each other as soon as possible. This
appeal had set various expedients in motion to second the more regular work of
the purchases. Among other things, planks had been laid from one vessel to the
other, and barrels were rolled along them with very little attention to the
speed or the direction. Several had fallen on the schooner’s deck with rude
shocks, but no damage was done, until one, of which the hoops had not been
properly secured, met with a fall, and burst nearly at Mulford’s feet. It was
at the precise moment when the mate was returning, from taking his glance into
the cabin, toward the side of the Swash. A white cloud arose, and half a dozen
of the schooner’s people sprang for buckets, kids, or dishes, in order to
secure enough of the contents of the broken barrel to furnish them with a meal.
At first nothing was visible but the white cloud that succeeded the fall, and
the scrambling sailors in its midst. No sooner, however, had the air got to be
a little clear, than Mulford saw an object lying in centre of the wreck, that
he at once recognised for a keg of the gunpowder! The captain of the schooner
seized this keg, gave a knowing look at Mulford, and disappeared in the hold of
his own vessel, carrying with him, what was out of all question, a most
material part of the true cargo of the Swash.
At the moment when the
flour-barrel burst, Spike was below, in close conference with his Spanish, or
Mexican guest; and the wreck being so soon cleared away, it is probable that he
never heard of the accident. As for the two crews, they laughed a little among
themselves at the revelation which had been made, as well as at the manner; but
to old sea-dogs like them, it was a matter of very little moment, whether the
cargo was, in reality, flour or gunpowder. In a few minutes the affair seemed
to be forgotten. In the course of another hour the Swash was light, having
nothing in her but some pig-lead, which she used for ballast, while the
schooner was loaded to her hatches, and full. Spike now sent a boat, with
orders to drop a kedge about a hundred yards from the place where his own brig
lay. The schooner warped up to this kedge, and dropped an anchor of her own,
leaving a very short range of cable out, it being a flat calm. Ordinarily, the
trades prevail at the Dry Tortugas, and all along the Florida Reef. Sometimes,
indeed, this breeze sweeps across the whole width of the Gulf of Mexico,
blowing home, as it is called--reaching even to the coast of Texas. It is
subject, however, to occasional interruptions everywhere, varying many points
in its direction, and occasionally ceasing entirely. The latter was the
condition of the weather about noon on this day, or when the schooner hauled
off from the brig, and was secured at her own anchor.
“Mr. Mulford,” said
Spike, “I do not like the state of the atmosphere. D’ye see that fiery streak
along the western horizon--well, sir, as the sun gets nearer to that streak,
there’ll be trouble, or I’m no judge of weather.”
“You surely do not
imagine, Captain Spike, that the sun will be any nearer to that fiery streak,
as you call it, when he is about to set, than he is at this moment?” answered
the mate, smiling.
“I’m sure of one thing,
young man, and that is, that old heads are better than young ones. What a man
has once seen, he may expect to see again, if the same leading signs offer. Man
the boat, sir, and carry out the kedge, which is still in it, and lay it off
here, about three p’ints on our larboard bow.”
Mulford had a profound
respect for Spike’s seamanship, whatever he might think of his principles. The
order was consequently obeyed. The mate was then directed to send down various
articles out of the top, and to get the top-gallant and royal yards on deck.
Spike carried his precautions so far, as to have the mainsail lowered, it
ordinarily brailing at that season of the year, with a standing gaff. With this
disposition completed, the captain seemed more at his ease, and went below to
join Señor Montefalderon in a siesta. The Mexican, for such, in truth, was the
national character of the owner of the schooner, had preceded him in this indulgence;
and most of the people of the brig having laid themselves down to sleep under
the heat of the hour, Mulford soon enjoyed another favourable opportunity for a
private conference with Rose.
“Harry,” commenced the
latter, as soon as they were alone; “I have much to tell you. While you have
been absent I have overheard a conversation between this Spanish gentleman and
Spike, that shows the last is in treaty with the other for the sale of the
brig. Spike extolled his vessel to the skies, while Don Wan, as he calls him,
complains that the brig is old, and cannot last long; to which Spike answered ‘to
be sure she is old, Señor Montefalderon, but she will last as long as your war,
and under a bold captain might be made to return her cost a hundred fold!’ What
war can he mean, and to what does such a discourse tend?”
“The war alludes to the
war now existing between America and Mexico, and the money to be made is to be
plundered at sea, from our own merchant-vessels. If Don Juan Montefalderon is
really in treaty for the purchase of the brig, it is to convert her into a
Mexican cruiser, either public or private.”
“But this would be
treason on the part of Spike!”
“Not more so than
supplying the enemy with gunpowder, as he has just been doing. I have ascertained
the reason he was so unwilling to be overhauled by the revenue steamer, as well
as the reason why the revenue steamer wished so earnestly to overhaul us. Each
barrel of flour contains another of gunpowder, and that has been sold to this
Señor Montefalderon, who is doubtless an officer of the Mexican government, and
no smuggler.”
“He has been at New
York, this very summer, I know,” continued Rose, “for he spoke of his visit,
and made such other remarks, as leaves no doubt that Spike expected to find him
here, on this very day of the month. He also paid Spike a large sum of money in
doubloons, and took back the bag to his schooner, when he had done so, after
showing the captain enough was left to pay for the brig could they only agree
on the terms of their bargain.”
“Ay, ay; it is all
plain enough now, Spike has determined on a desperate push for fortune, and
foreseeing it might not soon be in his power to return to New York in safety,
he has included his designs on you and your fortune, in the plot.”
“My fortune! the trifle
I possess can scarcely be called a fortune, Harry!”
“It would be a fortune
to Spike, Rose; and I shall be honest enough to own it would be a fortune to
me. I say this frankly, for I do believe you think too well of me to suppose that
I seek you for any other reason than the ardent love I bear your person and
character; but a fact is not to be denied because it may lead certain persons
to distrust our motives. Spike is poor, like myself; and the brig is not only
getting to be very old, but she has been losing money for the last twelve
months.”
Mulford and Rose now
conversed long and confidentially, on their situation and prospects. The mate
neither magnified nor concealed the dangers of both; but freely pointed out the
risk to himself, in being on board a vessel that was aiding and comforting the
enemy. It was determined between there that both would quit the brig the moment
an opportunity offered; and the mate even went so far as to propose an attempt
to escape in one of the boats, although he might incur the hazards of a double
accusation, those of mutiny and larceny, for making the experiment.
Unfortunately, neither Rose, nor her aunt, nor Biddy, nor Jack Tier had seen
the barrel of powder, and neither could testify as to the true character of
Spike’s connection with the schooner. It was manifestly necessary, therefore,
independently of the risks that might be run by “bearding the lion in his den,”
to proceed with great intelligence and caution.
This dialogue between
Harry and Rose, occurred just after the turn in the day, and lasted fully an
hour. Each had been too much interested to observe the heavens, but, as they
were on the point of separating, Rose pointed out to her companion the unusual
and most menacing aspect of the sky in the western horizon. It appeared as if a
fiery heat was glowing there, behind a curtain of black vapour; and what
rendered it more remarkable, was the circumstance that an extraordinary degree
of placidity prevailed in all other parts of the heavens. Mulford scarce knew
what to make of it; his experience not going so far as to enable him to explain
the novel and alarming appearance. He stepped on a gun, and gazed around him
for a moment. There lay the schooner, without a being visible on board of her,
and there stood the light-house, gloomy in its desertion and solitude. The
birds alone seemed to be alive and conscious of what was approaching. They were
all on the wing, wheeling wildly in the air, and screaming discordantly, as
belonged to their habits. The young man leaped off the gun, gave a loud call to
Spike, at the companion-way, and sprang forward to call all hands.
One minute only was
lost, when every seaman on board the Swash, from the captain to Jack Tier, was
on deck. Mulford met Spike at the cabin door, and pointed toward the fiery
column, that was booming down upon the anchorage, with a velocity and direction
that would now admit of no misinterpretation. For one instant that sturdy old
seaman stood aghast; gazing at the enemy as one conscious of his impotency
might have been supposed to quail before an assault that he foresaw must prove
irresistible. Then his native spirit, and most of all the effects of training,
began to show themselves in him, and he became at once, not only the man again,
but the resolute, practised, and ready commander.
“Come aft to the
spring, men--” he shouted--“clap on the spring, Mr. Mulford, and bring the brig
head to wind.”
This order was obeyed
as seamen best obey, in cases of sudden and extreme emergency; or with intelligence,
aptitude and power. The brig had swung nearly round, in the desired direction,
when the tornado struck her. It will be difficult, we do not know but it is
impossible, to give a clear and accurate account of what followed. As most of
our readers have doubtless felt how great is the power of the wind, whiffling
and pressing different ways, in sudden and passing gusts, they have only to
imagine this power increased many, many fold, and the baffling currents made
furious, as it might be, by meeting with resistance, to form some notion of the
appalling strength and frightful inconstancy with which it blew for about a
minute.
Notwithstanding the
circumstance of Spike’s precaution had greatly lessened the danger, every man
on the deck of the Swash believed the brig was gone when the gust struck her.
Over she went, in fact, until the water came pouring in above her half-ports,
like so many little cascades, and spouting up through her scupper-holes,
resembling the blowing of young whales. It was the whiffling energy of the
tornado that alone saved her. As if disappointed in not destroying its intended
victim at one swoop, the tornado “let up” in its pressure, like a dexterous
wrestler, making a fresh and desperate effort to overturn the vessel, by a
slight variation in its course. That change saved the Swash. She righted, and
even rolled in the other direction, or what might be called to windward, with
her decks full of water. For a minute longer these baffling, changing gusts
continued, each causing the brig to bow like a reed to their power, one lifting
as another pressed her down, and then the weight, or the more dangerous part of
the tornado was passed, though it continued to blow heavily, always in
whiffling blasts, several minutes longer.
During the weight of
the gust, no one had leisure, or indeed inclination to look to aught beyond its
effect on the brig. Had one been otherwise disposed, the attempt would have
been useless, for the wind had filled the air with spray, and near the islets
even with sand. The lurid but fiery tinge, too, interposed a veil that no human
eye could penetrate. As the tornado passed onward, however, and the winds
lulled, the air again became clear, and in five minutes after the moment when
the Swash lay nearly on her side, with her lower yard-arm actually within a few
feet of the water, all was still and placid around her, as one is accustomed to
see the ocean in a calm, of a summer’s afternoon. Then it was that those who
had been in such extreme jeopardy could breathe freely and look about them. On
board the Swash all was well--not a rope-yarn had parted, or an eyebolt drawn.
The timely precautions of Spike had saved his brig, and great was his joy
thereat.
In the midst of the
infernal din of the tornado, screams had ascended from the cabin, and the
instant he could quit the deck with propriety, Mulford sprang below, in order
to ascertain their cause. He apprehended that some of the females had been
driven to leeward when the brig went over, and that part of the luggage or furniture
had fallen on them. In the main cabin, the mate found Señor Montefalderon just
quitting his berth, composed, gentleman-like, and collected. Josh was braced in
a corner nearly grey with fear, while Jack Tier still lay on the cabin floor,
at the last point to which he had rolled. One word sufficed to let Don Juan
know that the gust had passed, and the brig was safe, when Mulford tapped at
the deor of the inner cabin. Rose appeared, pale, but calm and unhurt.
“Is any one injured?”
asked the young man, his mind relieved at once, as soon as he saw that she who
most occupied his thoughts was safe; “we heard screams from this cabin.”
“My aunt and Biddy have
been frightened,” answered Rose, “but neither has been hurt. Oh, Harry, what
terrible thing has happened to us? I heard the roaring of--”
“ ’T was a tornado,”
interrupted Mulford eagerly, “but ’t is over. ’T was one of those sudden and
tremendous gusts that sometimes occur within the tropics, in which the danger
is usually in the first shock. If no one is injured in this cabin, no one is
injured at all.”
“Oh, Mr. Mulford--dear
Mr. Mulford!” exclaimed the relict, from the corner into which she had been
followed and jammed by Biddy, “Oh, Mr. Mulford, are we foundered or not?”
“Heaven be praised,
not, my dear ma’am, though we came nearer to it than I ever was before.”
“Are we cap-asided?”
“Nor that, Mrs. Budd;
the brig is as upright as a church.”
“Upright!” repeated
Biddy, in her customary accent,-- “is it as a church? Sure, then, Mr. Mate, ’t
is a Presbyterian church that you mane, and that is always totterin’.”
“Catholic, or Dutch--no
church in York is more completely up and down than the brig at this moment.”
“Get off of me--get off
of me, Biddy, and let me rise,” said the widow, with dignity. “The danger is
over I see, and, as we return our thanks for it, we have the consolation of
knowing that we have done our duty. It is incumbent on all, at such moments, to
be at their posts, and to set examples of decision and prudence.”
As Mulford saw all was
well in the cabin, he hastened on deck, followed by Señor Montefalderon. Just
as they emerged from the companion-way, Spike was hailing the forecastle.
“Forecastle, there,” he
cried, standing on the trunk himself as he did so, and moving from side to
side, as if to catch a glimpse of some object ahead.
“Sir,” came back from
an old salt, who was coiling up rigging in that seat of seamanship.
“Where-away is the
schooner? She ought to be dead ahead of us, as we tend now--but blast me if I
can see as much as her mast-heads.”
At this suggestion, a
dozen men sprang upon guns or other objects, to look for the vessel in
question. The old salt forward, however, had much the best chance, for he
stepped on the heel of the bowsprit, and walked as far out as the knight-heads,
to command the whole view ahead of the brig. There he stood half a minute,
looking first on one side of the head-gear, then the other, when he gave his
trousers a hitch, put a fresh quid in his mouth, and called out in a voice
almost as hoarse as the tempest, that had just gone by,
“The schooner has gone
down at her anchor, sir. There’s her buoy watching still, as if nothing had
happened; but as for the craft itself, there’s not so much as a bloody
yard-arm, or mast-head of her to be seen!”
This news produced a
sensation in the brig at once, as may be supposed. Even Señor Montefalderon, a
quiet, gentleman-like person, altogether superior in deportment to the bustle
and fuss that usually marks the manners of persons in trade, was disturbed; for
to him the blow was heavy indeed. Whether he were acting for himself, or was an
agent of the Mexican government, the loss was much the same.
“Tom is right enough,”
put in Spike, rather coolly for the circumstances--“that there schooner of
yourn has foundered, Don Wan, as any one can see. She must have capsized and
filled, for I obsarved they had left the hatches off, meaning, no doubt, to
make an end of the storage as soon as they had done sleeping.”
“And what has become of
all her men, Don Esteban?” for so the Mexican politely called his companion. “Have
all my poor countrymen perished in this disaster?”
“I fear they have, Don
Wan; for I see no head, as of any one swimming. The vessel lay so near that
island next to it, that a poor swimmer would have no difficulty in reaching the
place; but there is no living thing to be seen. But man the boat, men; we will
go to the spot, Señor, and examine for ourselves.”
There were two boats in
the water, and along-side of the brig. One was the Swash’s yawl, a small but
convenient craft, while the other was much larger, fitted with a sail, and had
all the appearance of having been built to withstand breezes and seas. Mulford
felt perfectly satisfied, the moment he saw this boat, which had come into the
haven in tow of the schooner, that it had been originally in the service of the
light-house keeper. As there was a very general desire among those on the
quarter-deck to go to the assistance of the schooner, Spike ordered both boats
manned, jumping into the yawl himself, accompanied by Don Juan Montefalderon,
and telling Mulford to follow with the larger craft, bringing with him as many
of the females as might choose to accompany him. As Mrs. Budd thought it
incumbent on her to be active in such a scene, all did go, including Biddy,
though with great reluctance on the part of Rose.
With the buoy for a
guide, Spike had no difficulty in finding the spot where the schooner lay. She
had scarcely shifted her berth in the least, there having been no time for her
even to swing to the gust, but she had probably capsized at the first blast,
filled, and gone down instantly. The water was nearly as clear as the calm,
mild atmosphere of the tropics; and it was almost as easy to discern the
vessel, and all her hamper, as if she lay on a beach. She had sunk as she
filled, or on her side, and still continued in that position. As the water was
little more than three fathoms deep, the upper side was submerged but a few
inches, and her yard-arms would have been out of the water, but for the
circumstance that the yards had canted under the pressure.
At first, no sign was
seen of any of those who had been on board this ill-fated schooner when she
went down. It was known that twenty-one souls were in her, including the man
and the boy who had belonged to the light-house. As the boat moved slowly over
this sad ruin, however, a horrible and startling spectacle came in view. Two
bodies were seen, within a few feet of the surface of the water, one grasped in
the arms of the other, in the gripe of despair. The man held in the grasp, was
kept beneath the water solely by the death-lock of his companion, who was
himself held where he floated, by the circumstance that one of his feet was
entangled in a rope. The struggle could not have been long over, for the two
bodies were slowly settling toward the bottom when first seen. It is probable
that both these men had more than once risen to the surface in their dreadful
struggle. Spike seized a boat-hook, and made an effort to catch the clothes of
the nearest body, but ineffectually, both sinking to the sands beneath,
lifeless, and without motion. There being no sharks in sight, Mulford
volunteered to dive and fasten a line to one of these unfortunate men, whom Don
Juan declared at once was the schooner’s captain. Some little time was lost in
procuring a lead-line from the brig, when the lead was dropped alongside of the
drowned. Provided with another piece of the same sort of line, which had a
small running bowline around that which was fastened to the lead, the mate made
his plunge, and went down with great vigour of arm. It required resolution and
steadiness to descend so far into salt water; but Harry succeeded, and rose
with the bodies, which came up with the slightest impulse. All were immediately
got into the boat, and away the latter went toward the light-house, which was
nearer and more easy of access than the brig.
It is probable that one
of these unfortunate men might have been revived under judicious treatment; but
he was not fated to receive it. Spike, who knew nothing of such matters,
undertook to direct everything, and, instead of having recourse to warmth and
gentle treatment, he ordered the bodies to be rolled on a cask, suspended them
by the heels, and resorted to a sort of practice that might have destroyed well
men, instead of resuscitating those in whom the vital spark was dormant, if not
actually extinct.
Two hours later, Rose,
seated in her own cabin, unavoidably overheard the following dialogue, which
passed in English, a language that Señor Montefalderon spoke perfectly well, as
has been said.
“Well, Señor,” said
Spike, “I hope this little accident will not prevent our final trade. You will
want the brig now, to take the schooner’s place.”
“And how am I to pay
you for the brig, Señor Spike, even if I buy her?”
“I’ll ventur’ to guess
there is plenty of money in Mexico. Though they do say the government is so
backward about paying, I have always found you punctual, and am not afraid to
put faith in you ag’in.”
“But I have no longer
any money to pay you half in hand, as I did for the powder, when last in New
York.”
“The bag was pretty
well lined with doubloons when I saw it last, Señor.”
“And do you know where
that bag is; and where there is another that holds the same sum?”
Spike started, and he
mused in silence some little time, ere he again spoke.
“I had forgotten,” he
at length answered. “The gold must have all gone down in the schooner, along
with the powder!”
“And the poor men!”
“Why, as for the men,
Señor, more may be had for the asking; but powder and doubloons will be hard to
find, when most wanted. Then the men were poor men, accordin’ to my idees of
what an able seaman should be, or they never would have let their schooner turn
turtle with them as she did.”
“We will talk of the
money, Don Esteban, if you please,” said the Mexican, with reserve.
“With all my heart, Don
Wan--nothing is more agreeable to me than money. How many of them doubloons
shall fall to my share, if I raise the schooner and put you in possession of
your craft again?”
“Can that be done, Señor?”
demanded Don Juan earnestly.
“A seaman can do almost
anything, in that way, Don Wan, if you will give him time and means. For
one-half the doubloons I can find in the wrack, the job shall be done.”
“You can have them,”
answered Don Juan, quietly, a good deal surprised that Spike should deem it
necessary to offer him any part of the sum he might find. “As for the powder, I
suppose that is lost to my country.”
“Not at all, Don Wan.
The flour is well packed around it, and I don’t expect it would take any harm
in a month. I shall not only turn over the flour to you, just as if nothing had
happened, but I shall put four first-rate hands aboard your schooner, who will
take her into port for you, with a good deal more sartainty than forty of the
men you had. My mate is a prime navigator.”
This concluded the
bargain, every word of which was heard by Rose, and every word of which she did
not fail to communicate to Mulford, the moment there was an opportunity. The
young man heard it with great interest, telling Rose that he should do all he
could to assist in raising the schooner, in the hope that something might turn
up to enable him to escape in her, taking off Rose and her aunt. As for his
carrying her into a Mexican port, let them trust him for that! Agreeably to the
arrangement, orders were given that afternoon to commence the necessary
preparations for the work, and considerable progress was made in them by the
time the Swash’s people were ordered to knock off work for the night.
After the sun had set,
the reaction in the currents again commenced, and it blew for a few hours
heavily, during the night. Toward morning, however, it moderated, and when the
sun re-appeared it scarcely ever diffused its rays over a more peaceful or
quiet day. Spike caused all hands to be called, and immediately set about the
important business he had before him.
In order that the
vessel might be as free as possible, Jack Tier was directed to skull the
females ashore, in the brig’s yawl; Señor Montefalderon, a man of polished
manners, as we maintain is very apt to be the case with Mexican gentlemen,
whatever may be the opinion of this good republic on the subject just at this
moment, asked permission to be of the party. Mulford found an opportunity to
beg Rose, if they landed at the light, to reconnoitre the place well, with a
view to ascertain what facilities it could afford in an attempt to escape. They
did land at the light, and glad enough were Mrs. Budd, Rose and Biddy to place
their feet on terrá firmâ after so long a confinement to the narrow limits of a
vessel.
“Well,” said Jack Tier,
as they walked up to the spot where the buildings stood, “this is a rum place
for a light’us, Miss Rose, and I don’t wonder the keeper and his messmates has
cleared out.”
“I am very sorry to
say,” observed Señor Montefalderon, whose countenance expressed the concern he
really felt, “that the keeper and his only companion, a boy, were on board the
schooner, and have perished in her, in common with so many of my poor
countrymen. There are the graves of two whom we buried here last evening, after
vain efforts to restore them to life!”
“What a dreadful
catastrophe it has been, Señor,” said Rose, whose sweet countenance eloquently
expressed the horror and regret she so naturally felt--“Twenty fellow-beings
hurried into eternity without even an instant for prayer!”
“You feel for them, Señorita--it
is natural you should, and it is natural that I, their countryman and leader,
should feel for them, also. I do not know what God has in reserve for my
unfortunate country! We may have cruel and unscrupulous men among us, Señorita,
but we have thousands who are just, and brave, and honourable.”
“So Mr. Mulford tells
me, Señor; and he has been much in your ports, on the west coast.”
“I like that young man,
and wonder not a little at his and your situation in this brig--” rejoined the
Mexican, dropping his voice so as not to be heard by their companions, as they
walked a little ahead of Mrs. Budd and Biddy. “The Señor Spike is scarcely
worthy to be his commander or your guardian.”
“Yet you find him
worthy of your intercourse and trust, Don Juan?”
The Mexican shrugged
his shoulders, and smiled equivocally; still, in a melancholy manner. It would
seem he did not deem it wise to push this branch of the subject further, since
he turned to another.
“I like the Señor
Mulford,” he resumed, “for his general deportment and principles, so far as I
can judge of him on so short an acquaintance.”
“Excuse me, Señor,” interrupted
Rose, hurriedly--“but you never saw him until you met him here.”
“Never--I understand
you, Señorita, and can do full justice to the young man’s character. I am
willing to think he did not know the errand of his vessel, or I should not have
seen him now. But what I most like him for, is this: Last night, during the
gale, he and I walked the deck together, for an hour. We talked of Mexico, and
of this war, so unfortunate for my country already, and which may become still
more so, when he uttered this noble sentiment-- ‘My country is more powerful
than yours, Señor Montefalderon,’ he said, ‘and in this it has been more
favoured by God. You have suffered from ambitious rulers, and from military
rule, while we have been advancing under the arts of peace, favoured by a most
beneficent Providence. As for this war, I know but little about it, though I
dare say the Mexican government may have been wrong in some things that it
might have controlled and some that it might not--but let right be where it will,
I am sorry to see a nation that has taken so firm a stand in favour of popular
government, pressed upon so hard by another that is supposed to be the great
support of such principles. America and Mexico are neighbours, and ought to be
friends; and while I do not, cannot blame my own country for pursuing the war
with vigour, nothing would please me more than to hear peace proclaimed.’ ”
“That is just like
Harry Mulford,” said Rose, thoughtfully, as soon as her companion ceased to
speak. “I do wish, Señor, that there could be no use for this powder, that is
now buried in the sea.”
Don Juan Montefalderon
smiled, and seemed a little surprised that the fair young thing at his side
should have known of the treacherous contents of the flour-barrels. No doubt he
found it inexplicable, that persons like Rose and Mulford should, seemingly, be
united with one like Spike; but he was too well bred, and, indeed, too
effectually mystified, to push the subject further than might be discreet.
By this time they were
near the entrance of the light-house, into which the whole party entered, in a
sort of mute awe at its silence and solitude. At Señor Montefalderon’s
invitation, they ascended to the lantern, whence they could command a wide and
fair view of the surrounding waters. The reef was much more apparent from that
elevation than from below; and Rose could see that numbers of its rocks were
bare, while on other parts of it there was the appearance of many feet of
water. Rose gazed at it with longing eyes, for, from a few remarks that had
fallen from Mulford, she suspected he had hopes of escaping among its channels
and coral.
As they descended and
walked through the buildings, Rose also took good heed of the supplies the
place afforded. There were flour, and beef, and pork, and many other of the
common articles of food, as well as water in a cistern, that caught it as it
flowed from the roof of the dwelling. Water was also to be found in
casks--nothing like a spring or a well existing among those islets. All these
things Rose noted, putting them aside in her memory for ready reference
hereafter.
In the mean time the
mariners were not idle. Spike moved his brig, and moored her, head and stern,
alongside of the wreck, before the people got their breakfasts. As soon as that
meal was ended, both captain and mate set about their duty in earnest. Mulford
carried out an anchor on the off-side of the Swash, and dropped it at a
distance of about eighty fathoms from the vessel’s beam. Purchases were brought
from both mast-heads of the brig to the chain of this anchor, and were hove
upon until the vessel was given a heel of more than a streak, and the cable was
tolerably taut. Other purchases were got up opposite, and overhauled down, in
readiness to take hold of the schooner’s masts. The anchor of the schooner was
weighed by its buoy-rope, and the chain, after being rove through the upper or
opposite hawse-hole, brought in on board the Swash. Another chain was dropped
astern, in such a way, that when the schooner came upright, it would be sure to
pass beneath her keel, some six or eight feet from the rudder. Slings were then
sunk over the mast-heads, and the purchases were hooked on. Hours were consumed
in these preliminary labours, and the people went to dinner as soon as they were
completed.
When the men had dined,
Spike brought one of his purchases to the windlass, and the other to the
capstan, though not until each was bowsed taut by hand; a few minutes having
brought the strain so far on everything, as to enable a seaman, like Spike, to
form some judgment of the likelihood that his preventers and purchases would
stand. Some changes were found necessary to equalize the strain, but, on the
whole, the captain was satisfied with his work, and the crew were soon ordered
to “heave-away; the windlass best.”
In the course of half
an hour the hull of the vessel, which lay on its bilge, began to turn on its
keel, and the heads of the spars to rise above the water. This was the easiest
part of the process, all that was required of the purchases being to turn over
a mass which rested on the sands of the bay. Aided by the long levers afforded
by the spars, the work advanced so rapidly, that, in just one hour’s time after
his people had begun to heave, Spike had the pleasure to see the schooner
standing upright, alongside of his own brig, though still sunk to the bottom.
The wreck was secured in this position, by means of guys and preventers, in
order that it might not again cant, when the order was issued to hook on the
slings that were to raise it to the surface. These slings were the chains of
the schooner, one of which went under her keel, while for the other the captain
trusted to the strength of the two hawse-holes, having passed the cable out of
one and in at the other, in a way to serve his purposes, as has just been
stated.
When all was ready,
Spike mustered his crew, and made a speech. He told the men that he was about a
job that was out of the usual line of their duty, and that he knew they had a
right to expect extra pay for such extra work. The schooner contained money, and
his object was to get at it. If he succeeded, their reward would be a doubloon
a man, which would be earning more than a month’s wages by twenty-four hours’
work. This was enough. The men wanted to hear no more; but they cheered their
commander, and set about their task in the happiest disposition possible.
The reader will
understand that the object to be first achieved, was to raise a vessel, with a
hold filled with flour and gunpowder, from off the bottom of the bay to its
surface. As she stood, the deck of this vessel was about six feet under water,
and every one will understand that her weight, so long as it was submerged in a
fluid as dense as that of the sea, would be much more manageable than if
suspended in air. The barrels, for instance, were not much heavier than the
water they displaced, and the wood work of the vessel itself, was, on the
whole, positively lighter than the element in which it had sunk. As for the
water in the hold, that was of the same weight as the water on the outside of
tne craft, and there had not been much to carry the schooner down, beside her
iron, the spars that were out of water, and her ballast. This last, some ten or
twelve tons in weight, was in fact the principal difficulty, and alone induced
Spike to have any doubts about his eventual success. There was no foreseeing
the result until he had made a trial, however; and the order was again given to
“heave away.”
To the infinite
satisfaction of the Swash’s crew, the weight was found quite manageable, so
long as the hull remained beneath the water. Mulford, with three or four
assistants, was kept on board the schooner lightening her, by getting the other
anchor off her bows, and throwing the different objects overboard, or on the
decks of the brig. By the time the bulwarks reached the surface, as much was
gained in this way, as was lost by having so much of the lighter woodwork rise
above the water. As a matter of course, however, the weight increased as the
vessel rose, and more especially as the lower portion of the spars, the
bowsprit, boom, &c., from being buoyant assistants, became so much dead
weight to be lifted.
Spike kept a watchful
eye on his spars, and the extra supports he had given them. He was moving, the
whole time, from point to point, feeling shrouds and back-stays, and
preventers, in order to ascertain the degree of strain on each, or examining
how the purchases stood. As for the crew, they cheered at their toil,
incessantly, passing from capstan bars to the handspikes, and vice versâ. They,
too, felt that their task was increasing in resistance as it advanced, and now
found it more difficult to gain an inch, than it had been at first to gain a
foot. They seemed, indeed, to be heaving their own vessel out, instead of
heaving the other craft up, and it was not long before they had the Swash
heeling over toward the wreck several streaks. The strain, moreover, on
everything, became not only severe, but somewhat menacing. Every shroud,
back-stay, and preventer was as taut as a bar of iron, and the chain-cable that
led to the anchor planted off abeam, was as straight as if the brig were riding
by it in a gale of wind. One or two ominous surges aloft, too, had been heard,
and, though no more than straps and slings settling into their places under
hard strains, they served to remind the crew that danger might come from that
quarter. Such was the state of things, when Spike called out to “heave and
pall,” that he might take a look at the condition of the wreck.
Although a great deal
remained to be done, in order to get the schooner to float, a great deal had
already been done. Her precise condition was as follows: Having no cabin
windows, the water had entered her, when she capsized, by the only four
apertures her construction possessed. These were the companion-way, or
cabin-doors; the sky-light; the main-hatch, or the large inlet amid-ships, by
which cargo went up and down; and the booby-hatch, which was the counterpart of
the companion-way, forward; being intended to admit of ingress to the
forecastle, the apartment of the crew. Each of these hatch-ways, or orifices,
had the usual defences of “coamings,” strong frame-work around their margins.
These coamings rose six or eight inches above the deck, and answered the double
purpose of strengthening the vessel, in a part, that without them would be
weaker han common, and of preventing any water that might be washing about the
decks from running below. As soon, therefore, as these three apertures, or
their coamings, could be raised above the level of the water of the basin, all
danger of the vessel’s receiving any further tribute of that sort from the
ocean would be over. It was to this end, consequently, that Spike’s efforts had
been latterly directed, though they had only in part succeeded. The schooner
possessed a good deal of sheer, as it is termed; or, her two extremities rose
nearly a foot above her centre, when on an even keel. This had brought her
extremities first to the surface, and it was the additional weight which had
consequently been brought into the air that had so much increased the strain,
and induced Spike to pause. The deck forward, as far aft as the foremast, and
aft as far forward as the centre of the trunk, or to the sky-light, was above
the water, or at least awash; while all the rest of it was covered. In the
vicinity of the main-hatch there were several inches of water; enough indeed to
leave the upper edge of the coamings submerged by about an inch. To raise the
keel that inch by means of the purchases, Spike well knew would cost him more
labour, and would incur more risk than all that had been done previously, and
he paused before he would attempt it.
The men were now called
from the brig and ordered to come on board the schooner. Spike ascertained by
actual measurement how much was wanted to bring the coamings of the main-hatch
above the water, until which, he knew, pumping and bailing would be useless. He
found it was quite an inch, and was at a great loss to know how that inch
should be obtained. Mulford advised another trial with the handspikes and bars,
but to this Spike would not consent. He believed that the masts of the brig had
already as much pressure on them as they would bear. The mate next proposed
getting the main boom off the vessel, and to lighten the craft by cutting away
her bowsprit and masts. The captain was well enough disposed to do this, but he
doubted whether it would meet with the approbation of “Don Wan,” who was still
ashore with Rose and her aunt, and who probably looked forward to recovering
his gunpowder by means of those very spars. At length the carpenter hit upon a
plan that was adopted.
This plan was very
simple, though it had its own ingenuity. It will be remembered that water could
now only enter the vessel’s hold at the main-hatch, all the other hatchways
having their coamings above the element. The carpenter proposed, therefore,
that the main-hatches, which had been off when the tornado occurred, but which
had been found on deck when the vessel righted, should now be put on, oakum
being first laid along in their rabbetings, and that the cracks should be
stuffed with additional oakum, to exclude as much water as possible. He thought
that two or three men, by using caulking irons for ten minutes, would make the
hatch-way so tight that very little water would penetrate. While this was
doing, he himself would bore as many holes forward and aft as he could, with a
two inch auger, out of which the water then in the vessel would be certain to
run. Spike was delighted with this project, and gave the necessary orders on the
spot.
This much must be said
of the crew of the Molly Swash --whatever they did in their own profession,
they did intelligently and well. On the present occasion they maintained their
claim to this character, and were both active and expert. The hatches were soon
on, and, in an imperfect manner, caulked. While this was doing, the carpenter
got into a boat, and going under the schooner’s bows, where a whole plank was
out of water, he chose a spot between two of the timbers, and bored a hole as
near the surface of the water as he dared to do. Not satisfied with one hole,
however, he bored many--choosing both sides of the vessel to make them, and
putting some aft as well as forward. In a word, in the course of twenty minutes
the schooner was tapped in at least a dozen places, and jets of water, two
inches in diameter, were spouting from her on each bow, and under each quarter.
Spike and Mulford noted
the effect. Some water, doubtless, still worked itself into the vessel about
the main-hatch, but that more flowed from her by means of the outlets just
named, was quite apparent. After close watching at the outlets for some time,
Spike was convinced that the schooner was slowly rising, the intense strain
that still came from the brig producing that effect as the vessel gradually
became lighter. By the end of half an hour, there could be no longer any doubt,
the holes, which had been bored within an inch of the water, being now fully
two inches above it. The auger was applied anew, still nearer to the surface of
the sea, and as fresh outlets were made, those that began to manifest a dulness
in their streams were carefully plugged.
Spike now thought it
was time to take a look at the state of things on deck. Here, to his joy, he
ascertained that the coamings had actually risen a little above the water. The
reader is not to suppose by this rising of the vessel, that she had become
sufficiently buoyant, in consequence of the water that had run out of her, to
float of herself. This was far from being the case; but the constant upward
pressure from the brig, which, on mechanical principles, tended constantly to
bring that craft upright, had the effect to lift the schooner as the latter was
gradually relieved from the weight that pressed her toward the bottom.
The hatches were next
removed, when it was found that the water in the schooner’s hold had so far
lowered, as to leave a vacant space of quite a foot between the lowest part of
the deck and its surface. Toward the two extremities of the vessel this space
necessarily was much increased, in consequence of the sheer. Men were now sent
into the hatchway with orders to hook on to the flour-barrels--a whip having
been rigged in readiness to hoist them on deck. At the same time gangs were
sent to the pumps, though Spike still depended for getting rid of the water
somewhat on the auger--the carpenter continuing to bore and plug his holes as
new opportunities offered, and the old outlets became useless. It was true this
expedient would soon cease, for the water having found its level in the vessel’s
hold, was very nearly on a level also with that on the outside. Bailing also
was commenced, both forward and aft.
Spike’s next material
advantage was obtained by means of the cargo. By the time the sun had set,
fully two hundred barrels had been rolled into the hatchway, and passed on
deck, whence about half of them were sent in the light-house boat to the
nearest islet, and the remainder were transferred to the deck of the brig.
These last were placed on the off side of the Swash, and aided in bringing her
nearer upright. A great deal was gained in getting rid of these barrels. The
water in the schooner lowered just as much as the space they had occupied,-and
the vessel was relieved at once of twenty tons in weight.
Just after the sun had
set, Señor Don Juan Montefalderon and his party returned on board. They had
staid on the island to the last moment, at Rose’s request, for she had taken as
close an observation of everything as possible, in order to ascertain if any
means of concealment existed, in the event of her aunt, Biddy, and herself
quitting the brig. The islets were all too naked and too small, however; and
she was compelled to return to the Swash, without any hopes derived from this
quarter.
Spike had just directed
the people to get their suppers as the Mexican came on board. Together they
descended to the schooner’s deck, where they had a long but secret conference.
Señor Montefalderon was a calm, quiet and reasonable man, and while he felt as
one would be apt to feel who had recently seen so many associates swept
suddenly out of existence, the late catastrophe did not in the least unman him.
It is too much the habit of the American people to receive their impressions
from newspapers, which throw off their articles unreflectingly, and often
ignorantly, as crones in petticoats utter their gossip. In a word, the opinions
thus obtained are very much on a level, in value, with the thoughts of those
who are said to think aloud, and who give utterance to all the crudities and
trivial rumours that may happen to reach their ears. In this manner, we
apprehend, very false notions of our neighbours of Mexico have become
circulated among us. That nation is a mixed race, and has necessarily the
various characteristics of such an origin, and it is unfortunately little
influenced by the diffusion of intelligence which certainly exists here.
Although an enemy, it ought to be acknowledged, however, that even Mexico has
her redeeming points. Anglo-Saxons as we are, we have no desire unnecessarily to
illustrate that very marked feature in the Anglo-Saxon character, which prompts
the mother stock to calumniate all who oppose it, but would rather adopt some
of that chivalrous courtesy of which so much that is lofty and commendable is
to be found among the descendants of Old Spain.
The Señor Montefalderon
was earnestly engaged in what he conceived to be the cause of his country. It
was scarcely possible to bring together two men impelled by motives more
distinct than Spike and this gentleman. The first was acting under impulses of
the lowest and most grovelling nature; while the last was influenced by motives
of the highest. However much Mexico may, and has, weakened her cause by her own
punic faith, instability, military oppression, and political revolutions,
giving to the Texans in particular ample justification for their revolt, it was
not probable that Don Juan Montefalderon saw the force of all the arguments
that a casuist of ordinary ingenuity could certainly adduce against his
country; for it is a most unusual thing to find a man anywhere, who is willing
to admit that the positions of an opponent are good. He saw in the events of
the day, a province wrested from his nation; and, in his reasoning on the
subject, entirely overlooking the numerous occasions on which his own
fluctuating government had given sufficient justification, not to say motives,
to their powerful neighbours to take the law into their own hands, and redress
themselves, he fancied all that has occurred was previously planned; instead of
regarding it, as it truly is, as merely the result of political events that no
man could have foreseen, that no man had originally imagined, or that any man
could control.
Don Juan understood
Spike completely, and quite justly appreciated not only his character, but his
capabilities. Their acquaintance was not of a day, though it had ever been
marked by that singular combination of caution and reliance that is apt to
characterize the intercourse between the knave and the honest man, when
circumstances compel not only communication, but, to a certain extent,
confidence. They now paced the deck of the schooner, side by side, for fully an
hour, during which time the price of the vessel, the means, and the mode of
payment and transfer, were fully settled between them.
“But what will you do
with your passengers, Don Esteban?” asked the Mexican pleasantly, when the more
material points were adjusted. “I feel a great interest in the young lady in
particular, who is a charming señorita, and who tells me that her aunt brought
her this voyage on account of her health. She looks much too blooming to be out
of health, and if she were, this is a singular voyage for an invalid to make!”
“You don’t understand
human natur’ yet, altogether, I see, Don Wan,” answered Spike, chuckling and
winking. “As you and I are not only good friends, but what a body may call old
friends, I’ll let you into a secret in this affair, well knowing that you’ll
not betray it. It’s quite true that the old woman thinks her niece is a pulmonary,
as they call it, and that this v’y’ge is recommended for her, but the gal is as
healthy as she’s handsom’.”
“Her constitution,
then, must be very excellent, for it is seldom I have seen so charming a young
woman. But if the aunt is misled in this matter, how has it been with the
niece?”
Spike did not answer in
words, but he leered upon his companion, and he winked.
“You mean to be
understood that you are in intelligence with each other, I suppose, Don
Esteban,” returned the Señor Montefalderon, who did not like the captain’s
manner, and was willing to drop the discourse.
Spike then informed his
companion, in confidence, that he and Rose were affianced, though without the
aunt’s knowledge,--that he intended to marry the niece the moment he reached a
Mexican port with the brig, and that it was their joint intention to settle in
the country. He added that the affair required management, as his intended had
property, and expected more, and he begged Don Juan to aid him, as things drew
near to a crisis. The Mexican evaded an answer, and the discourse dropped.
The moon was now
shining, and would continue to throw its pale light over the scene for two or
three hours longer. Spike profited by the circumstance to continue the work of
lightening the schooner. One of the first things done next was to get up the
dead, and to remove them to the boat. This melancholy office occupied an hour,
the bodies being landed on the islet, near the powder, and there interred in
the sands. Don Juan Montefalderon attended on this occasion, and repeated some
prayers over the graves, as he had done in the morning, in the cases of the two
who had been buried near the light-house.
While this melancholy
duty was in the course of performance, that of pumping and bailing was
continued, under the immediate personal superintendence of Mulford. It would
not be easy to define, with perfect clearness, the conflicting feelings by
which the mate of the Swash was now impelled. He had no longer any doubt on the
subject of Spike’s treason, and had it not been for Rose, he would not have
hesitated a moment about making off in the light-house boat for Key West, in
order to report all that had passed to the authorities. But not only Rose was
there, and to be cared for, but what was far more difficult to get along with,
her aunt was with her. It is true, Mrs. Budd was no longer Spike’s dupe; but
under any circumstances she was a difficult subject to manage, and most
especially so in all matters that related to the sea. Then the young man
submitted, more or less, to the strange influence which a fine craft almost
invariably obtains over those that belong to her. He did not like the idea of
deserting the Swash, at the very moment he would not have hesitated about
punishing her owner for his many misdeeds. In a word, Harry was too much of a
tar not to feel a deep reluctance to turn against his cruise, or his voyage,
however much either might be condemned by his judgment, or even by his
principles.
It was quite nine o’clock
when the Señor Montefalderon and Spike returned from burying the dead. No
sooner did the last put his foot on the deck of his own vessel, than he felt
the fall of one of the purchases which had been employed in raising the
schooner. It was so far slack as to satisfy him that the latter now floated by
her own buoyancy, though it might be well to let all stand until morning, for
the purposes of security. Thus apprised of the condition of the two vessels, he
gave the welcome order to “knock off for the night.”
At the piping of all hands, When the judgment signal’s spread-- When the
islands and the land, And the seas give up their dead, And the south and the north shall come;
When the sinner is dismayed, And the just man is afraid, Then heaven be
thy aid, Poor Tom. Brainard.
The people had now a
cessation from their toil. Of all the labour known to sea-faring men, that of
pumping is usually thought to be the most severe. Those who work at it have to
be relieved every minute, and it is only by having gangs to succeed each other,
that the duty can be done at all with anything like steadiness. In the present
instance, it is true, that the people of the Swash were sustained by the love
of gold, but glad enough were they when Mulford called out to them to “knock
off, and turn in for the night.” It was high time this summons should be made,
for not only were the people excessively wearied, but the customary hours of
labour were so far spent, that the light of the moon had some time before begun
to blend with the little left by the parting sun. Glad enough were all hands to
quit the toil; and two minutes were scarcely elapsed ere most of the crew had
thrown themselves down, and were buried in deep sleep. Even Spike and Mulford
took the rest they needed, the cook alone being left to look out for the
changes in the weather. In a word, everybody but this idler was exhausted with
pumping and bailing, and even gold had lost its power to charm, until nature
was recruited by rest.
The excitement produced
by the scenes through which they had so lately passed, caused the females to
sleep soundly, too. The death-like stillness which pervaded the vessel
contributed to their rest, and Rose never woke, from the first few minutes
after her head was on her pillow, until near four in the morning. The deep
quiet seemed ominous to one who had so lately witnessed the calm which precedes
the tornado, and she arose. In that low latitude and warm season, few clothes
were necessary, and our heroine was on deck in a very few minutes. Here she
found the same grave-like sleep pervading everything. There was not a breath of
air, and the ocean seemed to be in one of its profoundest slumbers. The
hard-breathing of Spike could be heard through the open windows of his
state-room, and this was positively the only sound that was audible. The common
men, who lay scattered about the decks, more especially from the mainmast
forward, seemed to be so many logs, and from Mulford no breathing was heard.
The morning was neither
very dark nor very light, it being easy to distinguish objects that were near,
while those at a distance were necessarily lost in obscurity. Availing herself
of the circumstance, Rose went as far as the gangway, to ascertain if the cook
were at his post. She saw him lying near his galley, in as profound a sleep as
any of the crew. This she felt to be wrong, and she felt alarmed, though she
knew not why. Perhaps it was the consciousness of being the only person up and
awake at that hour of deepest night, in a vessel so situated as the Swash, and
in a climate in which hurricanes seem to be the natural offspring of the air.
Some one must be aroused, and her tastes, feelings, and judgment, all pointed
to Harry Mulford as the person she ought to awaken. He slept habitually in his
clothes--the lightest summer dress of the tropics; and the window of his little
state-room was always open for air. Moving lightly to the place, Rose laid her
own little, soft hand on the arm of the young man, when the latter was on his
feet in an instant. A single moment only was necessary to regain his
consciousness, when Mulford left the state-room and joined Rose on the
quarter-deck.
“Why am I called, Rose,”
the young man asked, attempering his voice to the calm that reigned around him;
“and why am I called by you?”
Rose explained the
state of the brig, and the feeling which induced her to awaken him. With woman’s
gentleness she now expressed her regret for having robbed Harry of his rest;
had she reflected a moment, she might have kept watch herself, and allowed him
to obtain the sleep he must surely so much require.
But Mulford laughed at
this; protested he had never been awakened at a more favourable moment, and
would have sworn, had it been proper, that a minute’s further sleep would have
been too much for him. After these first explanations, Mulford walked round the
decks, carefully felt how much strain there was on the purchases, and rejoined
Rose to report that all was right, and that he did not consider it necessary to
call even the cook. The black was an idler in no sense but that of keeping
watch, and he had toiled the past day as much as any of the men, though it was
not exactly at the pumps.
A long and
semi-confidential conversation now occurred between Harry and Rose. They talked
of Spike, the brig, and her cargo, and of the delusion of the captain’s widow.
It was scarcely possible that powder should be so much wanted at the Havanna as
to render smuggling, at so much cost, a profitable adventure; and Mulford
admitted his convictions that the pretended flour was originally intended for
Mexico. Rose related the tenor of the conversation she had overheard between
the two parties, Don Juan and Don Esteban, and the mate no longer doubted that
it was Spike’s intention to sell the brig to the enemy. She also alluded to
what had passed between herself and the stranger.
Mulford took this
occasion to introduce the subject of Jack Tier’s intimacy and favour with Rose.
He even professed to feel some jealousy on account of it, little as there might
be to alarm most men in the rivalry of such a competitor. Rose laughed, as
girls will laugh when there is question of their power over the other sex, and
she fairly shook her rich tresses as she declared her determination to continue
to smile on Jack to the close of the voyage. Then, as if she had said more than
she intended, she added with woman’s generosity and tenderness,--
“After all, Harry, you
know how much I promised to you even before we sailed, and how much more since,
and have no just cause to dread even Jack. There is another reason, however,
that ought to set your mind entirely at case on his account. Jack is married,
and has a partner living at this very moment, as he does not scruple to avow
himself.”
A hissing noise, a
bright light, and a slight explosion, interrupted the half-laughing girl, and
Mulford, turning on his heel, quick as thought, saw that a rocket had shot into
the air, from a point close under the bows of the brig. He was still in the act
of moving toward the forecastle, when, at the distance of several leagues, he
saw the explosion of another rocket high in the air. He knew enough of the
practices of vessels of war, to feel certain that these were a signal and its
answer from some one in the service of government. Not at all sorry to have the
career of the Swash arrested, before she could pass into hostile hands, or
before evil could befall Rose, Mulford reached the forecastle just in time to
answer the inquiry that was immediately put to him, in the way of a hail. A
gig, pulling four oars only, with two officers in its stern-sheets, was fairly
under the vessel’s bows, and the mate could almost distinguish the countenance
of the officer who questioned him, the instant he showed his head and shoulders
above the bulwarks.
“What vessels are
these?” demanded the stranger, speaking in the authoritative manner of one who
acted for the state, but not speaking much above the usual conversational tone.
“American and Spanish,”
was the answer. “This brig is American--the schooner alongside is a Spaniard,
that turned turtle in a tornado, about six-and-thirty hours since, and on which
we have been hard at work trying to raise her, since the gale which succeeded
the tornado has blown its pipe out.”
“Ay, ay, that’s the
story, is it? I did not know what to make of you, lying cheek by jowl, in this
fashion. Was anybody lost on board the schooner?”
“All hands, including
every soul aft and forward, the supercargo excepted, who happened to be aboard
here. We buried seventeen bodies this afternoon on the smallest of the Keys
that you see near at hand, and two this morning alongside of the light. But
what boat is that, and where are you from, and whom are you signalling?”
“The boat is a gig,”
answered the stranger, deliberately, “and she belongs to a cruiser of Uncle Sam’s,
that is off the reef, a short bit to the eastward, and we signalled our
captain. But I’ll come on board you, sir, if you please.”
Mulford walked aft to
meet the stranger at the gangway, and was relieved, rather than otherwise, at
finding that Spike was already on the quarter-deck. Should the vessel of war
seize the brig, he could rejoice at it, but so strong were his professional
ideas of duty to the craft he sailed in, that he did not find it in his heart
to say aught against her. Were any mishap to befall it, or were justice to be
done, he preferred that it might be done under Spike’s own supervision, rather
than under his.
“Call all hands, Mr.
Mulford,” said Spike, as they met. “I see a streak of day coming yonder in the
east--let all hands be called at once. What strange boat is this we have
alongside?”
This question was put
to the strangers, Spike standing on his gangway-ladder to ask it, while the
mate was summoning the crew. The officer saw that a new person was to be dealt
with, and in his quiet, easy way, he answered, while stretching out his hands
to take the man-rope--
“Your servant, sir--we
are man-of-war’s men, belonging to one of Uncle Sam’s craft, outside, and have
just come in to pay you a visit of ceremony. I told one, whom I suppose was
your mate, that I would just step on board of you.”
“Ay, ay--one at a time,
if you please. It’s war-time, and I cannot suffer armed boat’s crews to board
me at night, without knowing something about them. Come up yourself, if you
please, but order your people to stay in the boat. Here, muster about this
gangway, half a dozen of you, and keep an eye on the crew of this strange boat.”
These orders had no
effect on the cool and deliberate lieutenant, who ascended the brig’s side, and
immediately stood on her deck. No sooner had he and Spike confronted each
other, than each gave a little start, like that of recognition, and the
lieutenant spoke.
“Ay, ay--I believe I
know this vessel now. It is the Molly Swash, of New York, bound to Key West,
and a market; and I have the honour to see Captain Stephen Spike again.”
It was Mr. Wallace, the
second lieutenant of the sloop-of-war that had boarded the brig in the Mona
Passage, and to avoid whom Spike had gone to the southward of Jamaica. The
meeting was very mal-à-propos, but it would not do to betray that the captain
and owner of the vessel thought as much as this; on the contrary, Wallace was
warmly welcomed, and received, not only as an old acquaintance, but as a very
agreeable visiter. To have seen the two, as they walked aft together, one might
have supposed that the meeting was conducive of nothing but a very mutual
satisfaction, it was so much like that which happens between those who keep up
a hearty acquaintance.
“Well, I’m glad to see
you again, Captain Spike,” cried Wallace, after the greetings were passed, “if
it be only to ask where you flew to, the day we left you in the Mona Passage?
We looked out for you with all our eyes, expecting you would be down between
San Domingo and Jamaica, but I hardly think you got by us in the night. Our
master thinks you must have dove, and gone past loon-fashion. Do you ever
perform that manœuvre?”
“No, we’ve kept above
water the whole time, lieutenant,” answered Spike, heartily; “and that is more
than can be said of the poor fellow alongside of us. I was so much afraid of
the Isle of Pines, that I went round Jamaica.”
“You might have given
the Isle of Pines a berth, and still have passed to the northward of the
Englishmen,” said Wallace, a little drily. “However, that island is somewhat of
a scarecrow, and we have been to take a look at it ourselves. All’s right
there, just now. But you seem light; what have you done with your flour?”
“Parted with every
barrel of it. You may remember I was bound to Key West, and a market. Well, I
found my market here, in American waters.”
“You have been lucky,
sir. This ‘emporium’ does not seem to be exactly a commercial emporium.”
“The fact is, the flour
is intended for the Havanna; and I fancy it is to be shipped for slavers. But I
am to know nothing of all that, you’ll understand, lieutenant. If I sell my
flour in American waters, at two prices, it’s no concern of mine what becomes
of it a’terwards.”
“Unless it happen to
pass into enemy’s hands, certainly not; and you are too patriotic to deal with
Mexico, just now, I’m sure. Pray, did that flour go down when the schooner
turned turtle?”
“Every barrel of it;
but Don Wan, below there, thinks that most of it may yet be saved, by landing
it on one of those Keys to dry. Flour, well packed, wets in slowly. You see we
have some of it on deck.”
“And who may Don Wan
be, sir, pray? We are sent here to look after Dons and Donas, you know.”
“Don Wan is a Cuban
merchant, and deals in such articles as he wants. I fell in with him among the
reefs here, where he was rummaging about in hopes of meeting with a wrack, he
tells me, and thinking to purchase something profitable in that way; but
finding I had flour, he agreed to take it out of me at this anchorage, and send
me away in ballast at once. I have found Don Wan Montefalderon ready pay, and
very honourable.”
Wallace then requested
an explanation of the disaster, to the details of which he listened with a
sailor’s interest. He asked a great many questions, all of which bore on the
more nautical features of the event; and, day having now fairly appeared, he
examined the purchases and backings of the Swash with professional nicety. The
schooner was no lower in the water than when the men had knocked off work the
previous night; and Spike set the people at the pumps and their bailing again,
as the most effectual method of preventing their making any indiscreet
communications to the man-of-war’s men.
About this time the
relict appeared on deck, when Spike gallantly introduced the lieutenant anew to
his passengers. It is true he knew no name to use, but that was of little
moment, as he called the officer “the lieutenant,” and nothing else.
Mrs. Budd was delighted
with this occasion to show-off, and she soon broke out on the easy, indolent,
but waggish Wallace, in a strain to surprise him, notwithstanding the specimen
of the lady’s skill from which he had formerly escaped.
“Captain Spike is of
opinion, lieutenant, that our cast-anchor here is excellent, and I know the
value of a good cast-anchor place; for my poor Mr. Budd was a sea-faring man,
and taught me almost as much of your noble profession as he knew himself.”
“And he taught you, ma’am,”
said Wallace, fairly opening his eyes, under the influence of astonishment, “to
be very particular about cast-anchor places!”
“Indeed he did. He used
to say, that roads-instead were never as good, for such purposes, as land that’s
locked havens, for the anchors would return home, as he called it, in
roads-instead.”
“Yes, ma’am,” answered
Wallace, looking very queer at first, as if disposed to laugh outright, then
catching a glance of Rose, and changing his mind; “I perceive that Mr. Budd
knew what he was about, and preferred an anchorage where he was well
land-locked, and where there was no danger of his anchors coming home, as so
often happens in your open roadsteads.”
“Yes, that’s just it!
That was just his notion! You cannot feel how delightful it is, Rose, to
converse with one that thoroughly understands such subjects! My poor Mr. Budd
did, indeed, denounce roads-instead, at all times calling them ‘savage.’ ”
“Savage, aunt,” put in
Rose, hoping to stop the good relict by her own interposition--“that is a
strange word to apply to an anchorage!”
“Not at all, young
lady,” said Wallace gravely. “They are often wild berths, and wild berths are
not essentially different from wild beasts. Each is savage, as a matter of
course.”
“I knew I was right!”
exclaimed the widow. “Savage cast-anchors come of wild births, as do savage
Indians. Oh! the language of the ocean, as my poor Mr. Budd used to say, is
eloquence tempered by common sense!”
Wallace stared again,
but his attention was called to other things, just at that moment. The
appearance of Don Juan Montefalderon y Castro on deck, reminded him of his
duty, and approaching that gentleman he condoled with him on the grave loss he
had sustained. After a few civil expressions on both sides, Wallace made a
delicate allusion to the character of the schooner.
“Under other
circumstances,” he said, “it might be my duty to inquire a little particularly
as to the nationality of your vessel, Señor, for we are at war with the
Mexicans, as you doubtless know.”
“Certainly,” answered
Don Juan, with an unmoved air and great politeness of manner, “though it would
be out of my power to satisfy you. Everything was lost in the schooner, and I
have not a paper of any sort to show you. If it be your pleasure to make a
prize of a vessel in this situation, certainly it is in your power to do it. A
few barrels of wet flour are scarce worth disputing about.”
Wallace now seemed a
little ashamed, the sang froid of the other throwing dust in his eyes, and he
was in a hurry to change the subject. Señor Don Juan was very civilly condoled
with again, and he was made to repeat the incidents of the loss, as if his
auditor took a deep interest in what he said, but no further hint was given
touching the nationality of the vessel. The lieutenant’s tact let him see that
Señor Montefalderon was a person of a very different calibre from Spike, as
well as of different habits; and he did not choose to indulge in the quiet
irony that formed so large an ingredient in his own character, with this new
acquaintance. He spoke Spanish himself, with tolerable fluency, and a
conversation now occurred between the two, which was maintained for some time
with spirit and a very manifest courtesy.
This dialogue between
Wallace and the Spaniard gave Spike a little leisure for reflection. As the day
advanced the cruiser came more and more plainly in view, and his first business
was to take a good survey of her. She might have been three leagues distant,
but approaching with a very light breeze, at the rate of something less than
two knots in the hour. Unless there was some one on board her who was
acquainted with the channels of the Dry Tortugas, Spike felt little
apprehension of the ship’s getting very near to him; but he very well
understood that, with the sort of artillery that was in modern use among
vessels of war, he would hardly be safe could the cruiser get within a league.
That near Uncle Sam’s craft might certainly come without encountering the
hazards of the channels, and within that distance she would be likely to get in
the course of the morning, should he have the complaisance to wait for her. He
determined, therefore, not to be guilty of that act of folly.
All this time the
business of lightening the schooner proceeded. Although Mulford earnestly
wished that the man-of-war might get an accurate notion of the true character
and objects of the brig, he could not prevail on himself to become an informer.
In order to avoid the temptation so to do, he exerted himself in keeping the
men at their tasks, and never before had pumping and bailing been carried on
with more spirit. The schooner soon floated of herself, and the purchases which
led to the Swash were removed. Near a hundred more barrels of the flour had
been taken out of the hold of the Spanish craft, and had been struck on the
deck of the brig, or sent to the Key by means of the boats. This made a
material change in the buoyancy of the vessel, and enabled the bailing to go on
with greater facility. The pumps were never idle, but two small streams of
water were running the whole time toward the scuppers, and through them into
the sea.
At length the men were
ordered to knock off, and to get their breakfasts. This appeared to arouse
Wallace, who had been chatting, quite agreeably to himself, with Rose, and
seemed reluctant to depart, but who now became sensible that he was neglecting
his duty. He called away his boat’s crew, and took a civil leave of the
passengers; after which he went over the side. The gig was some little distance
from the Swash, when Wallace rose and asked to see Spike, with whom he had a
word to say at parting.
“I will soon return,”
he said, “and bring you forty or fifty fresh men, who will make light work with
your wreck. I am certain our commander will consent to my doing so, and will
gladly send on board you two or three boat’s crews.”
“If I let him,”
muttered Spike between his teeth, “I shall be a poor, miserable cast-anchor
devil, that’s all.”
To Wallace, however, he
expressed his hearty acknowledgments; begged him not to be in a hurry, as the
worst was now over, and the row was still a long one. If he got back toward
evening it would be all in good time. Wallace waved his hand, and the gig glided
away. As for Spike, he sat down on the plank-sheer where he had stood, and
remained there ruminating intently for two or three minutes. When he descended
to the deck his mind was fully made up. His first act was to give some private
orders to the boatswain, after which he withdrew to the cabin, whither he
summoned Tier, without delay.
“Jack,” commenced the
captain, using very little circumlocution in opening his mind, “you and I are
old shipmates, and ought to be old friends, though I think your natur’ has
undergone some changes since we last met. Twenty years ago there was no man in
the ship on whom I could so certainly depend as on Jack Tier; now, you seem
given up altogether to the women. Your mind has changed even more than your
body.”
“Time does that for all
of us, Captain Spike,” returned Tier coolly. “I am not what I used to be, I’ll
own, nor are you yourself, for that matter. When I saw you last, noble captain,
you were a handsome man of forty, and could go aloft with any youngster in the
brig; but, now, you’re heavy, and not over-active.”
“I!--Not a bit of
change has taken place in me for the last thirty years. I defy any man to show
the contrary. But that’s neither here nor there; you are no young woman, Jack,
that I need be boasting of my health and beauty before you. I want a bit of
real sarvice from you, and want it done in old-times fashion; and I mean to pay
for it in old-times fashion, too.”
As Spike concluded, he
put into Tier’s hand one of the doubloons that he had received from Señor Montefalderon,
in payment for the powder. The doubloons, for which so much pumping and bailing
were then in process, were still beneath the waters of the gulf.
“Ay, ay, sir,” returned
Jack, smiling and pocketing the gold, with a wink of the eye, and a knowing
look; “this does resemble old times sum’at. I now begin to know Captain Spike,
my old commander again, and see that he’s more like himself than I had just
thought him. What am I to do for this, sir? speak plain, that I may be sartain
to steer the true course.”
“Oh, just a trifle,
Jack--nothing that will break up the ground-tier of your wits, my old shipmate.
You see the state of the brig, and know that she is in no condition for ladies.”
“ ’T would have been
better all round, sir, had they never come aboard at all,” answered Jack,
looking dark.
Spike was surprised,
but he was too much bent on his projects to heed trifles.
“You know what sort of
flour they’re whipping out of the schooner, and must understand that the brig
will soon be in a pretty litter. I do not intend to let them send a single
barrel of it beneath my hatches again, but the deck and the islands must take
it all. Now I wish to relieve my passengers from the confinement this will
occasion, and I have ordered the boatswain to pitch a tent for them on the
largest of these here Tortugas; and what I want of you, is to muster food and
water, and other women’s knicknacks, and go ashore with them, and make them as
comfortable as you can for a few days, or until we can get this schooner loaded
and off.”
Jack Tier looked at his
commander as if he would penetrate his most secret thoughts. A short pause
succeeded, during which the steward’s mate was intently musing, then his
countenance suddenly brightened; he gave the doubloon a fillip, and caught it
on the palm of his hand as it descended, and he uttered the customary “Ay, ay,
sir,” with apparent cheerfulness. Nothing more passed between these two
worthies, who now parted, Jack to make his arrangements, and Spike to “tell his
yarn,” as he termed the operation in his own mind, to Mrs. Budd, Rose, and
Biddy. The widow listened complacently, though she seemed half doubting, half
ready to comply. As for Rose, she received the proposal with delight--The
confinement of the vessel having become irksome to her. The principal obstacle
was in overcoming the difficulties made by the aunt, Biddy appearing to like
the notion quite as much as “Miss Rosy.” As for the light-house, Mrs. Budd had
declared nothing would induce her to go there; for she did not doubt that the
place would soon be, if it were not already, haunted. In this opinion she was
sustained by Biddy; and it was the knowledge of this opinion that induced Spike
to propose the tent.
“Are you sure, Captain
Spike, it is not a desert island?” asked the widow; “I remember that my poor
Mr. Budd always spoke of desert islands as horrid places, and spots that every
one should avoid.”
“What if it is, aunty,”
said Rose eagerly, “while we have the brig here, close at hand. We shall suffer
none of the wants of such a place, so long as our friends can supply us.”
“And such friends, Miss
Rose,” exclaimed Spike, a little sentimentally for him, “friends that would
undergo hunger and thirst themselves, before you should want for any comforts.”
“Do, now, Madam Budd,”
put in Biddy in her hearty way, “it’s an island, ye’ll remimber: and sure that’s
just what ould Ireland has ever been, God bless it! Islands make the
pleasantest risidences.”
“Well I’ll venture to
oblige you and Biddy, Rosy, dear,” returned the aunt, still half reluctant to
yield; “but you’ll remember, that if I find it at all a desert island, I’ll not
pass the night on it on any account whatever.”
With this understanding
the party was transferred to the shore. The boatswain had already erected a sort
of a tent, on a favourable spot, using some of the old sails that had covered
the flour-barrels, not only for the walls, but for a carpet of some extent
also. This tent was ingeniously enough contrived. In addition to the little
room that was entirely enclosed, there was a sort of piazza, or open verandah,
which would enable its tenants to enjoy the shade in the open air. Beneath this
verandah, a barrel of fresh water was placed, as well as three or four ship’s
stools, all of which had been sent ashore with the materials for constructing
the tent. The boat had been going and coming for some time, and the distance
being short, the “desert island” was soon a desert no longer. It is true that
the supplies necessary to support three women for as many days, were no great
matter, and were soon landed, but Jack Tier had made a provision somewhat more
ample. A capital caterer, he had forgotten nothing within the compass of his
means, that could contribute to the comfort of those who had been put
especially under his care. Long before the people “knocked off” for their
dinners, the arrangements were completed, and the boatswain was ready to take
his leave.
“Well, ladies,” said
that grum old salt, “I can do no more for you, as I can see. This here island
is now almost as comfortable as a ship that has been in blue water for a month,
and I do n’t know how it can be made more comfortabler.”
This was only according
to the boatswain’s notion of comfort; but Rose thanked him for his care in her
winning way, while her aunt admitted that, “for a place that was almost a
desert island, things did look somewhat promising.” In a few minutes the men
were all gone, and the islet was left to the sole possession of the three
females, and their constant companion, Jack Tier. Rose was pleased with the
novelty of her situation, though the islet certainly did deserve the opprobrium
of being a “desert island.” There was no shade but that of the tent, and its
verandah-like covering, though the last, in particular, was quite extensive.
There was no water, that in the barrel and that of the ocean excepted. Of
herbage there was very little on this islet, and that was of the most meagre
and coarse character, being a long wiry grass, with here and there a few
stunted bushes. The sand was reasonably firm, however, more especially round
the shore, and the walking was far from unpleasant. Little did Rose know it,
but a week earlier, the spot would have been next to intolerable to her, on
account of the musquitoes, gallinippers, and other similar insects of the
family of tormentors; but everything of the sort had temporarily disappeared in
the currents of the tornado. To do Spike justice, he was aware of this
circumstance, or he might have hesitated about exposing females to the ordinary
annoyances of one of these spots. Not a musquito, or anything of the sort was
left, however, all having gone to leeward, in the vortex which had come so near
sweeping off the Mexican schooner.
“This place will do
very well, aunty, for a day or two,” cried Rose cheerfully, as she returned
from a short excursion, and threw aside her hat, one made to shade her face
from the sun of a warm climate, leaving the sea-breeze that was just beginning
to blow, to fan her blooming and sunny cheeks. “It is better than the brig. The
worst piece of land is better than the brig.”
“Do not say that,
Rose--not if it’s a desert island, dear; and this is desperately like a desert
island; I am almost sorry I ventured on it.”
“It will not be
deserted by us, aunty, until we shall see occasion to do so. Why not endeavour
to get on board of yonder ship, and return to New York in her; or at least
induce her captain to put us ashore somewhere near this, and go home by land.
Your health never seemed better than it is at this moment; and as for mine, I
do assure you, aunty, dear, I am as perfectly well as I ever was in my life.”
“All from this voyage.
I knew it would set you up, and am delighted to hear you say as much. Biddy and
I were talking of you this very morning, my child, and we both agreed that you
were getting to be yourself again. Oh, ships, and brigs, and schooners,
full-jigger or half-jigger, for pulmonary complaints, say I! My poor Mr. Budd
always maintained that the ocean was the cure for all diseases, and I
determined that to sea you should go, the moment I became alarmed for your
health.”
The good widow loved
Rose most tenderly, and she was obliged to use her handkerchief to dry the
tears from her eyes as she concluded. Those tears sprung equally from a past
feeling of apprehension, and a present feeling of gratitude. Rose saw this, and
she took a seat at her aunt’s side, touched herself, as she never failed to be
on similar occasions with this proof of her relative’s affection. At that
moment even Harry Mulford would have lost a good deal in her kind feelings
toward him, had he so much as smiled at one of the widow’s nautical
absurdities. At such times, Rose seemed to be her aunt’s guardian and
protectress, instead of reversing the relations, and she entirely forgot
herself the many reasons which existed for wishing that she had been placed in
childhood, under the care of one better qualified than the well-meaning relict
of her uncle, for the performance of her duties.
“Thank you,
aunty--thank’ee, dear aunty,” said Rose, kissing the widow affectionately. “I
know that you mean the best for me, though you are a little mistaken in
supposing me ill. I do assure you, dear,” patting her aunt’s cheek, as if she
herself had been merely a playful child, “I never was better; and if I have
been pulmonary, I am entirely cured, and am now ready to return home.”
“God be praised for
this, Rosy. Under His divine providence, it is all owing to the sea. If you
really feel so much restored, however, I do not wish to keep you a moment
longer on a ship’s board than is necessary. We owe something to Captain Spike’s
care, and cannot quit him too unceremoniously; but as soon as he is at liberty
to go into a harbour, I will engage him to do so, and we can return home by
land--unless, indeed, the brig intends to make the home voyage herself.”
“I do not like this
brig, aunty, and now we are out of her, I wish we could keep out of her. Nor do
I like your Captain Spike, who seems to me anything but an agreeable gentleman.”
“That’s because you arn’t
accustomed to the sea. My poor Mr. Budd had his ways, like all the rest of
them; it takes time to get acquainted with them. All sailors are so.”
Rose bent her face
involuntarily, but so low as to conceal the increasing brightness of her native
bloom, as she answered,
“Harry Mulford is not
so, aunty, dear--and he is every inch a sailor.”
“Well, there is a
difference, I must acknowledge, though I dare say Harry will grow every day
more and more like all the rest of them. In the end, he will resemble Captain
Spike.”
“Never,” said Rose,
firmly.
“You can’t tell, child.
I never saw your uncle when he was Harry’s age, for I was n’t born till he was
thirty, but often and often has he pointed out to me some slender, genteel
youth, and say, ‘just such a lad was I at twenty,’ though nothing could be less
alike, at the moment he was speaking, than they two. We all change with our
years. Now I was once as slender, and almost--not quite, Rosy, for few there
are that be--but almost as handsome as you yourself.”
“Yes, aunty, I’ve heard
that before,” said Rose, springing up, in order to change the discourse; “but
Harry Mulford will never become like Stephen Spike. I wish we had never known
the man, dearest aunty.”
“It was all your own
doings, child. He’s a cousin of your most intimate friend, and she brought him
to the house; and one could n’t offend Mary Mulford, by telling her we did n’t
like her cousin.”
Rose seemed vexed, and
she kept her little foot in motion, patting the sail that formed the carpet, as
girls will pat the ground with their feet when vexed. This gleam of displeasure
was soon over, however, and her countenance became as placid as the clear, blue
sky that formed the vault of the heavens above her head. As if to atone for the
passing rebellion of her feelings, she threw her arms around her aunt’s neck;
after which she walked away, along the beach, ruminating on her present
situation, and of the best means of extricating their party from the power of
Spike.
It requires great
familiarity with vessels and the seas, for one to think, read, and pursue the
customary train of reasoning on board a ship that one has practised ashore.
Rose had felt this embarrassment during the past month, for the whole of which
time she had scarcely been in a condition to act up to her true character,
suffering her energies, and in some measure her faculties, to be drawn into the
vortex produced by the bustle, novelties, and scenes of the vessel and the
ocean. But, now she was once more on the land, diminutive and naked as was the
islet that composed her present world, and she found leisure and solitude for
reflection and decision. She was not ignorant of the nature of a vessel of war,
or of the impropriety of unprotected females placing themselves on board of
one; but gentlemen of character, like the officers of the ship in sight, could
hardly be wanting in the feelings of their caste; and anything was better than
to return voluntarily within the power of Spike. She determined within her own
mind that voluntarily she would not. We shall leave this young girl, slowly
wandering along the beach of her islet, musing on matters like these, while we
return to the vessels and the mariners.
A good breeze had come
in over the reef from the Gulf, throwing the sloop-of-war dead to leeward of
the brigantine’s anchorage. This was the reason that the former had closed so
slowly. Still the distance between the vessels was so small, that a swift
cruiser, like the ship of war, would soon have been alongside of the wreckers,
but for the intervening islets and the intricacies of their channels. She had
made sail on the wind, however, and was evidently disposed to come as near to
the danger as her lead showed would be safe, even if she did not venture among
them.
Spike noted all these
movements, and he took his measures accordingly. The pumping and bailing had
been going on since the appearance of light, and the flour had been quite half
removed from the schooner’s hold. That vessel consequently floated with
sufficient buoyancy, and no further anxiety was felt on account of her sinking.
Still, a great deal of water remained in her, the cabin itself being nearly
half full. Spike’s object was to reduce this water sufficiently to enable him
to descend into the state-room which Señor Montefalderon had occupied, and
bring away the doubloons that alone kept him in the vicinity of so ticklish a
neighbour as the Poughkeepsie. Escape was easy enough to one who knew the
passages of the reef and islets; more especially since the wind had so
fortunately brought the cruiser to leeward. Spike most apprehended a movement
upon him in the boats, and he had almost made up his mind, should such an
enterprise be attempted, to try his hand in beating it off with his guns. A
good deal of uncertainty on the subject of Mulford’s consenting to resist the
recognised authorities of the country, as well as some doubts of a similar
nature in reference to two or three of the best of the foremast hands, alone
left him at all in doubt as to the expediency of such a course. As no boats were
lowered from the cruiser, however, the necessity of resorting to so desperate a
measure, did not occur, and the duty of lightening the schooner had proceeded
without interruption. As soon as the boatswain came off from the islet, he and
the men with him were directed to take the hands and lift the anchors, of which
it will be remembered the Swash had several down. Even Mulford was shortly
after set at work on the same duty; and these expert and ready seamen soon had
the brig clear of the ground. As the schooner was anchored, and floated without
assistance, the Swash rode by her.
Such was the state of
things when the men turned to, after having had their dinners. By this time,
the sloop-of-war was within half a league of the bay, her progress having been
materially retarded by the set of the current, which was directly against her.
Spike saw that a collision of some sort or other must speedily occur, and he
determined to take the boatswain with him, and descend into the cabin of the
schooner in quest of the gold. The boatswain was summoned, and Señor
Montefalderon repeated in this man’s presence the instructions that he thought
it necessary for the adventurers to follow, in order to secure the prize.
Knowing how little locks would avail on board a vessel, were the men disposed
to rob him, that gentleman had trusted more to secreting his treasure, than to
securing it in the more ordinary way. When the story had again been told, Spike
and his boatswain went on board the schooner, and, undressing, they prepared to
descend into the cabin. The captain paused a single instant to take a look at
the sloop-of-war, and to examine the state of the weather. It is probable some
new impression was made on him by this inquiry, for, hailing Mulford, he
ordered him to loosen the sails, and to sheet home, and hoist the foretopsail.
In a word, to “see all ready to cast off, and make sail on the brig at the
shortest notice.” With this command he disappeared by the schooner’s
companion-way.
Spike and his companion
found the water in the cabin very much deeper than they had supposed. With a
view to comfort, the cabin-floor had been sunk much lower than is usual on
board American vessels, and this brought the water up nearly to the arm-pits of
two men as short as our captain and his sturdy little boatswain. The former
grumbled a good deal, when he ascertained the fact, and said something about
the mate’s being better fitted to make a search in such a place, but concluding
with the remark, that “the man who wants ticklish duty well done, must see to
it himself.”
The gold-hunters groped
their way cautiously about the cabin for some time, feeling for a drawer, in
which they had been told they should find the key of Señor Montefalderon’s
state-room door. In this Spike himself finally succeeded, he being much better
acquainted with cabins and their fixtures, than the boatswain.
“Here it is, Ben,” said
the captain, “now for a dive among the Don’s val’ables. Should you pick up
anything worth speaking of, you can condemn it for salvage, as I mean to cast
off, and quit the wrack the moment we’ve made sure of the doubloons.”
“And what will become
of all the black flour that is lying about, sir?” asked the boatswain with a
grin.
“It may take care of
itself. My agreement will be up as soon as the doubloons are found. If the Don
will come down handsomely with his share of what will be left, I may be bought
to put the kegs we have in the brig ashore for him somewhere in Mexico; but my
wish is to get out of the neighbourhood of that bloody sloop-of-war, as soon as
possible.”
“She makes but slow
headway ag’in the current, sir; but a body would think she might send in her
boats.”
“The boats might be
glad to get back again,” muttered Spike. “Ay, here is the door unlocked, and we
can now fish for the money.”
Some object had rolled
against the state-room door, when the vessel was capsized, and there was a good
deal of difficulty in forcing it open. They succeeded at last, and Spike led
the way by wading into the small apartment. Here they began to feel about
beneath the water, and by a very insufficient light, in quest of the hidden
treasure. Spike and his boatswain differed as to the place which had just been
described to them, as men will differ even in the account of events that pass
directly before their eyes. While thus employed, the report of a heavy gun came
through the doors of the cabin, penetrating to the recess in which they were
thus employed.
“Ay, that’s the
beginning of it!” exclaimed Spike. “I wonder that the fool has put it off so
long.”
“That gun was a heavy
fellow, Captain Spike,” returned the boatswain; “and it sounded in my ears as
if’t was shotted.”
“Ay, ay, I dare say you’re
right enough in both opinions. They put such guns on board their sloops-of-war,
now-a-days, as a fellow used to find in the lower batteries of a two-decker
only in old times; and as for shot, why Uncle Sam pays, and they think it
cheaper to fire one out of a gun, than to take the trouble of drawing it.”
“I believe here’s one
of the bags, Captain Spike,” said the boatswain, making a dip, and coming up
with one-half of the desired treasure in his fist. “By George, I’ve grabbed
him, sir; and the other bag can’t be far off.”
“Hand that over to me,”
said the captain, a little authoritatively, “and take a dive for the next.”
As the boatswain was
obeying this order, a second gun was heard, and Spike thought that the noise
made by the near passage of a large shot was audible also. He called out to Ben
to “bear a hand, as the ship seems in ’arnest.” But the head of the boatswain
being under water at the time, the admonition was thrown away. The fellow soon
came up, however, puffing like a porpoise that has risen to the surface to
blow.
“Hand it over to me at
once,” said Spike, stretching out his unoccupied hand to receive the prize; “we
have little time to lose.”
“That’s sooner said
than done, sir,” answered the boatswain; “a box has driven down upon the bag,
and there’s a tight jam. I got hold of the neck of the bag, and pulled like a
horse, but it wouldn’t come no how.”
“Show me the place, and
let me have a drag at it. There goes another of his bloody guns!”
Down went Spike, and
the length of time he was under water, proved how much he was in earnest. Up he
came at length, and with no better luck than his companion. He had got hold of
the bag, satisfied himself by feeling its outside that it contained the doubloons,
and hauled with all his strength, but it would not come. The boatswain now
proposed to take a jamming hitch with a rope around the neck of the bag, which
was long enough to admit of such a fastening, and then to apply their united
force. Spike assented, and the boatswain rummaged about for a piece of small
rope to suit his purpose. At this moment Mulford appeared at the companion-way
to announce the movements on the part of the sloop-of-war. He had been
purposely tardy, in order to give the ship as much time as possible; but he saw
by the looks of the men that a longer delay might excite suspicion.
“Below there!” called
out the mate.
“What’s wanting,
sir?--what’s wanting, sir?” answered Spike; “let’s know at once.”
“Have you heard the
guns, Captain Spike?”
“Ay, ay, every grumbler
of them. They’ve done no mischief, I trust, Mr. Mulford?”
“None as yet, sir;
though the last shot, and it was a heavy fellow, passed just above the schooner’s
deck. I’ve the topsail sheeted home and hoisted, and it’s that which has set
them at work. If I clewed up again, I dare say they’d not fire another gun.”
“Clew up nothing, sir,
but see all clear for casting off and making sail through the South Pass. What
do you say, Ben, are you ready for a drag?”
“All ready, sir,”
answered the boatswain, once more coming up to breathe. “Now for it, sir; a
steady pull, and a pull all together.”
They did pull, but the
hitch slipped, and both went down beneath the water. In a moment they were up
again, puffing a little and swearing a great deal. Just then another gun, and a
clatter above their heads, brought them to a stand.
“What means that, Mr.
Mulford?” demanded Spike, a good deal startled.
It means that the
sloop-of-war has shot away the head of this schooner’s foremast, sir, and that
the shot has chipp’d a small piece out of the heel of our maintop-mast--that’s
all.”
Though excessively
provoked at the mate’s cool manner of replying, Spike saw that he might lose
all by being too tenacious about securing the remainder of the doubloons.
Pronouncing in very energetic terms on Uncle Sam, and all his cruisers, an
anathema that we do not care to repeat, he gave a surly order to Ben to “knock-off,”
and abandoned his late design. In a minute he was on deck and dressed.
“Cast off, lads,” cried
the captain, as soon as on the deck of his own brig again, “and four of you man
that boat. We have got half of your treasure, Señor Wan, but have been driven
from the rest of it, as you see. There is the bag; when at leisure we’ll divide
it, and give the people their share. Mr. Mulford, keep the brig in motion,
hauling up toward the South Pass, while I go ashore for the ladies. I’ll meet
you just in the throat of the passage.”
This said, Spike
tumbled into his boat, and was pulled ashore. As for Mulford, though he cast
many an anxious glance toward the islet, he obeyed his orders, keeping the brig
standing off and on, under easy canvas, but working her up toward the indicated
passage.
Spike was met by Jack
Tier on the beach of the little island.
“Muster the women at
once,” ordered the captain, “we have no time to lose, for that fellow will soon
be firing broadsides, and his shot now range half a mile beyond us.”
“You’ll no more move
the widow and her maid, than you’ll move the island,” answered Jack,
laconically.
“Why should I not move
them? Do they wish to stay here and starve?”
“It’s little that they
think of that. The sloop-of-war no sooner begun to fire than down went Mrs.
Budd on the canvas floor of the tent, and set up just such a screaming as you
may remember she tried her hand at the night the revenue craft fired into us.
Biddy lay down alongside of her mistress, and at every gun, they just scream as
loud as they can, as if they fancied they might frighten off Uncle Sam’s men
from their duty.”
“Duty!--You little
scamp, do you call tormenting honest traders in this fashion the duty of any
man?”
“Well, captain, I’m no
ways partic’lar about a word or two. Their ‘ways,’ if you like that better than
duty, sir.”
“Where’s Rose? Is she
down too, screaming and squalling?”
“No, Captain Spike, no.
Miss Rose is endeavouring, like a handsome young Christian lady as she is, to
pacify and mollify her aunt and Biddy; and right down sensible talk does she
give them.”
“Then she at least can
go aboard the brig,” exclaimed Spike, with a sudden animation, and an
expression of countenance that Jack did not at all like.
“I ray-y-ther think she’ll
wish to hold on to the old lady,” observed the steward’s-mate, a little
emphatically.
“You be d--d,” cried Spike,
fiercely; “when your opinion is wanted, I’ll ask for it. If I find you’ve been
setting that young woman’s mind ag’in me, I’ll toss you overboard, as I would
the offals of a shark.”
“Young women’s minds,
when they are only nineteen, get set ag’in boys of fifty-six without much
assistance.”
“Fifty-six yourself.”
“I’m fifty-three--that
I’ll own without making faces at it,” returned Jack, meekly; “and, Stephen
Spike, you logged fifty-six your last birthday, or a false entry was made.”
This conversation did
not take place in the presence of the boat’s crew, but as the two walked
together toward the tent. They were now in the verandah, as we have called the
shaded opening in front, and actually within sound of the sweet voice of Rose,
as she exhorted her aunt, in tones a little louder than usual for her to use,
to manifest more fortitude. Under such circumstances Spike did not deem it
expedient to utter that which was uppermost in his mind, but, turning short
upon Tier, he directed a tremendous blow directly between his eyes. Jack saw
the danger and dodged, falling backward to avoid a concussion which he knew
would otherwise be fearful, coming as it would from one of the best forecastle
boxers of his time. The full force of the blow was avoided, though Jack got
enough of it to knock him down, and to give him a pair of black eyes. Spike did
not stop to pick the assistant steward up, for another gun was fired at that
very instant, and Mrs. Budd and Biddy renewed their screams. Instead of pausing
to kick the prostrate Tier, as had just before been his intention, the captain
entered the tent.
A scene that was
sufficiently absurd met the view of Spike, when he found himself in the
presence of the females. The widow had thrown herself on the ground, and was
grasping the cloth of the sail on which the tent had been erected with both her
hands, and was screaming at the top of her voice. Biddy’s imitation was not
exactly literal, for she had taken a comfortable seat at the side of her
mistress, but in the way of cries, she rather outdid her principal.
“We must be off,” cried
Spike, somewhat unceremoniously. “The man-of-war is blazing away, as if she was
a firin’ minute-guns over our destruction, and I can wait no longer.”
“I’ll not stir,”
answered the widow--“I can’t stir--I shall be shot if I go out. No, no, no--I’ll
not stir an inch.”
“We’ll be kilt!--we’ll
be kilt!” echoed Biddy, “and a wicket murther’t will be in that same man, war
or no war.”
The captain perceived
the uselessness of remonstrance at such a moment, and perhaps he was secretly
rejoiced thereat; but it is certain that he whipped Rose up under his arm, and
walked away with her, as if she had been a child of two or three years of age.
Rose did not scream, but she struggled and protested vehemently. It was in
vain. Already the captain had carried her half the distance between the tent
and the boat, in the last of which, a minute more would have deposited his
victim, when a severe blow on the back of his head caused Spike to stumble, and
he permitted Rose to escape from his grasp, in the effort to save himself from
a fall. Turning fiercely toward his assailant, whom he suspected to be one of
his boat’s crew, he saw Tier standing within a few yards, levelling a pistol at
him.
“Advance a step, and you’re
a dead man, villain!” screamed Jack, his voice almost cracked with rage, and
the effort he made to menace.
Spike muttered an oath
too revolting for our pages; but it was such a curse as none but an old salt
could give vent to, and that in the bitterness of his fiercest wrath. At that
critical moment, while Rose was swelling with indignation and wounded maiden
pride, almost within reach of his arms, looking more lovely than ever, as the
flush of anger deepened the colour in her cheeks, a fresh and deep report from
one of the guns of the sloop-of-war drew all eyes in her direction. The
belching of that gun seemed to be of double the power of those which had
preceded it, and jets of water, that were twenty feet in height, marked the
course of the formidable missile that was projected from the piece. The ship
had, indeed, discharged one of those monster-cannons that bear the name of a
distinguished French engineer, but which should more properly be called by the
name of the ingenious officer who is at the head of our own ordnance, as they
came originally from his inventive faculties, though somewhat improved by their
European adopter. Spike suspected the truth, for he had heard of these “Pazans,”
as he called them, and he watched the booming, leaping progress of the
eight-inch shell that this gun threw, with the apprehension that unknown danger
is apt to excite. As jet succeeded jet, each rising nearer and nearer to his
brig, the interval of time between them seeming fearfully to diminish, he
muttered oath upon oath. The last leap that the shell made on the water was at
about a quarter of a mile’s distance of the islet on which his people had
deposited at least a hundred and fifty barrels of his spurious flour:-thence it
flew, as it might be without an effort, with a grand and stately bound into the
very centre of the barrels, exploding at the moment it struck. All saw the
scattering of flour, which was instantly succeeded by the heavy though slightly
straggling explosion of all the powder on the island. A hundred kegs were
lighted, as it might be, in a common flash, and a cloud of white smoke poured
out and concealed the whole islet, and all near it.
Rose stood confounded,
nor was Jack Tier in a much better state of mind, though he still kept the
pistol levelled, and menaced Spike. But the last was no longer dangerous to any
there. He recollected that piles of the barrels encumbered the decks of his
vessel, and he rushed to the boat, nearly frantic with haste, ordering the men
to pull for their lives. In less than five minutes he was alongside, and on the
deck of the Swash--his first order being to--“Tumble every barrel of this
bloody powder into the sea, men. Over with it, Mr. Mulford, clear away the
midship ports, and launch as much as you can through them.”
Remonstrance on the
part of Señor Montefalderon would have been useless, had he been disposed to
make it; but, sooth to say, he was as ready to get rid of the powder as any
there, after the specimen he had just witnessed of the power of a Paixhan gun.
Thus it is ever with
men. Had two or three of those shells been first thrown without effect, as
might very well have happened under the circumstances, none there would have
cared for the risk they were running; but the chance explosion which had
occurred, presented so vivid a picture of the danger, dormant and remote as it
really was, as to throw the entire crew of the Swash into a frenzy of exertion.
Nor was the vessel at
all free from danger. On the contrary, she ran very serious risk of being
destroyed, and in some degree, in the very manner apprehended. Perceiving that
Spike was luffing up through one of the passages nearest the reef, which would
carry him clear of the group, a long distance to windward of the point where he
could only effect the same object, the commander of the sloop-of-war opened his
fire in good earnest, hoping to shoot away something material on board the
Swash, before she could get beyond the reach of his shot. The courses steered
by the two vessels, just at that moment, favoured such an attempt, though they
made it necessarily very short-lived. While the Swash was near the wind, the
sloop-of-war was obliged to run off to avoid islets ahead of her, a
circumstance which, while it brought the brig square with the ship’s broadside,
compelled the latter to steer on a diverging line to the course of her chase.
It was in consequence of these facts, that the sloop-of-war now opened in
earnest, and was soon canopied in the smoke of her own fire.
Great and important
changes, as has been already mentioned, have been made in the armaments of all
the smaller cruisers within the last few years. Half a generation since, a ship
of the rate--we do not say of the size--of the vessel which was in chase of
Spike and his craft, would not have had it in her power to molest an enemy at
the distance these two vessels were now apart. But recent improvements have
made ships of this nominal force formidable at nearly a league’s distance; more
especially by means of their Paixhans and their shells.
For some little time
the range carried the shot directly over the islet of the tent; Jack Tier and
Rose, both of whom were watching all that passed with intense interest,
standing in the open air the whole time, seemingly with no concern for
themselves, so absorbed was each, notwithstanding all that had passed, in the
safety of the brig. As for Rose, she thought only of Harry Mulford, and of the
danger he was in by those fearful explosions of the shells. Her quick intellect
comprehended the peculiar nature of the risk that was incurred by having the
flour-barrels on deck, and she could not but see the manner in which Spike and
his men were tumbling them into the water, as the quickest manner of getting
rid of them. After what had just passed between Jack Tier and his commander, it
might not be so easy to account for his manifest, nay, intense interest in the
escape of the Swash. This was apparent by his troubled countenance, by his
exclamations, and occasionally by his openly expressed wishes for her safety.
Perhaps it was no more than the interest the seaman is so apt to feel in the
craft in which he has so long sailed, and which to him has been a home, and of
which Mulford exhibited so much, in his struggles between feeling and
conscience--between a true and a false duty.
As for Spike and his
people, we have already mentioned their efforts to get rid of the powder. Shell
after shell exploded, though none very near the brig, the ship working her guns
as if in action. At length the officers of the sloop-of-war detected a source
of error in their aim, that is of very common occurrence in sea-gunnery. Their
shot had been thrown to ricochet, quartering a low, but very regular succession
of little waves. Each shot striking the water at an acute angle to its agitated
surface, was deflected from a straight line, and described a regular curve
toward the end of its career; or, it might be truer to say, an irregular
curvature, for the deflection increased as the momentum of the missile
diminished.
No sooner did the
commanding officer of the sloop-of-war discover this fact, and it was easy to
trace the course of the shots by the jets of water they cast into the air, and
to see as well as to hear the explosions of the shells, than he ordered the
guns pointed more to windward, as a means of counteracting the departure from
the straight lines. This expedient succeeded in part, the solid shot falling
much nearer to the brig the moment the practice was resorted to. No shell was
fired for some little time after the new order was issued, and Spike and his
people began to hope these terrific missiles had ceased their annoyance. The
men cheered, finding their voices for the first time since the danger had
seemed so imminent, and Spike was heard animating them to their duty. As for
Mulford, he was on the coach-house deck, working the brig, the captain having
confided to him that delicate duty, the highest proof he could furnish of
confidence in his seamanship. The handsome young mate had just made a
half-board, in the neatest manner, shoving the brig by its means through a most
difficult part of the passage, and had got her handsomely filled again on the
same tack, looking right out into open water, by a channel through which she
could now stand on a very easy bowline. Everything seemed propitious, and the
sloop-of-war’s solid shot began to drop into the water, a hundred yards short
of the brig. In this state of things one of the Paixhans belched forth its
angry flame and sullen roar again. There was no mistaking the gun. Then came
its mass of iron, a globe that would have weighed just sixty-eight pounds, had
not sufficient metal been left out of its interior to leave a cavity to contain
a single pound of powder. Its course, as usual, was to be marked by its path
along the sea, as it bounded, half a mile at a time, from wave to wave. Spike
saw by its undeviating course that this shell was booming terrifically toward
his brig, and a cry to “look out for the shell,” caused the work to be
suspended. That shell struck the water for the last time, within two hundred
yards of the brig, rose dark and menacing in its furious leap, but exploded at
the next instant. The fragments of the iron were scattered on each side, and
ahead. Of the last, three or four fell into the water so near the vessel as to
cast their spray on her decks.
“Overboard with the
rest of the powder!” shouted Spike. “Keep the brig off a little, Mr.
Mulford--keep her off, sir; you luff too much, sir.”
“Ay, ay, sir,” answered
the mate. “Keep her off, it is.”
“There comes the other
shell!” cried Ben, but the men did not quit their toil to gaze this time. Each
seaman worked as if life and death depended on his single exertions. Spike
alone watched the course of the missile. On it came, booming and hurtling
through the air, tossing high the jets, at each leap it made from the surface,
striking the water for its last bound, seemingly in a line with the shell that
had just preceded it. From that spot it made its final leap. Every hand in the
brig was stayed and every eye was raised as the rushing tempest was heard
advancing. The mass went muttering directly between the masts of the Swash. It
had scarcely seemed to go by when the fierce flash of fire and the sharp
explosion followed. Happily for those in the brig, the projectile force given
by the gun carried the fragments from them, as in the other instance it had
brought them forward; else would few have escaped mutilation, or death, among
their crew.
The flashing of fire so
near the barrels of powder that still remained on their deck, caused the frantic
efforts to be renewed, and barrel after barrel was tumbled overboard, amid the
shouts that were now raised to animate the people to their duty.
“Luff, Mr.
Mulford--luff you may, sir,” cried Spike. No answer was given.
“D’ye hear there, Mr.
Mulford?--it is luff you may, sir.”
“Mr. Mulford is not
aft, sir,” called out the man at the helm--“but luff it is, sir.”
“Mr. Mulford not aft!
Where’s the mate, man? Tell him he is wanted.”
No Mulford was to be
found! A call passed round the decks, was sent below, and echoed through the
entire brig, but no sign or tidings could be had of the handsome mate. At that
exciting moment the sloop-of-war seemed to cease her firing, and appeared to be
securing her guns.
Thou art the same, eternal sea! The earth has many shapes and forms, Of
hill and valley, flower and tree; Fields that the fervid noontide warms, Or
winter’s rugged grasp deforms, Or bright with autumn’s golden store; Thou
coverest up thy face with storms, Or smilest serene,--but still thy roar And dashing foam go up to vex the
sea-beat shore:
Lunt. We shall now advance the
time eight-and-forty hours. The baffling winds and calms that succeeded the
tornado had gone, and the trades blew in their stead. Both vessels had
disappeared, the brig leading, doubling the western extremity of the reef, and
going off before both wind and current, with flowing sheets, fully three hours
before the sloop-of-war could beat up against the latter, to a point that
enabled her to do the same thing. By that time, the Swash was five-and-twenty
miles to the eastward, and consequently but just discernible in her loftiest
sails, from the ship’s royal yards. Still, the latter continued the chase; and
that evening both vessels were beating down along the southern margin of the
Florida Reef, against the trades, but favoured by a three or four knot current,
the brig out of sight to windward. Our narrative leads us to lose sight of both
these vessels, for a time, in order to return to the islets of the Gulf.
Eight-and-forty hours had made some changes in and around the haven of the Dry
Tortugas. The tent still stood, and a small fire that was boiling its pot and
its kettle, at no great distance from it, proved that the tent was still inhabited.
The schooner also rode at her anchors, very much as she had been abandoned by
Spike. The bag of doubloons, however, had been found, and there it lay, tied
but totally unguarded, in the canvas verandah of Rose Budd’s habitation. Jack
Tier passed and repassed it with apparent indifference, as he went to and fro,
between his pantry and kitchen, busy as a bee in preparing his noontide meal
for the day. This man seemed to have the islet all to himself, however, no one
else being visible on any part of it. He sang his song, in a cracked, contre
alto voice, and appeared to be happy in his solitude. Occasionally he talked to
himself aloud, most probably because he had no one else to speak to. We shall
record one of his recitatives, which came in between the strains of a very
inharmonious air, the words of which treated of the seas, while the steward’s
assistant was stirring an exceedingly savoury mess that he had concocted of the
ingredients to be found in the united larders of the Swash and the Mexican
schooner.
“Stephen Spike is a
capital willian!” exclaimed Jack, smelling at a ladle filled with his soup--“a
capital willian, I call him. To think, at his time of life, of such a handsome
and pleasant young thing as this Rose Budd; and then to try to get her by underhand
means, and by making a fool of her silly old aunt. It ’s wonderful what fools
some old aunts be! Quite wonderful! If I was as great a simpleton as this Mrs.
Budd, I’d never cross my threshhold. Yes, Stephen Spike is a prodigious
willian, as his best friend must own! Well, I gave him a thump on the head that
he’ll not forget this v’y’ge. To think of carryin’ off that pretty Rose Budd in
his very arms, in so indecent a manner! Yet, the man has his good p’ints, if a
body could only forget his bad ones. He’s a first-rate seaman. How he worked
the brig till he doubled the reef, a’ter she got into open water; and how he
made her walk off afore the wind, with stun’sails alow and aloft, as soon as
ever he could make ’em draw! My life for it, he ’ll tire the legs of Uncle Sam’s
man, afore he can fetch up with him. For running away, when hard chased,
Stephen Spike has n’t his equal on ’arth. But, he’s a great willian--a
prodigious willian! I cannot say I actually wish him hanged; but I would rather
have him hanged than see him get pretty Rose in his power. What has he to do
with girls of nineteen? If the rascal is one year old, he’s fifty-six. I hope
the sloop-of-war will find her match, and I think she will. The Molly’s a great
traveller, and not to be outdone easily. ’T would be a thousand pities so
lovely a craft should be cut off in the flower of her days, as it might be, and
I do hope she’ll lead that bloody sloop on some sunken rock.
“Well, there’s the
other bag of doubloons. It seems Stephen could not get it. That’s odd, too, for
he’s great at grabbin’ gold. The man bears his age well; but he’s a willian! I
wonder whether he or Mulford made that half-board in the narrow channel. It was
well done, and Stephen is a perfect sailor; but he says Mulford is the same.
Nice young man, that Mulford; just fit for Rose, and Rose for him. Pity to part
them. Can find no great fault with him, except that he has too much conscience.
There’s such a thing as having too much, as well as too little conscience.
Mulford has too much, and Spike has too little. For him to think of carryin’
off a gal of nineteen! I say he’s fifty-six, if he’s a day. How fond he used to
be of this very soup! If I’ve seen him eat a quart of it, I’ve seen him eat a
puncheon full of it, in my time. What an appetite the man has when he’s had a
hard day’s duty on ’t! There ’s a great deal to admire, and a great deal to
like in Stephen Spike, but he’s a reg’lar willian. I dare say he fancies
himself a smart, jaunty youth ag’in, as I can remember him; a lad of twenty,
which was about his years when I first saw him, by the sign that I was very
little turned of fifteen myself. Spike was comely then, though I acknowledge he’s
a willian. I can see him now, with his deep blue roundabout, his bell-mouthed
trowsers, both of fine cloth--too fine for such a willian--but fine it was, and
much did it become him.”
Here Jack made a long
pause, during which, though he may have thought much, he said nothing.
Nevertheless, he was n’t idle the while. On the contrary, he passed no less
than three several times from the fire to the tent, and returned. Each time, in
going and coming, he looked intently at the bag of doubloons, though he did not
stop at it or touch it. Some associations connected with Spike’s fruitless
attempts to obtain it must have formed its principal interest with this
singular being, as he muttered his captain’s name each time in passing, though
he said no more audibly. The concerns of the dinner carried him back and forth;
and in his last visit to the tent, he began to set a small table-- one that had
been brought for the convenience of Mrs. Budd and her niece, from the brig, and
which of course still remained on the islet. It was while thus occupied, that
Jack Tier recommenced his soliloquy.
“I hope that money may
do some worthy fellow good yet. It’s Mexican gold, and that’s inemy’s gold, and
might be condemned by law, I do suppose. Stephen had a hankerin’ a’ter it, but
he did not get it. It come easy enough to the next man that tried. That Spike ’s
a willian, and the gold was too good for him. He has no conscience at all to
think of a gal of nineteen! And one fit for his betters, in the bargain. The
time has been when Stephen Spike might have pretended to Rose Budd’s equal.
That much I’ll ever maintain, but that time’s gone; and, what is more, it will
never come again. I should like Mulford better if he had a little less
conscience. Conscience may do for Uncle Sam’s ships, but it is sometimes in the
way aboard a trading craft. What can a fellow do with a conscience when dollars
is to be smuggled off, or tobacco smuggled ashore? I do suppose I’ve about as
much conscience as it is useful to have, and I’ve got ashore in my day twenty
thousand dollars’ worth of stuff, of one sort or another, if I’ve got ashore the
valie of ten dollars. But Spike carries on business on too large a scale, and
many’s the time I’ve told him so. I could have forgiven him anything but this
attempt on Rose Budd; and he’s altogether too old for that, to say nothing of
other people’s rights. He’s an up-and-down willian, and a body can make no
more, nor any less of him. That soup must be near done, and I’ll hoist the
signal for grub.”
This signal was a
blue-peter of which one had been brought ashore to signal the brig; and with
which Jack now signalled the schooner. If the reader will turn his eyes toward
the last named vessel, he will find the guests whom Tier expected to surround
his table. Rose, her aunt, and Biddy were all seated, under an awning made by a
sail, on the deck of the schooner, which now floated so buoyantly as to show
that she had materially lightened since last seen. Such indeed was the fact,
and he who had been the instrument of producing this change, appeared on deck
in the person of Mulford, as soon as he was told that the blue-peter of Jack
Tier was flying.
The boat of the
light-house, that in which Spike had landed in quest of Rose, was lying
alongside of the schooner, and sufficiently explained the manner in which the
mate had left the brig. This boat, in fact, had been fastened astern, in the
hurry of getting from under the sloop-of-war’s fire, and Mulford had taken the
opportunity of the consternation and frantic efforts produced by the explosion
of the last shell thrown, to descend from his station on the coach-house into
this boat, to cut the painter, and to let the Swash glide away from him. This
the vessel had done with great rapidity, leaving him unseen under the cover of
her stern. As soon as in the boat, the mate had seized an oar, and sculled to
an islet that was within fifty yards, concealing the boat behind a low hummock
that formed a tiny bay. All this was done so rapidly, that united to the
confusion on board the Swash, no one discovered the mate or the boat. Had he
been seen, however, it is very little probable that Spike would have lost a
moment of time, in the attempt to recover either. But he was not seen, and it
was the general opinion on board the Swash, for quite an hour, that her
handsome mate had been knocked overboard and killed, by a fragment of the shell
that had seemed to explode almost in the ears of her people. When the reef was
doubled, however, and Spike made his preparations for meeting the rough water,
he hove to, and ordered his own yawl, which was also towing astern, to be
hauled up alongside, in order to be hoisted in. Then, indeed, some glimmerings
of the truth were shed on the crew, who missed the light-house boat. Though
many contended that its painter must also have been cut by a fragment of the
shell, and that the mate had died loyal to roguery and treason. Mulford was
much liked by the crew, and he was highly valued by Spike, on account of his
seamanship and integrity, this latter being a quality that is just as necessary
for one of the captain’s character to meet with in those he trusts as to any
other man. But Spike thought differently of the cause of Mulford’s
disappearance, from his crew. He ascribed it altogether to love for Rose, when,
in truth, it ought in justice to have been quite as much imputed to a
determination to sail no longer with a man who was clearly guilty of treason.
Of smuggling, Mulford had long suspected Spike, though he had no direct proof
of the fact; but now he could not doubt that he was not only engaged in
supplying the enemy with the munitions of war, but was actually bargaining to
sell his brig for a hostile cruiser, and possibly to transfer himself and crew
along with her.
It is scarcely
necessary to speak of the welcome Mulford received when he reached the islet of
the tent. He and Rose had a long private conference, the result of which was to
let the handsome mate into the secret of his pretty companion’s true feelings
toward himself. She had received him with tears, and a betrayal of emotion that
gave him every encouragement, and now she did not deny her preference. In that
interview the young people plighted to each other their troth. Rose never
doubted of obtaining her aunt’s consent in due time, all her prejudices being
in favour of the sea and sailors; and should she not, she would soon be her own
mistress, and at liberty to dispose of herself and her pretty little fortune as
she might choose. But a cypher as she was, in all questions of real moment,
Mrs. Budd was not a person likely to throw any real obstacle in the way of the
young people’s wishes; the true grounds of whose present apprehensions were all
to be referred to Spike, his intentions, and his well-known perseverance.
Mulford was convinced that the brig would be back in quest of the remaining
doubloons, as soon as she could get clear of the sloop-of-war, though he was
not altogether without a hope that the latter, when she found it impossible to
overhaul her chase, might also return in order to ascertain what discoveries
could be made in and about the schooner. The explosion of the powder, on the
islet, must have put the man-of-war’s men in possession of the secret of the
real quality of the flour that had composed her cargo, and it doubtless had
awakened all their distrust on the subject of the Swash’s real business in the
Gulf. Under all the circumstances, therefore, it did appear quite as probable
that one of the parties should reappear at the scene of their recent interview
as the other.
Bearing all these
things in mind, Mulford had lost no time in completing his own arrangements. He
felt that he had some atonement to make to the country, for the part he had
seemingly taken in the late events, and it occurred to him, could he put the
schooner in a state to be moved, then place her in the hands of the
authorities, his own peace would be made, and his character cleared. Rose no
sooner understood his plans and motives, than she entered into them with all
the ardour and self-devotion of her sex; for the single hour of confidential
and frank communication which had just passed, doubled the interest she felt in
Mulford and in all that belonged to him. Jack Tier was useful on board a
vessel, though his want of stature and force rendered him less so than was
common with sea-faring men. His proper sphere certainly had been the cabins,
where his usefulness was beyond all cavil; but he was now very serviceable to
Mulford on the deck of the schooner. The first two days, Mrs. Budd had been
left on the islet, to look to the concerns of the kitchen, while Mulford,
accompanied by Rose, Biddy and Jack Tier, had gone off to the schooner, and set
her pumps in motion again. It was little that Rose could do, or indeed attempt
to do, at this toil, but the pumps being small and easily worked, Biddy and
Jack were of great service. By the end of the second day the pumps sucked; the
cargo that remained in the schooner, as well as the form of her bottom,
contributing greatly to lessen the quantity of the water that was to be got out
of her.
Then it was that the
doubloons fell into Mulford’s hands, along with everything else that remained
below decks. It was perhaps fortunate that the vessel was thoroughly purified
by her immersion, and the articles that were brought on deck to be dried were
found in a condition to give no great offence to those who removed them. By leaving
the hatches off, and the cabin doors open, the warm winds of the trades
effectually dried the interior of the schooner in the course of a single night;
and when Mulford repaired on board of her, on the morning of the third day, he
found her in a condition to be fitted for his purposes. On this occasion Mrs.
Budd had expressed a wish to go off to look at her future accommodations, and
Jack was left on the islet to cook the dinner, which will explain the actual
state of things as described in the opening of this chapter.
As those who toil
usually have a relish for their food, the appearance of the blue-peter was far
from being unwelcome to those on board of the schooner. They got into the boat,
and were sculled ashore by Mulford, who, seaman-like, used only one hand in
performing this service. In a very few minutes they were all seated at the
little table, which was brought out into the tent-verandah for the enjoyment of
the breeze.
“So far, well,” said
Mulford, after his appetite was mainly appeased; Rose picking crumbs, and
affecting to eat, merely to have the air of keeping him company; one of the
minor proofs of the little attentions that spring from the affections. “So far,
well. The sails are bent, and though they might be never and better, they can be
made to answer. It was fortunate to find anything like a second suit on board a
Mexican craft of that size at all. As it is, we have foresail, mainsail, and
jib, and with that canvas I think we might beat the schooner down to Key West
in the course of a day and a night. If I dared to venture outside of the reef,
it might be done sooner even, for they tell me there is a four-knot current
sometimes in that track; but I do not like to venture outside, so short-handed.
The current inside must serve our turn, and we shall get smooth water by
keeping under the lee of the rocks. I only hope we shall not get into an eddy
as we go further from the end of the reef, and into the bight of the coast.”
“Is there danger of
that?” demanded Rose, whose quick intellect had taught her many of these
things, since her acquaintance with vessels.
“There may be, looking
at the formation of the reef and islands, though I know nothing of the fact by
actual observation. This is my first visit in this quarter.”
“Eddies are serious matters,”
put in Mrs. Budd, “and my poor husband could not abide them. Tides are good
things; but eddies are very disagreeable.”
“Well, aunty, I should
think eddies might sometimes be as welcome as tides. It must depend, however,
very much on the way one wishes to go.”
“Rose, you surprise me!
All that you have read, and all that you have heard, must have shown you the
difference. Do they not say ‘a man is floating with the tide,’ when things are
prosperous with him--and don’t ships drop down with the tide, and beat the wind
with the tide? And don’t vessels sometimes ‘tide it up to town,’ as it is
called, and is n’t it thought an advantage to have the tide with you?”
“All very true, aunty;
but I do not see how that makes eddies any the worse.”
“Because eddies are the
opposite of tides, child. When the tide goes one way, the eddy goes another--is
n’t it so, Harry Mulford? You never heard of one’s floating in an eddy.”
“That’s what we mean by
an eddy, Mrs. Budd,” answered the handsome mate, delighted to hear Rose’s aunt
call him by an appellation so kind and familiar,--a thing she had never done
previously to the intercourse which had been the consequence of their present
situation. “Though I agree with Rose in thinking an eddy may be a good or a bad
thing, and very much like a tide, as one wishes to steer.”
“You amaze me, both of
you! Tides are always spoken of favourably, but eddies never. If a ship gets
ashore, the tide can float her off; that I’ve heard a thousand times. Then,
what do the newspapers say of President--,and Governor --, and Congressman --?1
Why, that they all ‘float in the tide of public opinion,’ and that must mean
something particularly good, as they are always in office. No, no, Harry; I’ll
acknowledge that you do know something about ships; a good deal, considering
how young you are; but you have something to learn about eddies. Never trust
one as long as you live.”
Mulford was silent, and
Rose took the occasion to change the discourse.
“I hope we shall soon
be able to quit this place,” she said; “for I confess to some dread of Captain
Spike’s return.”
“Captain Stephen Spike
has greatly disappointed me,” observed the aunt, gravely. “I do not know that I
was ever before deceived in judging a person. I could have sworn he was an
honest, frank, well-meaning sailor--a character, of all others, that I love;
but it has turned out otherwise.”
“He’s a willian!”
mutttered Jack Tier.
Mulford smiled; at
which speech we must leave to conjecture; but he answered Rose, as he ever did,
promptly and with pleasure.
“The schooner is ready,
and this must be our last meal ashore,” he said. “Our outfit will be no great
matter; but if it will carry us down to Key West, I shall ask no more of it. As
for the return of the Swash, I look upon it as certain. She could easily get
clear of the sloop-of-war, with the start she had, and Spike is a man that
never yet abandoned a doubloon, when he knew where one was to be found.”
“Stephen Spike is like
all his fellow-creatures,” put in Jack Tier, pointedly. “He has his faults, and
he has his virtues.”
“Virtue is a term I
should never think of applying to such a man,” returned Mulford, a little
surprised at the fellow’s earnestness. “The word is a big one, and belongs to
quite another class of persons.” Jack muttered a few syllables that were
unintelligible, when again the conversation changed.
Rose now inquired of
Mulford as to their prospects of getting to Key West. He told her that the
distance was about sixty miles; their route lying along the north or inner side
of the Florida Reef. The whole distance was to be made against the trade-wind,
which was then blowing about an eight-knot breeze, though, bating eddies, they
might expect to be favoured with the current, which was less strong inside than
outside of the reef. As for handling the schooner, Mulford saw no great
difficulty in that. She was not large, and was both lightly sparred and lightly
rigged. All her top-hamper had been taken down by Spike, and nothing remained
but the plainest and most readily-managed gear. A fore-and-aft vessel, sailing
close by the wind, is not difficult to steer; will almost steer herself,
indeed, in smooth water. Jack Tier could take his trick at the helm, in any
weather, even in running before the wind, the time when it is most difficult to
guide a craft, and Rose might be made to understand the use of the tiller, and
taught to govern the motions of a vessel so small and so simply rigged, when on
a wind and in smooth water. On the score of managing the schooner, therefore,
Mulford thought there would be little cause for apprehension. Should the
weather continue settled, he had little doubt of safely landing the whole party
at Key West, in the course of the next four-and-twenty hours. Short sail he
should be obliged to carry, as well on account of the greater facility of
managing it, as on account of the circumstance that the schooner was now in
light ballast trim, and would not bear much canvas. He thought that the sooner
they left the islets the better, as it could not be long ere the brig would be
seen hovering around the spot. All these matters were discussed as the party
still sat at table; and when they left it, which was a few minutes later, it
was to remove the effects they intended to carry away to the boat. This was
soon done, both Jack Tier and Biddy proving very serviceable, while Rose
tripped backward and forward, with a step elastic as a gazelle’s, carrying
light burdens. In half an hour the boat was ready. “Here lies the bag of
doubloons still,” said Mulford, smiling. “Is it to be left, or shall we give it
up to the admiralty court at Key West, and put in a claim for salvage?”
“Better leave it for
Spike,” said Jack unexpectedly. “Should he come back, and find the doubloons,
he may be satisfied, and not look for the schooner. On the other hand, when the
vessel is missing, he will think that the money is in her. Better leave it for
old Stephen.”
“I do not agree with you,
Tier,” said Rose, though she looked as amicably at the steward’s assistant, as
she thus opposed his opinion, as if anxious to persuade rather than coerce. “I
do not quite agree with you. This money belongs to the Spanish merchant; and,
as we take away with us his vessel, to give it up to the authorities at Key
West, I do not think we have a right to put his gold on the shore and abandon
it.”
This disposed of the
question. Mulford took the bag, and carried it to the boat, without waiting to
ascertain if Jack had any objection; while the whole party followed. In a few
minutes everybody and everything in the boat were transferred to the deck of
the schooner. As for the tent, the old sails of which it was made, the
furniture it contained, and such articles of provisions as were not wanted,
they were left on the islet, without regret. The schooner had several casks of
fresh water, which were found in her hold, and she had also a cask or two of
salted meats, besides several articles of food more delicate, that had been
provided by Señor Montefalderon for his own use, and which had not been damaged
by the water. A keg of Boston crackers were among these eatables, quite half of
which were still in a state to be eaten. They were Biddy’s delight; and it was
seldom that she could be seen when not nibbling at one of them. The bread of
the crew was hopelessly damaged. But Jack had made an ample provision of bread
when sent ashore, and there was still a hundred barrels of the flour in the
schooner’s hold. One of these had been hoisted on deck by Mulford, and opened.
The injured flour was easily removed, leaving a considerable quantity fit for
the uses of the kitchen. As for the keg of gunpowder, it was incontinently
committed to the deep.
Thus provided for,
Mulford decided that the time had arrived when he ought to quit his anchorage.
He had been employed most of that morning in getting the schooner’s anchor, a
work of great toil to him, though everybody had assisted. He had succeeded, and
the vessel now rode by a kedge, that he could easily weigh by means of a deck
tackle. It remained now, therefore, to lift this kedge and to stand out of the
bay of the islets. No sooner was the boat secured astern, and its freight
disposed of, than the mate began to make sail. In order to hoist the mainsail
well up, he was obliged to carry the halyards to the windlass. Thus aided, he
succeeded without much difficulty. He and Jack Tier and Biddy got the jib
hoisted by hand; and as for the foresail, that would almost set itself. Of course,
it was not touched until the kedge was aweigh. Mulford found little difficulty
in lifting the last, and he soon had the satisfaction of finding his craft
clear of the ground. As Jack Tier was every way competent to take charge of the
forecastle, Mulford now sprang aft, and took his own station at the helm; Rose
acting as his pretty assistant on the quarter-deck.
There is little mystery
in getting a fore-and-aft vessel under way. Her sails fill almost as a matter
of course, and motion follows as a necessary law. Thus did it prove with the
Mexican schooner, which turned out to be a fast-sailing and an easily-worked
craft. She was, indeed, an American bottom, as it is termed, having been
originally built for the Chesapeake; and, though not absolutely what is
understood by a Baltimore clipper, so nearly of that mould and nature as to
possess some of the more essential qualities. As usually happens, however, when
a foreigner gets hold of an American schooner, the Mexicans had shortened her
masts and lessened her canvas. This circumstance was rather an advantage to
Mulford, who would probably have had more to attend to than he wished under the
original rig of the craft.
Everybody, even to the
fastidious Mrs. Budd, was delighted with the easy and swift movement of the
schooner. Mulford, now he had got her under canvas, handled her without any
difficulty, letting her stand toward the channel through which he intended to
pass, with her sheets just taken in, though compelled to keep a little off, in
order to enter between the islets. No difficulty occurred, however, and in less
than ten minutes the vessel was clear of the channels, and in open water. The
sheets were now flattened in, and the schooner brought close by the wind. A
trial of the vessel on this mode of sailing was no sooner made, than Mulford
was induced to regret he had taken so many precautions against any increasing
power of the wind. To meet emergencies, and under the notion he should have his
craft more under command, the young man had reefed his mainsail, and taken the
bonnets off of the foresail and jib. As the schooner stood up better than he
had anticipated, the mate felt as all seamen are so apt to feel, when they see
that their vessels might be made to perform more than is actually got out of them.
As the breeze was fresh, however, he determined not to let out the reef; and
the labour of lacing on the bonnets again was too great to be thought of just
at that moment.
We all find relief on
getting in motion, when pressed by circumstances. Mulford had been in great
apprehension of the re-appearance of the Swash all that day; for it was about
the time when Spike would be apt to return, in the event of his escaping from
the sloop-of-war, and he dreaded Rose’s again falling into the hands of a man
so desperate. Nor is it imputing more than a very natural care to the young
man, to say that he had some misgivings concerning himself. Spike, by this
time, must be convinced that his business in the Gulf was known; and one who
had openly thrown off his service, as his mate had done, would unquestionably
be regarded as a traitor to his interests, whatever might be the relation in
which he would stand to the laws of the country. It was probable such an
alleged offender would not be allowed to appear before the tribunals of the
land, to justify himself and to accuse the truly guilty, if it were in the
power of the last to prevent it. Great, therefore, was the satisfaction of our
handsome young mate when he found himself again fairly in motion, with a craft
under him, that glided ahead in a way to prove that she might give even the
Swash some trouble to catch her, in the event of a trial of speed.
Everybody entered into
the feelings of Mulford, as the schooner passed gallantly out from between the
islets, and entered the open water. Fathom by fathom did her wake rapidly
increase, until it could no longer be traced back as far as the sandy beaches
that had just been left. In a quarter of an hour more, the vessel had drawn so
far from the land, that some of the smaller and lowest of the islets were
getting to be indistinct. At that instant everybody had come aft, the females
taking their seats on the trunk, which, in this vessel as in the Swash herself,
gave space and height to the cabin.
“Well,” exclaimed Mrs.
Budd, who found the freshness of the sea air invigorating, as well as their
speed exciting, “this is what I call maritime, Rosy, dear. This is what is
meant by the Maritime States, about which we read so much, and which are
commonly thought to be so important. We are now in a Maritime State, and I feel
perfectly happy after all our dangers and adventures!”
“Yes, aunty, and I am
delighted that you are happy,” answered Rose, with frank affection. “We are now
rid of that infamous Spike, and may hope never to see his face more.”
“Stephen Spike has his
good p’ints as well as another,” said Jack Tier, abruptly.
“I know that he is an
old shipmate of yours, Tier, and that you cannot forget how he once stood
connected with you, and am sorry I have said so much against him,” answered
Rose, expressing her concern even more by her looks and tones, than by her
words.
Jack was mollified by
this, and he let his feeling be seen, though he said no more than to mutter, “He’s
a willian!” words that had frequently issued from his lips within the last day
or two.
“Stephen Spike is a
capital seaman, and that is something in any man,” observed the relict of
Captain Budd. “He learned his trade from one who was every way qualified to
teach him, and it’s no wonder he should be expert. Do you expect, Mr. Mulford,
to beat the wind the whole distance to Key West?”
It was not possible for
any one to look more grave than the mate did habitually, while the widow was
floundering through her sea-terms. Rose had taught him that respect for her
aunt was to be one of the conditions of her own regard, though Rose had never
opened her lips to him on the subject.
“Yes, ma’am,” answered
the mate, respectfully, “we are in the trades, and shall have to turn to
windward, every inch of the way to Key West.”
“Of what lock is this
place the key, Rosy?” asked the aunt, innocently enough. “I know that forts and
towns are sometimes called keys, but they always have locks of some sort or
other. Now, Gibraltar is the key of the Mediterranean, as your uncle has told
me fifty times; and I have been there, and can understand why it should be,--
but I do not know of what lock this West is the key.”
“It is not that sort of
key which is meant, aunty, at all-- but quite a different thing. The key meant
is an island.”
“And why should any one
be so silly as to call an island a key?”
“The place where
vessels unload is sometimes called a key,” answered Mulford;--“the French
calling it a quai, and the Dutch kaye. I suppose our English word is derived
from these. Now, a low, sandy island, looking somewhat like keys, or wharves,
seamen have given them this name. Key West is merely a low island.”
“Then there is no lock
to it, or anything to be unfastened,” said the widow, in her most simple
manner.
“It may turn out to be
the key to the Gulf of Mexico, one of these days, ma’am. Uncle Sam is surveying
the reef, and intends to do something here, I believe. When Uncle Sam is really
in earnest, he is capable of performing great things.”
Mrs. Budd was satisfied
with this explanation, though she told Biddy that evening, that “locks and keys
go together, and that the person who christened the island to which they were
going, must have been very weak in his upper story.” But these reflections on
the intellects of her fellow-creatures were by no means uncommon with the
worthy relict; and we cannot say that her remarks made any particular
impression on her Irish maid.
In the mean time, the
Mexican schooner behaved quite to Mulford’s satisfaction. He thought her a
little tender in the squalls, of which they had several that afternoon; but he
remarked to Rose, who expressed her uneasiness at the manner in which the
vessel lay over in one of them, that “she comes down quite easy to her
bearings, but it is hard forcing her beyond them. The vessel needs more cargo
to ballast her, though, on the whole, I find her as stiff as one could expect.
I am now glad that I reefed, and reduced the head sails, though I was sorry at
having done so when we first came out. At this rate of sailing, we ought to be
up with Key West by morning.”
But that rate of
sailing did not continue. Toward evening, the breeze lessened almost to a calm
again, the late tornado appearing to have quite deranged the ordinary stability
of the trades. When the sun set, and it went down into the broad waters of the
Gulf a flood of flame, there was barely a two-knot breeze, and Mulford had no
longer any anxiety on the subject of keeping his vessel on her legs. His
solicitude, now, was confined to the probability of falling in with the Swash.
As yet, nothing was visible, either in the shape of land or in that of a sail.
Between the islets of the Dry Tortugas and the next nearest visible keys, there
is a space of open water, of some forty miles in width. The reef extends across
it, of course; but nowhere does the rock protrude itself above the surface of
the sea. The depth of water on this reef varies essentially. In some places, a
ship of size might pass on to it, if not across it; while in others a man could
wade for miles. There is one deep and safe channel--safe to those who are
acquainted with it--through the centre of this open space, and which is
sometimes used by vessels that wish to pass from one side to the other; but it
is ever better for those whose business does not call them in that direction,
to give the rocks a good berth, more especially in the night.
Mulford had gleaned
many of the leading facts connected with the channels, and the navigation of
those waters, from Spike and the older seamen of the brig, during the time they
had been lying at the Tortugas. Such questions and answers are common enough on
board ships, and, as they are usually put and given with intelligence, one of
our mate’s general knowledge of his profession, was likely to carry away much
useful information. By conversations of this nature, and by consulting the
charts, which Spike did not affect to conceal after the name of his port became
known, the young man, in fact, had so far made himself master of the subject,
as to have tolerably accurate notions of the courses, distances, and general
peculiarities of the reef. When the sun went down, he supposed himself to be
about half-way across the space of open water, and some five-and-twenty miles
dead to windward of his port of departure. This was doing very well for the
circumstances, and Mulford believed himself and his companions clear of spike,
when, as night drew its veil over the tranquil sea, nothing was in sight.
A very judicious
arrangement was made for the watches on board the Mexican schooner, on this
important night. Mrs. Budd had a great fancy to keep a watch, for once in her
life, and, after the party had supped, and the subject came up in the natural
course of things, a dialogue like this occurred:
“Harry must be fatigued,”
said Rose, kindly, “and must want sleep. The wind is so light, and the weather
appears to be so settled, that I think it would be better for him to ‘turn in,’
as he calls it;”--here Rose laughed so prettily that the handsome mate wished
she would repeat the words, --“better that he should ‘turn in’ now, and we can
call him, should there be need of his advice or assistance. I dare say Jack
Tier and I can take very good care of the schooner until daylight.”
Mrs. Budd thought it
would be no more than proper for one of her experience and years to rebuke this
levity, as well as to enlighten the ignorance her niece had betrayed.
“You should be
cautious, my child, how you propose anything to be done on a ship’s board,”
observed the aunt. “It requires great experience and a suitable knowledge of
rigging to give maritime advice. Now, as might have been expected, considering
your years, and the short time you have been at sea, you have made several
serious mistakes in what you have proposed. In the first place, there should
always be a mate on the deck, as I have heard your dear departed uncle say,
again and again; and how can there be a mate on the deck if Mr. Mulford ‘turns
in,’ as you propose, seeing that he’s the only mate we have. Then you should
never laugh at any maritime expression, for each and all are, as a body might
say, solemnized by storms and dangers. That Harry is fatigued I think is very
probable; and he must set our watches, as they call it, when he can make his
arrangements for the night, and take his rest as is usual. Here is my watch to
begin with; and I’ll engage he does not find it two minutes out of the way,
though yours, Rosy dear, like most girl’s time-pieces, is, I’ll venture to say,
dreadfully wrong. Where is your chronometer, Mr. Mulford? let us see how this
excellent watch of mine, which was once my poor departed Mr. Budd’s, will agree
with that piece of your’s, which I have heard you say is excellent.”
Here was a flight in
science and nautical language that poor Mulford could not have anticipated,
even in the captain’s relict! That Mrs. Budd should mistake “setting the watch”
for “setting our watches,” was not so very violent a blunder that one ought to
be much astonished at it in her; but that she should expect to find a
chronometer that was intended to keep the time of Greenwich, agreeing with a
watch that was set for the time of New York, betrayed a degree of ignorance
that the handsome mate was afraid Rose would resent on him, when the mistake
was made to appear. As the widow held out her own watch for the comparison,
however, he could not refuse to produce his own. By Mrs. Budd’s watch it was
past seven o’clock, while by his own, or the Greenwich-set chronometer, it was
a little past twelve.
“How very wrong your
watch is, Mr. Mulford,” cried the good lady, “notwithstanding all you have said
in its favour. It’s quite five hours too fast, I do declare; and now, Rosy
dear, you see the importance of setting watches on a ship’s board, as is done
every evening, my departed husband has often told me.”
“Harry’s must be what
he calls a dog-watch, aunty,” said Rose, laughing, though she scarce knew at
what.
“The watch goes, too,”
added the widow, raising the chronometer to her ear, “though it is so very
wrong. Well, set it, Mr. Mulford; then we will set Rose’s, which I’ll engage is
half an hour out of the way, though it can never be as wrong as yours.”
Mulford was a good deal
embarrassed, but he gained courage by looking at Rose, who appeared to him to
be quite as much mystified as her aunt. For once he hoped Rose was ignorant;
for nothing would be so likely to diminish the feeling produced by the exposure
of the aunt’s mistake, as to include the niece in the same category.
“My watch is a
chronometer, you will recollect, Mrs. Budd,” said the young man.
“I know it; and they
ought to keep the very best time-- that I’ve always heard. My poor Mr. Budd had
two, and they were as large as compasses, and sold for hundreds after his
lamented decease.”
“They were ship’s
chronometers, but mine was made for the pocket. It is true, chronometers are
intended to keep the most accurate time, and usually they do; this of mine, in
particular, would not lose ten seconds in a twelvemonth, did I not carry it on
my person.”
“No, no, it does not
seem to lose any, Harry; it only gains,” cried Rose, laughing.
Mulford was now
satisfied, notwithstanding all that had passed on a previous occasion, that the
laughing, bright-eyed, and quick-witted girl at his elbow, knew no more of the
uses of a chronometer than her unusually dull and ignorant aunt; and he felt
himself relieved from all embarrassment at once. Though he dared not even seem
to distrust Mrs. Budd’s intellect or knowledge before Rose, he did not scruple
to laugh at Rose herself, to Rose. With her there was no jealousy on the score
of capacity, her quickness being almost as obvious to all who approached her as
her beauty.
“Rose Budd, you do not
understand the uses of a chronometer, I see,” said the mate, firmly, “notwithstanding
all I have told you concerning them.”
“It is to keep time,
Harry Mulford, is it not?”
“True, to keep
time--but to keep the time of a particular meridian; you know what meridian
means, I hope?”
Rose looked intently at
her lover, and she looked singularly lovely, for she blushed slightly, though
her smile was as open and amicable as ingenuousness and affection could make
it.
“A meridian means a
point over our heads--the spot where the sun is at noon,” said Rose,
doubtingly.
“Quite right; but it
also means longitude, in one sense. If you draw a line from one pole to the
other, all the places it crosses are on the same meridian. As the sun first
appears in the east, it follows that he rises sooner in places that are east,
than in places that are further west. Thus it is, that at Greenwich, in
England, where there is an observatory made for nautical purposes, the sun
rises about five hours sooner than it does here. All this difference is subject
to rules, and we know exactly how to measure it.”
“How can that be,
Harry? You told me this but the other day, yet have I forgotten it.”
“Quite easily. As the
earth turns round in just twenty-four hours, and its circumference is divided
into three hundred and sixty equal parts, called degrees, we have only to
divide 360 by 24, to know how many of these degrees are included in the
difference produced by one hour of time. There are just fifteen of them, as you
will find by multiplying 24 by 15. It follows that the sun rises just one hour
later, each fifteen degrees of longitude, as you go west, or one hour earlier
each fifteen degrees of longitude as you go east. Having ascertained the
difference by the hour, it is easy enough to calculate for the minutes and
seconds.”
“Yes, yes,” said Rose,
eagerly, “I see all that--go on.”
“Now a chronometer is
nothing but a watch, made with great care, so as not to lose or gain more than
a few seconds in a twelvemonth. Its whole merit is in keeping time accurately.”
“Still I do not see how
that can be anything more than a very good watch.”
“You will see in a
minute, Rose. For purposes that you will presently understand, books are
calculated for certain meridians, or longitudes, as at Greenwich and Paris, and
those who use the books calculated for Greenwich, get their chronometers set at
Greenwich, and those who use the Paris, get their chronometers set to Paris
time. When I was last in England, I took this watch to Greenwich, and had it
set at the Observatory by the true solar time. Ever since it has been running
by that time, and what you see here is the true Greenwich time, after allowing
for a second or two that it may have lost or gained.”
“All that is plain
enough,” said the much interested Rose--“but of what use is it all?”
“To help mariners to
find their longitude at sea, and thus know where they are. As the sun passes so
far north, and so far south of the equator each year, it is easy enough to find
the latitude, by observing his position at noon-day; but for a long time seamen
had great difficulty in ascertaining their longitudes. That, too, is done by
observing the different heavenly bodies, and with greater accuracy than by any
other process; but this thought of measuring the time is very simple, and so
easily put in practice, that we all run by it now.”
“Still I cannot
understand it,” said Rose, looking so intently, so eagerly, and so
intelligently into the handsome mate’s eyes, that he found it was pleasant to
teach her other things besides how to love.
“I will explain it.
Having the Greenwich time in the watch, we observe the sun, in order to
ascertain the true time, wherever we may happen to be. It is a simple thing to
ascertain the true time of day by an observation of the sun, which marks the
hours in his track; and when we get our observation, we have some one to note
the time at a particular instant on the chronometer. By noting the hour,
minutes, and seconds, at Greenwich, at the very instant we observe here, when
we have calculated from that observation the time here, we have only to add, or
subtract, the time here from that of Greenwich, to know precisely how far east
or west we are from Greenwich, which gives us our longitude.”
“I begin to comprehend
it again,” exclaimed Rose, delighted at the acquisition in knowledge she had
just made. “How beautiful it is, yet how simple--but why do I forget it?”
“Perfectly simple, and
perfectly sure, too, when the chronometer is accurate, and the observations are
nicely made. It is seldom we are more than eight or ten miles out of the way,
and for them we keep a look-out. It is only to ascertain the time where you
are, by means that are easily used, then look at your watch to learn the time
of day at Greenwich, or any other meridian you may have selected, and to
calculate your distance, east or west, from that meridian, by the difference in
the two times.”
Rose could have
listened all night, for her quick mind readily comprehended the principle which
lies at the bottom of this useful process, though still ignorant of some of the
details. This time she was determined to secure her acquisition, though it is
quite probable that, woman-like, they were once more lost, almost as easily as
made. Mulford, however, was obliged to leave her, to look at the vessel, before
he stretched himself on the deck, in an old sail; it having been previously determined
that he should sleep first, while the wind was light, and that Jack Tier,
assisted by the females, should keep the first watch. Rose would not detain the
mate, therefore, but let him go his way, in order to see that all was right
before he took his rest.
Mrs. Budd had listened
to Mulford’s second explanation of the common mode of ascertaining the
longitude, with all the attention of which she was capable; but it far exceeded
the powers of her mind to comprehend it. There are persons who accustom
themselves to think so superficially, that it becomes a painful process to
attempt to dive into any of the arcana of nature, and who ever turn from such
investigations wearied and disgusted. Many of these persons, perhaps most of
them, need only a little patience and perseverance to comprehend all the more
familiar phenomena, but they cannot command even that much of the two qualities
named to obtain the knowledge they would fain wish to possess. Mrs. Budd did
not belong to a division as high in the intellectual scale as even this vapid
class. Her intellect was unequal to embracing anything of an abstracted
character, and only received the most obvious impressions, and those quite half
the time it received wrong. The mate’s reasoning, therefore, was not only
inexplicable to her, but it sounded absurd and impossible.
“Rosy, dear,” said the
worthy relict, as soon as she saw Mulford stretch his fine frame on his bed of
canvas, speaking at the same time in a low, confidential tone to her niece, “what
was it that Harry was telling you a little while ago? It sounded to me like
rank nonsense; and men will talk nonsense to young girls, as I have so often
warned you, child. You must never listen to their nonsense, Rosy; but remember
your catechism and confirmation vow, and be a good girl.”
To how many of the
feeble-minded and erring do those offices of the church prove a stay and
support, when their own ordinary powers of resistance would fail them! Rose,
however, viewed the matter just as it was, and answered accordingly.
“But this was nothing
of that nature, aunty,” she said, “and only an account of the mode of finding
out where a ship is, when out of sight of land, in the middle of the ocean. We
had the same subject up the other day.”
“And how did Harry tell
you, this time, that was done, my dear?”
“By finding the
difference in the time of day between two places--just as he did before.”
“But there is no
difference in the time of day, child, when the clocks go well.”
“Yes, there is, aunty
dear, as the sun rises in one place before it does in another.”
“Rose you’ve been
listening to nonsense now! Remember what I have so often told you about young
men, and their way of talking. I admit Harry Mulford is a respectable youth,
and has respectable connections, and since you like one another, you may have
him, with all my heart, as soon as he gets a full-jiggered ship, for I am
resolved no niece of my poor dear husband’s shall ever marry a mate, or a
captain even, unless he has a full-jiggered ship under his feet. But do not
talk nonsense with him. Nonsense is nonsense, though a sensible man talks it.
As for all this stuff about the time of day, you can see it is nonsense, as the
sun rises but once in twenty-four hours, and of course there cannot be two
times, as you call it.”
“But, aunty dear, it is
not always noon at London when it is noon at New York.”
“Fiddle-faddle, child;
noon is noon, and there are no more two noons than two suns, or two times.
Distrust what young men tell you, Rosy, if you would be safe, though they
should tell you you are handsome.”
Poor Rose sighed, and
gave up the explanation in despair. Then a smile played around her pretty
mouth. It was not at her aunt that she smiled; this she never permitted herself
to do, weak as was that person, and weak as she saw her to be; she smiled at
the recollection how often Mulford had hinted at her good looks--for Rose was a
female, and had her own weaknesses, as well as another. But the necessity of
acting soon drove these thoughts from her mind, and Rose sought Jack Tier, to
confer with him on the subject of their new duties.
As for Harry Mulford,
his head was no sooner laid on its bunch of sail than he fell into a profound
sleep. There he lay, slumbering as the seaman slumbers, with no sense of
surrounding things. The immense fatigues of that and of the two preceding
days,--for he had toiled at the pumps even long after night had come, until the
vessel was clear,-- weighed him down, and nature was now claiming her
influence, and taking a respite from exertion. Had he been left to himself, it
is probable the mate would not have arisen until the sun had reappeared some
hours.
It is now necessary to
explain more minutely the precise condition, as well as the situation of the
schooner. On quitting his port, Mulford had made a stretch of some two leagues
in length, toward the northward and eastward, when he tacked and stood to the
southward. There was enough of southing in the wind, to make his last course
nearly due south. As he neared the reef, he found that he fell in some miles to
the eastward of the islets,--proof that he was doing very well, and that there
was no current to do him any material harm, if, indeed, there were not actually
a current in his favour. He next tacked to the northward again, and stood in that
direction until near night, when he once more went about. The wind was now so
light that he saw little prospect of getting in with the reef again, until the
return of day; but as he had left orders with Jack Tier to be called at twelve
o’clock, at all events, this gave him no uneasiness. At the time when the mate
lay down to take his rest, therefore, the schooner was quite five-and-twenty
miles to windward of the Dry Tortugas, and some twenty miles to the northward
of the Florida Reef, with the wind quite light at east-south-east. Such, then,
was the position or situation of the schooner.
As respects her
condition, it is easily described. She had but the three sails bent,--mainsail,
foresail, and jib. Her topmasts had been struck, and all the hamper that
belonged to them was below. The mainsail was single reefed, and the foresail
and jib were without their bonnets, as has already been mentioned. This was
somewhat short canvas, but Mulford knew that it would render his craft more
manageable in the event of a blow. Usually, at that season and in that region,
the east trades prevailed with great steadiness, sometimes diverging a little
south of east, as at present, and generally blowing fresh. But, for a short
time previously to, and ever since the tornado, the wind had been unsettled,
the old currents appearing to regain their ascendancy by fits, and then losing
it, in squalls, contrary currents, and even by short calms.
The conference between
Jack Tier and Rose was frank and confidential.
“We must depend mainly
on you,” said the latter, turning to look toward the spot where Mulford lay,
buried in the deepest sleep that had ever gained power over him. “Harry is so
fatigued! It would be shameful to awaken him a moment sooner than is necessary.”
“Ay, ay; so it is
always with young women, when they lets a young man gain their ears,” answered
Jack, without the least circumlocution; “so it is, and so it always will be, I’m
afeard. Nevertheless, men is willians.”
Rose was not affronted
at this plain allusion to the power that Mulford had obtained over her
feelings. It would seem that Jack had got to be so intimate in the cabins, that
his sex was, in a measure, forgotten; and it is certain that his recent
services were not. Without a question, but for his interference, the pretty
Rose Budd would, at that moment, have been the prisoner of Spike, and most
probably the victim of his design to compel her to marry him.
“All men are not
Stephen Spikes,” said Rose, earnestly, “and least of all is Harry Mulford to be
reckoned as one of his sort. But, we must manage to take care of the schooner
the whole night, and let Harry get his rest. He wished to be called at twelve,
but we can easily let the hour go by, and not awaken him.”
“The commanding officer
ought not to be sarved so, Miss Rose. What he says is to be done.”
“I know it, Jack, as to
ordinary matters; but Harry left these orders that we might have our share of
rest, and for no other reason at all. And what is to prevent our having it? We
are four, and can divide ourselves into two watches; one watch can sleep while
the other keeps a look-out.”
“Ay, ay, and pretty
watches they would be! There’s Madam Budd, now; why, she’s quite a navigator,
and knows all about weerin’ and haulin’, and I dares to say could put the
schooner about, to keep her off the reef, on a pinch; though which way the
craft would come round, could best be told a’ter it has been done. It’s as much
as I’d undertake myself, Miss Rose, to take care of the schooner, should it
come on to blow; and as for you, Madam Budd, and that squalling Irishwoman, you’d
be no better than so many housewives ashore.”
“We have strength, and
we have courage, and we can pull, as you have seen. I know very well which way
to put the helm now, and Biddy is as strong as you are yourself, and could help
me all I wished. Then we could always call you, at need, and have your
assistance. Nay, Harry himself can be called, if there should be a real
necessity for it, and I do wish he may not be disturbed until there is that
necessity.”
It was with a good deal
of reluctance that Jack allowed himself to be persuaded into this scheme. He
insisted, for a long time, that an officer should be called at the hour
mentioned by himself, and declared he had never known such an order neglected, “marchant-man,
privateer, or man-of-war.” Rose prevailed over his scruples, however, and there
was a meeting of the three females to make the final arrangements. Mrs. Budd, a
kind-hearted woman, at the worst, gave her assent most cheerfully, though Rose
was a little startled with the nature of the reasoning, with which it was
accompanied.
“You are quite right,
Rosy dear,” said the aunt, “and the thing is very easily done. I’ve long wanted
to keep one watch, at sea; just one watch; to complete my maritime education.
Your poor uncle used to say, ‘Give my wife but one night-watch, and you’d have
as good a seaman in her as heart could wish.’ I’m sure I’ve had night-watches
enough with him and his ailings; but it seems that they were not the sort of
watches he meant. Indeed, I did n’t know till this evening there were so many
watches in the world, at all. But this is just what I want, and just what I’m
resolved to have. Tier shall command one watch and I’ll command the other. Jack’s
shall be the ‘dog-watch,’ as they call it, and mine shall be the ‘middle-watch,’
and last till morning. You shall be in Jack’s watch, Rose, and Biddy shall be
in mine. You know a good deal that Jack do n’t know, and Biddy can do a good
deal I’m rather too stout to do. I do n’t like pulling ropes, but as for
ordering, I’ll turn my back on no captain’s widow out of York.”
Rose had her own
misgivings on the subject of her aunt’s issuing orders on such a subject to any
one, but she made the best of necessity, and completed the arrangements without
further discussion. Her great anxiety was to secure a good night’s rest for
Harry, already feeling a woman’s care in the comfort and ease of the man she
loved. And Rose did love Harry Mulford warmly and sincerely. If the very decided
preference with which she regarded him before they sailed, had not absolutely
amounted to passion, it had come so very near it as to render that access of
feeling certain, under the influence of the association and events which
succeeded. We have not thought it necessary to relate a tithe of the interviews
and intercourse that had taken place between the handsome mate and the pretty
Rose Budd, during the month they had now been shipmates, having left the reader
to imagine the natural course of things, under such circumstances.
Nevertheless, the plighted troth had not been actually given until Harry joined
her on the islet, at a moment when she fancied herself abandoned to a fate
almost as serious as death. Rose had seen Mulford quit the brig, had watched
the mode and manner of his escape, and in almost breathless amazement, and felt
how dear to her he had become, by the glow of delight which warmed her heart,
when assured that he could not, would not, forsake her, even though he remained
at the risk of life. She was now, true to the instinct of her sex, mostly
occupied in making such a return for an attachment so devoted as became her
tenderness and the habits of her mind.
As Mrs. Budd chose what
she was pleased to term the ‘middle-watch,’ giving to Jack Tier and Rose her ‘dog-watch,’
the two last were first on duty. It is scarcely necessary to say, the captain’s
widow got the names of the watches all wrong, as she got the names of
everything else about a vessel; but the plan was to divide the night equally
between these quasi mariners, giving the first half to those who were first on
the look-out, and the remainder to their successors. It soon became so calm,
that Jack left the helm, and came and sat by Rose, on the trunk, where they
conversed confidentially for a long time. Although the reader will, hereafter,
be enabled to form some plausible conjectures on the subject of this dialogue,
we shall give him no part of it here. All that need now be said, is to add,
that Jack did most of the talking, that his past life was the principal theme,
and that the terrible Stephen Spike, he from whom they were now so desirous of
escaping, was largely mixed up with the adventures recounted. Jack found in his
companion a deeply interested listener, although this was by no means the first
time they had gone over together the same story and discussed the same events.
The conversation lasted until Tier, who watched the glass, seeing that its
sands had run out for the last time, announced the hour of midnight. This was
the moment when Mulford should have been called, but when Mrs. Budd and Biddy
Noon were actually awakened in his stead.
“Now, dear aunty,” said
Rose, as she parted from the new watch to go and catch a little sleep herself, “remember
you are not to awaken Harry first, but to call Tier and myself. It would have
done your heart good to have seen how sweetly he has been sleeping all this
time. I do not think he has stirred once since his head was laid on that bunch
of sails, and there he is, at this moment, sleeping like an infant!”
“Yes,” returned the
relict, “it is always so with your true maritime people. I have been sleeping a
great deal more soundly, the whole of the dog-watch, than I ever slept at home,
in my own excellent bed. But it’s your watch below, Rosy, and contrary to rule
for you to stay on the deck, after you’ve been relieved. I’ve heard this a
thousand times.”
Rose was not sorry to
lie down; and her head was scarcely on its pillow, in the cabin, before she was
fast asleep. As for Jack, he found a place among Mulford’s sails, and was
quickly in the same state.
To own the truth, Mrs.
Budd was not quite as much at ease, in her new station, for the first half
hour, as she had fancied to herself might prove to be the case. It was a flat
calm, it is true; but the widow felt oppressed with responsibility and the
novelty of her situation. Time and again had she said, and even imagined, she
should be delighted to fill the very station she then occupied, or to be in
charge of a deck, in a “middle watch.” In this instance, however, as in so many
others, reality did not equal anticipation. She wished to be doing everything,
but did not know how to do anything. As for Biddy, she was even worse off than
her mistress. A month’s experience, or for that matter a twelvemonth’s, could
not unravel to her the mysteries of even a schooner’s rigging. Mrs. Budd had
placed her “at the wheel,” as she called it, though the vessel had no wheel,
being steered by a tiller on deck, in the ’long-shore fashion. In stationing
Biddy, the widow told her that she was to play “tricks at the wheel,” leaving
it to the astounded Irish woman’s imagination to discover what those tricks
were. Failing in ascertaining what might be the nature of her “tricks at the
wheel,” Biddy was content to do nothing, and nothing, under the circumstances,
was perhaps the very best thing she could have done.
Little was required to
be done for the first four hours of Mrs. Budd’s watch. All that time, Rose
slept in her berth, and Mulford and Jack Tier on their sail, while Biddy had
played the wheel a “trick,” indeed, by lying down on deck, and sleeping, too,
as soundly as if she were in the county Down itself. But there was to be an end
of this tranquillity. Suddenly the wind began to blow. At first, the breeze came
in fitful puffs, which were neither very strong nor very lasting. This induced
Mrs. Budd to awaken Biddy. Luckily, a schooner without a topsail could not very
well be taken aback, especially as the head-sheets worked on travellers, and
Mrs. Budd and her assistant contrived to manage the tiller very well for the
first hour that these varying puffs of wind lasted. It is true, the tiller was
lashed, and it is also true, the schooner ran in all directions, having
actually headed to all the cardinal points of the compass, under her present
management. At length, Mrs. Budd became alarmed. A puff of wind came so strong,
as to cause the vessel to lie over so far as to bring the water into the lee
scuppers. She called Jack Tier herself, therefore, and sent Biddy down to
awaken Rose. In a minute, both these auxiliaries appeared on deck. The wind
just then lulled, and Rose, supposing her aunt was frightened at trifles,
insisted on it that Harry should be permitted to sleep on. He had turned over
once, in the course of the night, but not once had he raised his head from his
pillow.
As soon as reinforced,
Mrs. Budd began to bustle about, and to give commands, such as they were, in
order to prove that she was unterrified. Jack Tier gaped at her elbow, and by
way of something to do, he laid his hand on the painter of the Swash’s boat,
which boat was towing astern, and remarked that “some know-nothing had belayed
it with three half-hitches.” This was enough for the relict. She had often
heard the saying that “three half-hitches lost the king’s long-boat,” and she
busied herself, at once, in repairing so imminent an evil. It was far easier
for the good woman to talk than to act; she became what is called “all fingers
and thumbs,” and in loosening the third half-hitch, she cast off the two
others. At that instant, a puff of wind struck the schooner again, and the end
of the painter got away from the widow, who had a last glimpse at the boat, as
the vessel darted ahead, leaving its little tender to vanish in the gloom of
the night.
Jack was excessively
provoked at this accident, for he had foreseen the possibility of having
recourse to that boat yet, in order to escape from Spike. By abandoning the
schooner, and pulling on to the reef, it might have been possible to get out of
their pursuer’s hands, when all other means should fail them. As he was at the
tiller, he put his helm up, and ran off, until far enough to leeward to be to
the westward of the boat, when he might tack, fetch and recover it.
Nevertheless, it now blew much harder than he liked, for the schooner seemed to
be unusually tender. Had he had the force to do it, he would have brailed the
foresail. He desired Rose to call Mulford, but she hesitated about complying.
“Call him--call the
mate, I say,” cried out Jack, in a voice that proved how much he was in
earnest. “These puffs come heavy, I can tell you, and they come often, too.
Call him--call him, at once, Miss Rose, for it is time to tack if we wish to
recover the boat. Tell him, too, to brail the foresail, while we are in
stays--that’s right; another call will start him up.”
The other call was
given, aided by a gentle shake from Rose’s hand. Harry was on his feet in a
moment. A passing instant was necessary to clear his faculties, and to recover
the tenor of his thoughts. During that instant, the mate heard Jack Tier’s
shrill cry of “Hard a-lee--get in that foresail--bear a-hand--in with it, I
say!”
The wind came rushing
and roaring, and the flaps of the canvas were violent and heavy.
“In with the foresail,
I say,” shouted Jack Tier. “She files round like a top, and will be off the
wind on the other tack presently. Bear a-hand!--bear a-hand! It looks black as
night to windward.”
Mulford then regained
all his powers. He sprang to the fore-sheet, calling on the others for aid. The
violent surges produced by the wind prevented his grasping the sheet as soon as
he could wish, and the vessel whirled round on her heel, like a steed that is
frightened. At that critical and dangerous instant, when the schooner was nearly
without motion through the water, a squall struck the flattened sails, and
bowed her down as the willow bends to the gale. Mrs. Budd and Biddy screamed as
usual, and Jack shouted until his voice seemed cracked, to “let go the
head-sheets.” Mulford did make one leap forward, to execute this necessary
office, when the inclining plane of the deck told him it was too late. The wind
fairly howled for a minute, and over went the schooner, the remains of her
cargo shifting as she capsized, in a way to bring her very nearly bottom
upward.
Ay, fare you well, fair
gentleman.
--As You Like it. While the
tyro believes the vessel is about to capsize at every puff of wind, the
practised seaman alone knows when danger truly besets him in this particular
form. Thus it was with Harry Mulford, when the Mexican schooner went over, as
related in the close of the preceding chapter. He felt no alarm until the
danger actually came. Then, indeed, no one there was so quickly, or so
thoroughly apprized of what the result would be, and he directed all his
exertions to meet the exigency. While there was the smallest hope of success,
he did not lessen, in the least, his endeavours to save the vessel; making
almost superhuman efforts to cast off the fore-sheet, so as to relieve the
schooner from the pressure of one of her sails. But, no sooner did he hear the
barrels in the hold surging to leeward, and feel by the inclination of the deck
beneath his feet, that nothing could save the craft, than he abandoned the
sheet, and sprang to the assistance of Rose. It was time he did; for, having
followed him into the vessel’s lee-waist, she was the first to be submerged in
the sea, and would have been hopelessly drowned, but for Mulford’s timely
succour. Women might swim more readily than men, and do so swim, in those
portions of the world where the laws of nature are not counteracted by human
conventions. Rose Budd, however, had received the vicious education which
civilized society inflicts on her sex, and, as a matter of course, was totally
helpless in an element in which it was the design of Divine Providence she
should possess the common means of sustaining herself, like every other being
endued with animal life. Not so with Mulford: he swam with ease and force, and
had no difficulty in sustaining Rose until the schooner had settled into her
new berth, or in hauling her on the vessel’s bottom immediately after.
Luckily, there was no
swell, or so little as not to endanger those who were on the schooner’s bilge;
and Mulford had no sooner placed her in momentary safety at least, whom he
prized far higher than his own life, than he bethought him of his other
companions. Jack Tier had hauled himself up to windward by the rope that
steadied the tiller, and he had called on Mrs. Budd to imitate his example. It
was so natural for even a woman to grasp anything like a rope at such a moment,
that the widow instinctively obeyed, while Biddy seized, at random, the first
thing of the sort that offered. Owing to these fortunate chances, Jack and Mrs.
Budd succeeded in reaching the quarter of the schooner, the former actually
getting up on the bottom of the wreck, on to which he was enabled to float the
widow, who was almost as buoyant as cork, as indeed was the case with Jack
himself. All the stern and bows of the vessel were under water, in consequence
of her leanness forward and aft; but though submerged, she offered a precarious
footing, even in these extremities, to such as could reach them. On the other
hand, the place where Rose stood, or the bilge of the vessel, was two or three
feet above the surface of the sea, though slippery and inclining in shape.
It was not half a
minute from the time that Mulford sprang to Rose’s succour, ere he had her on
the vessel’s bottom. In another half minute, he had waded down on the schooner’s
counter, where Jack Tier was lustily calling to him for “help!” and assisted the
widow to her feet, and supported her until she stood at Rose’s side. Leaving
the last in her aunt’s arms, half distracted between dread and joy, he turned
to the assistance of Biddy. The rope at which the Irish woman had caught, was a
straggling end that had been made fast to the main channels of the schooner,
for the support of a fender, and had been hauled partly in-board to keep it out
of the water. Biddy had found no difficulty in dragging herself up to the
chains, therefore; and had she been content to sustain herself by the rope,
leaving as much of her body submerged as comported with breathing, her task
would have been easy. But, like most persons who do not know how to swim, the
good woman was fast exhausting her strength, by vain efforts to walk on the
surface of an element that was never made to sustain her. Unpractised persons,
in such situations, cannot be taught to believe that their greatest safety is
in leaving as much of their bodies as possible beneath the water, keeping the
mouth and nose alone free for breath. But we have seen even instances in which
men, who were in danger of drowning, seemed to believe it might be possible for
them to craw! over the waves on their hands and knees. The philosophy of the
contrary course is so very simple, that one would fancy a very child might be
made to comprehend it; yet, it is rare to find one unaccustomed to the water,
and who is suddenly exposed to its dangers, that does not resort, under the
pressure of present alarm, to the very reverse of the true means to save his or
her life.
Mulford had no
difficulty in finding Bridget, whose exclamations of “murther!” “help!” “he-l-lup!”
“Jasus!” and other similar cries, led him directly to the spot, where she was
fast drowning herself by her own senseless struggles. Seizing her by the arm,
the active young mate soon placed her on her feet, though her cries did not
cease until she was ordered by her mistress to keep silence.
Having thus rescued the
whole of his companions from immediate danger, Mulford began to think of the
future. He was seized with sudden surprise that the vessel did not sink, and
for a minute he was unable to account for the unusual fact. On the former
occasion, the schooner had gone down almost as soon as she fell over; but now
she floated with so much buoyancy as to leave most of her keel and all of her
bilge on one side quite clear of the water. As one of the main hatches was off,
and the cabin-doors, and booby-hatch doors forward were open, and all were
under water, it required a little reflection on the part of Mulford to
understand on what circumstance all their lives now depended. The mate soon
ascertained the truth, however, and we may as well explain it to the reader in
our own fashion, in order to put him on a level with the young seaman.
The puff of wind, or
little squall, had struck the schooner at the most unfavourable moment for her
safety. She had just lost her way in tacking, and the hull not moving ahead, as
happens when a craft is thus assailed with the motion on her, all the power of
the wind was expended in the direction necessary to capsize her. Another
disadvantage arose from the want of motion. The rudder, which acts solely by
pressing against the water as the vessel meets it, was useless, and it was not
possible to luff, and throw the wind from the sails, as is usually practised by
fore-and-aft rigged craft, in moments of such peril. In consequence of these
united difficulties, the shifting of the cargo in the hold, the tenderness of
the craft itself, and the force of the squall, the schooner had gone so far
over as to carry all three of the openings to her interior suddenly under
water, where they remained, held by the pressure of the cargo that had rolled
to leeward. Had not the water completely covered these openings, or hatches,
the schooner must have sunk in a minute or two, or by the time Mulford had got
all his companions safe on her bilge. But they were completely submerged, and
so continued to be, which circumstance alone prevented the vessel from sinking,
as the following simple explanation will show.
Any person who will put
an empty tumbler, bottom upwards, into a bucket of water, will find that the
water will not rise within the tumbler more than an inch at most. At that point
it is arrested by the resistance of the air, which, unable to escape, and
compressed into a narrow compass, forms a body that the other fluid cannot
penetrate. It is on this simple and familiar principle, that the chemist keeps
his gases, in inverted glasses, placing them on shelves, slightly submerged in
water. Thus it was, then, that the schooner continued to float, though nearly
bottom upward, and with three inlets open, by which the water could and did
penetrate. A considerable quantity of the element had rushed in at the instant
of capsizing, but meeting with resistance from the compressed and pent air, its
progress had been arrested, and the wreck continued to float, sustained by the
buoyancy that was imparted to it, in containing so large a body of a substance
no heavier than atmospheric air. After displacing its weight of water, enough
of buoyancy remained to raise the keel a few feet above the level of the sea.
As soon as Mulford had
ascertained the facts of their situation, he communicated them to his
companions, encouraging them to hope for eventual safety. It was true, their
situation was nearly desperate, admitting that the wreck should continue to
float for ever, since they were almost without food, or anything to drink, and
had no means of urging the hull through the water. They must float, too, at the
mercy of the winds and waves, and should a sea get up, it might soon be
impossible for Mulford himself to maintain his footing on the bottom of the
wreck. All this the young man had dimly shadowed forth to him, through his
professional experience; but the certainty of the vessel’s not sinking
immediately had so far revived his spirits, as to cause him to look on the
bright side of the future, pale as that glimmering of hope was made to appear
whenever reason cast one of its severe glances athwart it.
Harry had no difficulty
in making Rose comprehend their precise situation. Her active and clear mind
understood at once the causes of their present preservation, and most of the
hazards of the future. It was not so with Jack Tier. He was composed, even
resigned; but he could not see the reason why the schooner still floated.
“I know that the
cabin-doors were open,” he said, “and if they wasn’t, of no great matter would
it be, since the joints ar’n’t caulked, and the water would run through them as
through a sieve. I’m afeard, Mr. Mulford, we shall find the wreck going from
under our feet afore long, and when we least wish it, perhaps.”
“I tell you the wreck
will float so long as the air remains in its hold,” returned the mate,
cheerfully. “Do you not see how buoyant it is?--the certain proof that there is
plenty of air within. So long as that remains, the hull must float.”
“I’ve always
understood,” said Jack, sticking to his opinion, “that wessels floats by vartue
of water, and not by vartue of air; and, that when the water gets on the wrong
side on ’em, there’s little hope left of keepin’ ’em up.”
“What has become of the
boat?” suddenly cried the mate. “I have been so much occupied as to have
forgotten the boat. In that boat we might all of us still reach Key West. I see
nothing of the boat!”
A profound silence
succeeded this sudden and unexpected question. All knew that the boat was gone,
and all knew that it had been lost by the widow’s pertinacity and clumsiness;
but no one felt disposed to betray her at that grave moment. Mulford left the
bilge, and waded as far aft as it was at all prudent for him to proceed, in the
vain hope that the boat might be there, fastened by its painter to the schooner’s
tafferel, as he had left it, but concealed from view by the darkness of the
night. Not finding what he was after, he returned to his companions, still
uttering exclamations of surprise at the unaccountable loss of the boat. Rose
now told him that the boat had got adrift some ten or fifteen minutes before
the accident befell them, and that they were actually endeavouring to recover
it when the squall which capsized the schooner struck them.
“And why did you not
call me, Rose?” asked Harry, with a little of gentle reproach in his manner. “It
must have soon been my watch on deck, and it would have been better that I
should lose half an hour of my watch below, than that we should lose the boat.”
Rose was now obliged to
confess that the time for calling him had long been past, and that the faint streak
of light, which was just appearing in the east, was the near approach of day.
This explanation was made gently, but frankly; and Mulford experienced a glow
of pleasure at his heart, even in that moment of jeopardy, when he understood
Rose’s motive for not having him disturbed. As the boat was gone, with little
or no prospect of its being recovered again, no more was said about it; and the
window, who had stood on thorns the while, had the relief of believing that her
awkwardness was forgotten.
It was such a relief
from an imminent danger to have escaped from drowning when the schooner
capsized, that those on her bottom did not, for some little time, realize all
the terrors of their actual situation. The inconvenience of being wet was a
trifle not to be thought of, and, in fact, the light summer dresses worn by
all, linen or cotton as they were entirely, were soon effectually dried in the
wind. The keel made a tolerably convenient seat, and the whole party placed
themselves on it to await the return of day, in order to obtain a view of all
that their situation offered in the way of a prospect. While thus awaiting, a
broken and short dialogue occurred.
“Had you stood to the
northward the whole night?” asked Mulford, gloomily, of Jack Tier; for gloomily
he began to feel, as all the facts of their case began to press more closely on
his mind. “If so, we must be well off the reef, and out of the track of
wreckers and turtlers. How had you the wind, and how did you head before the
accident happened?”
“The wind was light the
whole time, and for some hours it was nearly calm,” answered Jack, in the same
vein; “I kept the schooner’s head to the nor’ard, until I thought we were
getting too far off our course, and then I put her about. I do not think we
could have been any great distance from the reef, when the boat got away from
us, and I suppose we are in its neighbourhood now, for I was tacking to fall in
with the boat when the craft went over.”
“To fall in with the
boat! Did you keep off to leeward of it, then, that you expected to fetch it by
tacking?”
“Ay, a good bit; and I
think the boat is now away here to windward of us, drifting athwart our bows.”
This was important news
to Mulford. Could he only get that boat, the chances of being saved would be
increased a hundred fold, nay, would almost amount to a certainty; whereas, so
long as the wind held to the southward and eastward, the drift of the wreck
must be toward the open water, and consequently so much the further removed
from the means of succor. The general direction of the trades, in that quarter
of the world, is east, and should they get round into their old and proper
quarter, it would not benefit them much; for the reef running south-west, they
could scarcely hope to hit the Dry Tortugas again, in their drift, were life
even spared them sufficiently long to float the distance. Then there might be
currents, about which Mulford knew nothing with certainty; they might set them
in any direction; and did they exist, as was almost sure to be the case, were
much more powerful than the wind in controlling the movements of a wreck.
The mate strained his
eyes in the direction pointed out by Jack Tier, in the hope of discovering the
boat through the haze of the morning, and he actually did discern something that,
it appeared to him, might be the much desired little craft. If he were right,
there was every reason to think the boat would drift down so near them as to
enable him to recover it by swimming. This cheering intelligence was
communicated to his companions, who received it with gratitude and delight. But
the approach of day gradually dispelled that hope, the object which Mulford had
mistaken for the boat, within two hundred yards of the wreck, turning out to be
a small, low, but bare hummock of the reef, at a distance of more than two
miles.
“That is a proof that
we are not far from the reef, at least,” cried Mulford, willing to encourage
those around him all he could, and really much relieved at finding himself so
near even this isolated fragment of terra firma. “This fact is the next
encouraging thing to finding ourselves near the boat, or to falling in with a
sail.”
“Ay, ay,” said Jack,
gloomily; “boat or no boat, ’t will make no great matter of difference now.
There’s customers that’ll be sartain to take all the grists you can send to
their mill.”
“What things are those
glancing about the vessel?” cried Rose, almost in the same breath; “those dark,
sharp-looking sticks--see, there are five or six of them! and they move as if
fastened to something under the water that pulls them about.”
“Them’s the customers I
mean, Miss Rose,” answered Jack, in the same strain as that in which he had
first spoken; “they’re the same thing at sea as lawyers be ashore, and seem
made to live on other folks. Them’s sharks.”
“And yonder is truly
the boat!” added Mulford, with a sigh that almost amounted to a groan. The
light had, by this time, so far returned as to enable the party not only to see
the fins of half a dozen sharks, which were already prowling about the wreck,
the almost necessary consequence of their proximity to a reef in that latitude,
but actually to discern the boat drifting down toward them, at a distance that
promised to carry it past, within the reach of Mulford’s powers of swimming,
though not as near as he could have wished, even under more favourable
circumstances. Had their extremity been greater, or had Rose begun to suffer
from hunger or thirst, Mulford might have attempted the experiment of
endeavoring to regain the boat, though the chances of death by means of the
sharks would be more than equal to those of escape; but still fresh, and not
yet feeling even the heat of the sun of that low latitude, he was not quite
goaded into such an act of desperation. All that remained for the party,
therefore, was to sit on the keel of the wreck, and gaze with longing eyes at a
little object floating past, which, once at their command, might so readily be
made to save them from a fate that already began to appear terrible in the
perspective. Near an hour was thus consumed, ere the boat was about half a mile
to leeward; during which scarcely an eye was turned from it for one instant, or
a word was spoken.
“It is beyond my reach
now,” Mulford at length exclaimed, sighing heavily, like one who became
conscious of some great and irretrievable loss. “Were there no sharks, I could
hardly venture to attempt swimming so far, with the boat drifting from me at
the same time.”
“I should never consent
to let you make the trial, Harry,” murmured Rose, “though it were only half as
far.”
Another pause
succeeded.
“We have now the light
of day,” resumed the mate, a minute or two later, “and may see our true
situation. No sail is in sight, and the wind stands steadily in its old
quarter. Still I do not think we leave the reef. There, you may see breakers
off here at the southward, and it seems as if more rocks rise above the sea, in
that direction. I do not know that our situation would be any the better,
however, were we actually on them, instead of being on this floating wreck.”
“The rocks will never
sink,” said Jack Tier, with so much emphasis as to startle the listeners.
“I do not think this
hull will sink until we are taken off it, or are beyond caring whether it sink
or swim,” returned Mulford.
“I do not know that,
Mr. Mulford. Nothing keeps us up but the air in the hold, you say.”
“Certainly not; but
that air will suffice as long as it remains there.”
“And what do you call
these things?” rejoined the assistant steward, pointing at the water near him,
in or on which no one else saw anything worthy of attention.
Mulford, however, was
not satisfied with a cursory glance, but went nearer to the spot where Tier was
standing. Then, indeed, he saw to what the steward alluded, and was impressed
by it, though he said nothing. Hundreds of little bubbles rose to the surface
of the water, much as one sees them rising in springs. These bubbles are often
met with in lakes and other comparatively shallow waters, but they are rarely
seen in those of the ocean. The mate understood, at a glance, that those he now
beheld were produced by the air which escaped from the hold of the wreck; in
small quantities at a time, it was true, but by a constant and increasing
process. The great pressure of the water forced this air through crevices so
minute that, under ordinary circumstances, they would have proved impenetrable
to this, as they were still to the other fluid, though they now permitted the
passage of the former. It might take a long time to force the air from the
interior of the vessel by such means, but the result was as certain as it might
be slow. As constant dropping will wear a stone, so might the power that kept
the wreck afloat be exhausted by the ceaseless rising of these minute
air-bubbles.
Although Mulford was
entirely sensible of the nature of this new source of danger, we cannot say he
was much affected by it at the moment. It seemed to him far more probable that
they must die of exhaustion, long before the wreck would lose all of its
buoyancy by this slow process, than that even the strongest of their number
could survive for such a period. The new danger, therefore, lost most of its
terrors under this view of the subject, though it certainly did not add to the
small sense of security that remained, to know that inevitably their fate must
be sealed through its agency, should they be able to hold out for a sufficient
time against hunger and thirst. It caused Mulford to muse in silence for many
more minutes.
“I hope we are not
altogether without food,” the mate at length said. “It sometimes happens that
persons at sea carry pieces of biscuit in their pockets, especially those who
keep watch at night. The smallest morsel is now of the last importance.”
At this suggestion,
every one set about an examination. The result was, that neither Mrs. Budd nor
Rose had a particle of food, of any sort, about their persons. Biddy produced
from her pockets, however, a whole biscuit, a large bunch of excellent raisins
that she had filched from the steward’s stores, and two apples,--the last being
the remains of some fruit that Spike had procured a month earlier in New York.
Mulford had half a biscuit, at which he had been accustomed to nibble in his
watches; and Jack lugged out, along with a small plug of tobacco, a couple of
sweet oranges. Here, then, was everything in the shape of victuals or drink,
that could be found for the use of five persons, in all probability for many
days. The importance of securing it for equal distribution, was so obvious,
that Mulford’s proposal to do so met with a common assent. The whole was put in
Mrs. Budd’s bag, and she was intrusted with the keeping of this precious store.
“It may be harder to
abstain from food at first, when we have not suffered from its want, than it
will become after a little endurance,” said the mate. “We are now strong, and
it will be wiser to fast as long as we conveniently can, to-day, and relieve
our hunger by a moderate allowance toward evening, than to waste our means by
too much indulgence at a time when we are strong. Weakness will be sure to come
if we remain long on the wreck.”
“Have you ever suffered
in this way, Harry?” demanded Rose, with interest.
“I have, and that
dreadfully. But a merciful Providence came to my rescue then, and it may not
fail me now. The seaman is accustomed to carry his life in his hand, and to
live on the edge of eternity.”
The truth of this was
so apparent as to produce a thoughtful silence. Anxious glances were cast
around the horizon from time to time, in quest of any sail that might come in
sight, but uselessly. None appeared, and the day advanced without bringing the
slightest prospect of relief. Mulford could see, by the now almost sunken
hummocks, that they were slowly drifting along the reef, toward the southward
and eastward, a current no doubt acting slightly from the north-west. Their
proximity to the reef, however, was of no advantage, as the distance was still
so great as to render any attempt to reach it, even on the part of the mate,
unavailable. Nor would he have been any better off could he have gained a spot
on the rocks that was shallow enough to admit of his walking, since wading
about in such a place would have been less desirable than to be floating where
he was.
The want of water to
drink threatened to be the great evil. Of this, the party on the wreck had not
a single drop! As the warmth of the day was added to the feverish feeling
produced by excitement, they all experienced thirst, though no one murmured. So
utterly without means of relieving this necessity did each person know them all
to be, that no one spoke on the subject at all. In fact, shipwreck never
produced a more complete destitution of all the ordinary agents of helping themselves,
in any form or manner, than was the case here. So sudden and complete had been
the disaster, that not a single article, beyond those on the persons of the
sufferers, came even in view. The masts, sails, rigging, spare spars, in a
word, everything belonging to the vessel was submerged and hidden from their
sight, with the exception of a portion of the vessel’s bottom, which might be
forty feet in length, and some ten or fifteen in width, including that which
was above water on both sides of the keel, though one only of these sides was
available to the females, as a place to move about on. Had Mulford only a
boat-hook, he would have felt it a relief; for not only did the sharks increase
in number, but they grew more audacious, swimming so near the wreck that, more
than once, Mulford apprehended that some one of the boldest of them might make
an effort literally to board them. It is true, he had never known of one of
these fishes attempting to quit his own element in pursuit of his prey; but
such things were reported, and those around the wreck swam so close, and seemed
so eager to get at those who were on it, that there really might be some excuse
for fancying they might resort to unusual means of effecting their object. It
is probable that, like all other animals, they were emboldened by their own
numbers, and were acting in a sort of concert, that was governed by some of the
many mysterious laws of nature that have still escaped human observation.
Thus passed the earlier
hours of that appalling day. Toward noon, Mulford had insisted on the females
dividing one of the oranges between them, and extracting its juice by way of
assuaging their thirst. The effect was most grateful, as all admitted, and even
Mrs. Budd urged Harry and Tier to take a portion of the remaining orange; but
this both steadily refused. Mulford did consent to receive a small portion of
one of the apples, more with a view of moistening his throat than to appease
his hunger, though it had, in a slight degree, the latter effect also. As for
Jack Tier, he declined even the morsel of apple, saying that tobacco answered
his purpose, as indeed it temporarily might.
It was near sunset,
when the steward’s assistant called Mulford aside, and whispered to him that he
had something private to communicate. The mate bade him say on, as they were
out of ear-shot of their companions.
“I’ve been in
sitiations like this afore,” said Jack, “and one l’arns exper’ence by exper’ence.
I know how cruel it is on the feelin’s to have the hopes disapp’inted in these
cases, and therefore shall proceed with caution. But, Mr. Mulford, there’s a
sail in sight, if there is a drop of water in the Gulf!”
“A sail, Jack! I trust
in Heaven you are not deceived!”
“Old eyes are true eyes
in such matters, sir. Be careful not to start the women. They go off like
gunpowder, and, Lord help ’em! have no more command over themselves, when you
loosen ’em once, than so many flying-fish with a dozen dolphins a’ter them.
Look hereaway, sir, just clear of the Irishwoman’s bonnet, a little broad off
the spot where the reef was last seen--if that an’t a sail, my flame is not
Jack Tier.”
A sail there was, sure
enough! It was so very distant, however, as to render its character still
uncertain, though Mulford fancied it was a square-rigged vessel heading to the
northward. By its position, it must be in one of the channels of the reef, and
by its course, if he were not deceived, it was standing through, from the main
passage along the southern side of the rocks, to come out on the northern. All
this was favourable, and at first the young mate felt such a throbbing of the
heart as we all experience when great and unexpected good intelligence is
received. A moment’s reflection, however, made him aware how little was to be
hoped for from this vessel. In the first place, her distance was so great as to
render it uncertain even which way she was steering. Then, there was the
probability that she would pass at so great a distance as to render it
impossible to perceive an object as low as the wreck, and the additional chance
of her passing in the night. Under all the circumstances, therefore, Mulford
felt convinced that there was very little probability of their receiving any
succour from the strange sail; and he fully appreciated Jack Tier’s motive in
forbearing to give the usual call of “Sail, ho!” when he made this discovery.
Still, he could not deny himself the pleasure of communicating to Rose the
cheering fact that a vessel was actually in sight. She could not reason on the
circumstances as he had done, and might at least pass several hours of
comparative happiness by believing that there was some visible chance of
delivery.
The females received
the intelligence with very different degrees of hope. Rose was delighted. To
her their rescue appeared an event so very probable now, that Harry Mulford
almost regretted he had given rise to an expectation which he himself feared
was to be disappointed. The feelings of Mrs. Budd were more suppressed. The
wreck and her present situation were so completely at variance with all her
former notions of the sea and its incidents, that she was almost dumb-founded,
and feared either to speak or to think. Biddy differed from either of her
mistresses--the young or the old; she appeared to have lost all hope, and her physical
energy was fast giving way under her profound moral debility.
From the return of
light that day, Mulford had thought, if it were to prove that Providence had
withdrawn its protecting hand from them, Biddy, who to all appearance ought to
be the longest liver among the females at least, would be the first to sink
under her sufferings. Such is the influence of moral causes on the mere animal.
Rose saw the night shut
in around them, amid the solemn solitude of the ocean, with a mingled sensation
of awe and hope. She had prayed devoutly, and often, in the course of the
preceding day, and her devotions had contributed to calm her spirits. Once or
twice, while kneeling with her head bowed to the keel, she had raised her eyes
toward Harry with a look of entreaty, as if she would implore him to humble his
proud spirit and place himself at her side, and ask that succour from God which
was so much needed, and which indeed it began most seriously to appear that God
alone could yield. The young mate did not comply, for his pride of profession
and of manhood offered themselves as stumbling-blocks to prevent submission to
his secret wishes. Though he rarely prayed, Harry Mulford was far from being an
unbeliever, or one altogether regardless of his duties and obligations to his
Divine Creator. On the contrary, his heart was more disposed to resort to such
means of self-abasement and submission, than he put in practice, and this
because he had been taught to believe that the Anglo-Saxon mariner did not call
on Hercules, on every occasion of difficulty and distress that occurred, as was
the fashion with the Italian and Romish seamen, but he put his own shoulder to
the wheel, confident that Hercules would not forget to help him who knew how to
help himself. But Harry had great difficulty in withstanding Rose’s silent
appeal that evening, as she knelt at the keel for the last time, and turned her
gentle eyes upward at him, as if to ask him once more to take his place at her
side. Withstand the appeal he did, however, though in his inward spirit he
prayed fervently to God to put away this dreadful affliction from the young and
innocent creature before him. When these evening devotions were ended, the
whole party became thoughtful and silent.
It was necessary to
sleep, and arrangements were made to do so, if possible, with a proper regard
for their security. Mulford and Tier were to have the look-out, watch and
watch. This was done that no vessel might pass near them unseen, and that any
change in the weather might be noted and looked to. As it was, the wind had
fallen, and seemed about to vary, though it yet stood in its old quarter, or a
little more easterly, perhaps. As a consequence, the drift of the wreck,
insomuch as it depended on the currents of the air, was more nearly in a line
with the direction of the reef, and there was little ground for apprehending
that they might be driven further from it in the night. Although that reef
offered in reality no place of safety, that was available to his party, Mulford
felt it as a sort of relief, to be certain that it was not distant, possibly
influenced by a vague hope that some passing wrecker or turtler might yet pick
them up.
The bottom of the
schooner and the destitute condition of the party admitted of only very simple
arrangements for the night. The females placed themselves against the keel in
the best manner they could, and thus endeavoured to get a little of the rest
they so much needed. The day had been warm, as a matter of course, and the
contrast produced by the setting of the sun was at first rather agreeable than
otherwise. Luckily Rose had thrown a shawl over her shoulders, not long before
the vessel capsized, and in this shawl she had been saved. It had been dried,
and it now served for a light covering to herself and her aunt, and added
essentially to their comfort. As for Biddy, she was too hardy to need a shawl,
and she protested that she should not think of using one, had she been better
provided. The patient, meek manner in which that humble, but generous-hearted
creature submitted to her fate, and the earnestness with which she had begged
that “Miss Rosy” might have her morsel of the portion of biscuit each received
for a supper, had sensibly impressed Mulford in her favour; and knowing how
much more necessary food was to sustain one of her robust frame and sturdy
habits, than to Rose, he had contrived to give the woman, unknown to herself, a
double allowance. Nor was it surprising that Biddy did not detect this little
act of fraud in her favour, for this double allowance was merely a single
mouthful. The want of water had made itself much more keenly felt than the want
of food, for as yet anxiety, excitement and apprehension prevented the appetite
from being much awakened, while the claims of thirst were increased rather than
the reverse, by these very causes. Still, no one had complained, on this or any
other account, throughout the whole of the long and weary day which had passed.
Mulford took the first
look-out, with the intention of catching a little sleep, if possible, during
the middle hours of the night, and of returning to his duty as morning
approached. For the first hour nothing occurred to divert his attention from
brooding on the melancholy circumstances of their situation. It seemed as if
all around him had actually lost the sense of their cares in sleep, and no
sound was audible amid that ocean waste, but the light washing of the water, as
the gentle waves rolled at intervals against the weather side of the wreck. It
was now that Mulford found a moment for prayer, and seated on the keel, that he
called on the Divine aid, in a fervent but silent petition to God, to put away
this trial from the youthful and beautiful Rose, at least, though he himself
perished. It was the first prayer that Mulford had made in many months, or
since he had joined the Swash--a craft in which that duty was very seldom
thought of.
A few minutes succeeded
this petition, when Biddy spoke.
“Missus--Madam
Budd--dear Missus”--half whispered the Irish woman, anxious not to disturb
Rose, who lay furthest from her--“Missus, bees ye asleep at sich a time as
this?”
“No, Biddy; sleep and I
are strangers to each other, and are likely to be till morning. What do you
wish to say?”
“Anything is better
than my own t’oughts, missus dear, and I wants to talk to ye. Is it no wather
at all they’ll give us so long as we stay in this place?”
“There is no one to
give it to us but God, poor Biddy, and he alone can say what, in his gracious
mercy, it may please him to do. Ah! Biddy, I fear me that I did an unwise and
thoughtless thing, to bring my poor Rose to such a place as this. Were it to be
done over again, the riches of Wall Street would not tempt me to be guilty of
so wrong a thing!”
The arm of Rose was
thrown around her aunt’s neck, and its gentle pressure announced how completely
the offender was forgiven.
“I’s very sorry for
Miss Rose,” rejoined Biddy “and I suffers so much the more meself in thinking
how hard it must be for the like of her to be wantin’ in a swallow of fresh
wather.”
“It is no harder for me
to bear it, poor Biddy,” answered the gentle voice of our heroine, “than it is
for yourself.”
“Is it meself then?
Sure am I, that if I had a quar-r-t of good, swate wather from our own pump,
and that’s far betther is it than the Crothon the best day the Crothon ever
seed--but had I a quar-r-t of it, every dhrap would I give to you, Miss Rose,
to app’ase your thirst, I would.”
“Water would be a great
relief to us all, just now, my excellent Biddy,” answered Rose, “and I wish we
had but a tumbler full of that you name, to divide equally among the whole five
of us.”
“Is it divide? Then it
would be ag’in dividin’ that my voice would be raised, for that same ra’son
that the tumbler would never hold as much as you could dhrink yourself, Miss
Rose.”
“Yet the tumbler full
would be a great blessing for us all, just now,” murmured Mrs. Budd.
“And is n’t mutthon
good ’atin’, ladies! Och! if I had but a good swate pratie, now, from my own
native Ireland, and a dhrap of milk to help wash it down! It’s mighty little
that a body thinks of sich thrifles when there’s abundance of them; but when
there’s none at all, they get to be stronger in the mind than riches and
honours.”
“You say the truth,
Biddy,” rejoined the mistress, “and there is a pleasure in talking of them, if
one can’t enjoy them. I’ve been thinking all the afternoon, Rose, what a
delicious food is a good roast turkey, with cranberry sauce; and I wonder, now,
that I have not been more grateful for the very many that Providence has
bestowed on me in my time. My poor Mr. Budd was passionately fond of mutton,
and I used wickedly to laugh at his fondness for it, sometimes, when he always
had his answer ready, and that was that there are no sheep at sea. How true
that is, Rosy dear! there are indeed no sheep at sea!”
“No, aunty,” answered
Rose’s gentle voice from beneath the shawl;--“there are no such animals on the
ocean, but God is with us here as much as he would be in New York.”
A long silence
succeeded this simple remark of his well beloved, and the young mate hoped that
there would be no more of a dialogue, every syllable of which was a dagger to
his feelings. But nature was stronger than reflection in Mrs. Budd and Biddy,
and the latter spoke again, after a pause of near a quarter of an hour.
“Pray for me, Missus,”
she said, moaningly, “that I may sleep. A bit of sleep would do a body almost
as much good as a bit of bread--I won’t say as much as a dhrap of wather.”
“Be quiet, Biddy, and
we will pray for you,” answered Rose, who fancied by her breathing that her
aunt was about to forget her sufferings for a brief space, in broken slumbers.
“Is it for you I’ll do
that--and sure will I, Miss Rose. Niver would I have quitted Ireland, could I
have thought there was sich a spot on this earth as a place where no wather was
to be had.”
This was the last of
Biddy’s audible complaints, for the remainder of this long and anxious watch of
Mulford. He then set himself about an arrangement which shall be mentioned in
its proper place. At twelve o’clock, or when he thought it was twelve, he
called Jack Tier, who in turn called the mate again at four.
“It looks dark and
threatening,” said Mulford, as he rose to his feet and began to look about him
once more, “though there does not appear to be any wind.”
“It’s a flat calm, Mr.
Mate, and the darkness comes from yonder cloud, which seems likely to bring a
little rain.”
“Rain! Then God is
indeed with us here. You are right, Jack; rain must fall from that cloud. We
must catch some of it, if it be only a drop to cool Rose’s parched tongue.”
“In what?” answered
Tier, gloomily. “She may wring her clothes when the shower is over, and in that
way get a drop. I see no other method.”
“I have bethought me of
all that, and passed most of my watch in making the preparations.”
Mulford then showed
Tier what he had been about, in the long and solitary hours of the first watch.
It would seem that the young man had dug a little trench with his knife, along
the schooner’s bottom, commencing two or three feet from the keel, and near the
spot where Rose was lying, and carrying it as far as was convenient toward the
run, until he reached a point where he had dug out a sort of reservoir to
contain the precious fluid, should any be sent them by Providence. While doing
this, there were no signs of rain; but the young man knew that a shower alone
could save them from insanity, if not from death; and in speculating on the
means of profiting by one, should it come, he had bethought him of this
expedient. The large knife of a seaman had served him a good turn, in carrying
on his work, to complete which there remained now very little to do, and that
was in enlarging the receptacle for the water. The hole was already big enough
to contain a pint, and it might easily be sufficiently enlarged to hold double
that quantity.
Jack was no sooner made
acquainted with what had been done, than he out knife and commenced tearing
splinter after splinter from the planks, to help enlarge the reservoir. This
could only be done by cutting on the surface, for the wood was not three inches
in thickness, and the smallest hole through the plank, would have led to the
rapid escape of the air and to the certain sinking of the wreck. It required a
good deal of judgment to preserve the necessary level also, and Mulford was
obliged to interfere more than once to prevent his companion from doing more
harm than good. He succeeded, however, and had actually made a cavity that
might contain more than a quart of water, when the first large drop fell from
the heavens. This cavity was not a hole, but a long, deep trench--deep for the
circumstances--so nicely cut on the proper level, as to admit of its holding a
fluid in the quantity mentioned.
“Rose--dearest--rise,
and be ready to drink,” said Mulford, tenderly disturbing the uneasy slumbers
of his beloved. “It is about to rain, and God is with us here, as he might be
on the land.”
“Wather!” exclaimed
Biddy, who was awoke with the same call. “What a blessed thing is good swate
wather, and sure am I we ought all to be thankful that there is such a precious
gift in the wor-r-ld.”
“Come, then,” said
Mulford, hurriedly, “it will soon rain --I hear it pattering on the sea. Come
hither, all of you, and drink, as a merciful God furnishes the means.”
This summons was not
likely to be neglected. All arose in haste, and the word “water” was murmured
from every lip. Biddy had less self-command than the others, and she was heard
saying aloud,--“Och! and did n’t I dhrame of the blessed springs and wells of
Ireland the night, and haven’t I dhrunk at ’em all? but now it’s over, and I am
awake, no good has’t done me, and I’m ready to die for one dhrap of wather.”
That drop soon came,
however, and with it the blessed relief which such a boon bestows. Mulford had
barely time to explain his arrangements, and to place the party on their knees,
along his little reservoir and the gutter which led to it, when the pattering
of the rain advanced along the sea, with a deep rushing sound. Presently, the
uplifted faces and open mouths caught a few heavy straggling drops, to cool the
parched tongues, when the water came tumbling down upon them in a thousand
little streams. There was scarcely any wind, and merely the skirt of a large
black cloud floated over the wreck, on which the rain fell barely one minute.
But it fell as rain comes down within the tropics, and in sufficient quantities
for all present purposes. Everybody drank, and found relief, and, when all was
over, Mulford ascertained by examination that his receptacle for the fluid was
still full to overflowing. The abstinence had not been of sufficient length,
nor the quantity taken of large enough amount, to produce injury, though the
thirst was generally and temporarily appeased. It is probable that the coolness
of the hour, day dawning as the cloud moved past, and the circumstance that the
sufferers were wetted to their skins, contributed to the change.
“Oh, blessed, blessed
wather!” exclaimed Biddy, as she rose from her knees; “America, afther all, isn’t
as dhry a country as some say. I’ve niver tasted swater wather in Ireland
itself!”
Rose murmured her
thanksgiving in more appropriate language. A few exclamations also escaped Mrs.
Budd, and Jack Tier had his sententious eulogy on the precious qualities of
sweet water.
The wind rose as the
day advanced, and a swell began to heave the wreck with a power that had
hitherto been dormant. Mulford understood this to be a sign that there had been
a blow at some distance from them, that had thrown the sea into a state of
agitation, which extended itself beyond the influence of the wind. Eagerly did
the young mate examine the horizon, as the curtain of night arose, inch by
inch, as it might be, on the watery panorama, in the hope that a vessel of some
sort or other might be brought within the view. Nor was he wholly disappointed.
The strange sail seen the previous evening was actually there; and what was
more, so near as to allow her hull to be distinctly visible. It was a ship,
under her square canvas, standing from between divided portions of the reef, as
if getting to the northward, in order to avoid the opposing current of the Gulf
Stream. Vessels bound to Mobile, New Orleans, and other ports along the coast
of the Republic, in that quarter of the ocean, often did this; and when the
young mate first caught glimpses of the shadowy outline of this ship, he
supposed it to be some packet, or cotton-droger, standing for her port on the
northern shore. But a few minutes removed the veil, and with it the error of
this notion. A seaman could no longer mistake the craft. Her length, her square
and massive hamper, with the symmetry of her spars, and the long, straight
outline of the hull, left no doubt that it was a cruiser, with her hammocks
unstowed. Mulford now cheerfully announced to his companions, that the ship
they so plainly saw, scarcely a gun-shot distant from them, was the
sloop-of-war which had already become a sort of an acquaintance.
“If we can succeed in
making them see our signal,” cried Mulford, “all will yet be well. Come, Jack,
and help me to put abroad this shawl, the only ensign we can show.”
The shawl of Rose was
the signal spread. Tier and Mulford stood on the keel, and holding opposite
corners, let the rest of the cloth blow out with the wind. For near an hour did
these two extend their arms, and try all possible expedients to make their
signal conspicuous. But, unfortunately, the wind blew directly toward the
cruiser, and instead of exposing a surface of any breadth to the vision of
those on board her, it must, at most, have offered little more than a flitting,
waving line.
As the day advanced,
sail was made on the cruiser. She had stood through the passage, in which she
had been becalmed most of the night, under short canvas; but now she threw out
fold after fold of her studding-sails, and moved away to the westward, with the
stately motion of a ship before the wind. No sooner had she got far enough to
the northward of the reef, than she made a deviation from her course as first
seen, turning her stern entirely to the wreck, and rapidly becoming less and
less distinct to the eyes of those who floated on it.
Mulford saw the
hopelessness of their case, as it respected relief from this vessel; still, he
persevered in maintaining his position on the keel, tossing and waving the
shawl, in all the variations that his ingenuity could devise. He well knew,
however, that their chances of being seen would have been trebled could they
have been ahead instead of astern of the ship. Mariners have few occasions to
look behind them, while a hundred watchful eyes are usually turned ahead, more
especially when running near rocks and shoals. Mrs. Budd wept like an infant
when she saw the sloop-of-war gliding away, reaching a distance that rendered
sight useless, in detecting an object that floated as low on the water as the
wreck. As for Biddy, unable to control her feelings, the poor creature actually
called to the crew of the departing vessel, as if her voice had the power to make
itself heard, at a distance which already exceeded two leagues. It was only by
means of the earnest remonstrances of Rose, that the faithful creature could be
quieted.
“Why will ye not come
to our relaif?” she cried at the top of her voice. “Here are we, helpless as
new-born babies, and ye sailing away from us in a conthrary way! D’ye not
bethink you of the missus, who is much of a sailor, but not sich a one as to
sail on a wrack; and poor Miss Rose, who is the char-rm and delight of all
eyes. Only come and take off Miss Rose, and lave the rest of us, if ye so
likes; for it’s a sin and a shame to lave the likes of her to die in the midst
of the ocean, as if she was no betther nor a fish. Then it will be soon that we
shall ag’in feel the want of wather, and that, too, with nothing but wather to
be seen on all sides of us.”
“It is of no use,” said
Harry, mournfully, stepping down from the keel, and laying aside the shawl. “They
cannot see us, and the distance is now so great as to render it certain they never
will. There is only one hope left. We are evidently set to and fro by the
tides, and it is possible that by keeping in or near this passage, some other
craft may appear, and we be more fortunate. The relief of the rain is a sign
that we are not forgotten by Divine Providence, and with such a protector we
ought not to despair.”
A gloomy and scanty
breaking of the fast succeeded. Each person had one large mouthful of bread,
which was all that prudence would authorize Mulford to distribute. He attempted
a pious fraud, however, by placing his own allowance along with that of Rose’s,
under the impression that her strength might not endure privation as well as
his own. But the tender solicitude of Rose was not to be thus deceived. Judging
of his wishes and motives by her own, she at once detected the deception, and
insisted on retaining no more than her proper share. When this distribution was
completed, and the meagre allowance taken, only sufficient bread remained to
make one more similar scanty meal, if meal a single mouthful could be termed.
As for the water, a want of which would be certain to be felt as soon as the
sun obtained its noon-day power, the shawl was extended over it, in a way to
prevent evaporation as much as possible, and at the same time to offer some
resistance to the fluid’s being washed from its shallow receptacle by the
motion of the wreck, which was sensibly increasing with the increase of the
wind and waves.
Mulford had next an
anxious duty to perform. Throughout the whole of the preceding day he had seen
the air escaping from the hull, in an incessant succession of small bubbles,
which were formidable through their numbers, if not through their size. The
mate was aware that this unceasing loss of the buoyant property of the wreck,
must eventually lead to their destruction, should no assistance come, and he
had marked the floating line, on the bottom of the vessel with his knife, ere
darkness set in, on the previous evening. No sooner did his thoughts recur to
this fact, after the excitement of the first hour of daylight was over, than he
stepped to the different places thus marked, and saw, with an alarm that it
would be difficult to describe, that the wreck had actually sunk into the water
several inches within the last few hours. This was, indeed, menacing their
security in a most serious manner, setting a limit to their existence, which
rendered all precaution on the subject of food and water useless. By the
calculations of the mate, the wreck could not float more than eight-and-forty hours,
should it continue to lose the air at the rate at which it had been hitherto
lost. Bad as all this appeared, things were fated to become much more serious.
The motion of the water quite sensibly increased, lifting the wreck at times in
a way greatly to increase the danger of their situation. The reader will
understand this movement did not proceed from the waves of the existing wind,
but from what is technically called a ground-swell, or the long, heavy
undulations that are left by the tempest that is past, or by some distant gale.
The waves of the present breeze were not very formidable, the reef making a
lee; though they might possibly become inconvenient from breaking on the
weather side of the wreck, as soon as the drift carried the latter fairly abreast
of the passage already mentioned. But the dangers that proceeded from the heavy
ground-swell, which now began to give a considerable motion to the wreck, will
best explain itself by narrating the incidents as they occurred.
Harry had left his marks,
and had taken his seat on the keel at Rose’s side, impatiently waiting for any
turn that Providence might next give to their situation, when a heavy roll of
the wreck first attracted his attention to this new circumstance.
“If any one is thirsty,”
he observed quietly, “he or she had better drink now, while it may be done. Two
or three more such rolls as this last will wash all the water from our gutters.”
“Wather is a blessed
thing,” said Biddy, with a longing expression of the eyes, “and it would be betther
to swallow it than to let it be lost.”
“Then drink, for Heaven’s
sake, good woman--it may be the last occasion that will offer.”
“Sure am I that I would
not touch a dhrap, while the missus and Miss Rosy was a sufferin’.”
“I have no thirst at
all,” answered Rose, sweetly, “and have already taken more water than was good
for me, with so little food on my stomach.”
“Eat another morsel of
the bread, beloved,” whispered Harry, in a manner so urgent that Rose
gratefully complied. “Drink, Biddy, and we will come and share with you before
the water is wasted by this increasing motion.”
Biddy did as desired,
and each knelt in turn and took a little of the grateful fluid, leaving about a
gill in the gutters for the use of those whose lips might again become parched.
“Wather is a blessed
thing,” repeated Biddy, for the twentieth time--“a blessed, blessed thing is
wather!”
A little scream from
Mrs. Budd, which was dutifully taken up by the maid, interrupted the speech of
the latter, and every eye was turned on Mulford, as if to ask an explanation of
the groaning sound that had been heard within the wreck. The young mate
comprehended only too well. The rolling of the wreck had lifted a portion of
the open hatchway above the undulating surface of the sea, and a large quantity
of the pent air within the hold had escaped in a body. The entrance of water to
supply the vacuum had produced the groan. Mulford had made new marks on the
vessel’s bottom with his knife, and he stepped down to them, anxious and nearly
heart-broken, to note the effect. That one surging of the wreck had permitted
air enough to escape to lower it in the water several inches. As yet, however,
the visible limits of their floating foundation had not been sufficiently
reduced to attract the attention of the females; and the young man said nothing
on the subject. He thought that Jack Tier was sensible of the existence of this
new source of danger, but if he were, that experienced mariner imitated his own
reserve, and made no allusion to it. Thus passed the day. Occasionally the
wreck rolled heavily, when more air escaped, the hull settling lower and lower
in the water as a necessary consequence. The little bubbles continued
incessantly to rise, and Mulford became satisfied that another day must decide
their fate. Taking this view of their situation, he saw no use in reserving
their food, but encouraged his companions to share the whole of what remained
at sunset. Little persuasion was necessary, and when night once more came to
envelope them in darkness, not a mouthful of food or a drop of water remained
to meet the necessities of the coming morn. It had rained again for a short
time, in the course of the afternoon, when enough water had been caught to
allay their thirst, and what was almost of as much importance to the females
now, a sufficiency of sun had succeeded to dry their clothes, thus enabling
them to sleep without enduring the chilling damps that might otherwise have
prevented it. The wind had sensibly fallen, and the ground-swell was altogether
gone, but Mulford was certain that the relief had come too late. So much air
had escaped while it lasted as scarce to leave him the hope that the wreck
could float until morning. The rising of the bubbles was now incessant, the
crevices by which they escaped having most probably opened a little, in
consequence of the pressure and the unceasing action of the currents, small as
the latter were.
Just as darkness was
shutting in around them for the second time, Rose remarked to Mulford that it
seemed to her that they had not as large a space for their little world as when
they were first placed on it. The mate, however, successfully avoided an
explanation; and when the watch was again set for the night, the females lay
down to seek their repose, more troubled with apprehensions for a morrow of
hunger and thirst, than by any just fears that might so well have arisen from
the physical certainty that the body which alone kept them from being engulfed
in the sea, could float but a few hours longer. This night Tier kept the
look-out until Jupiter reached the zenith, when Mulford was called to hold the
watch until light returned.
It may seem singular
that any could sleep at all in such a situation. But we get accustomed, in an
incredibly short time, to the most violent changes; and calamities that seem
insupportable, when looked at from a distance, lose half their power if met and
resisted with fortitude. The last may, indeed, be too insignificant a word to
be applied to all of the party on the wreck, on the occasion of which we are
writing, though no one of them all betrayed fears that were troublesome. Of
Mulford it is unnecessary to speak. His deportment had been quiet, thoughtful,
and full of a manly interest in the comfort of others, from the first moment of
the calamity. That Rose should share the largest in his attentions was natural
enough, but he neglected no essential duty to her companions. Rose, herself,
had little hope of being rescued. Her naturally courageous character, however,
prevented any undue exhibitions of despair, and now it was that the niece
became the principal support of the aunt, completely changing the relations
that had formerly existed between them. Mrs. Budd had lost all the little
buoyancy of her mind. Not a syllable did she now utter concerning ships and
their manœuvres. She had been, at first, a little disposed to be querulous and
despairing, but the soothing and pious conversation of Rose awakened a certain
degree of resolution in her, and habit soon exercised its influence over even
her inactive mind. Biddy was a strange mixture of courage, despair, humility,
and consideration for others. Not once had she taken her small allowance of
food without first offering it, and that, too, in perfect good faith, to her “Missus
and Miss Rosy;” yet her moanings for this sort of support, and her complaints
of bodily suffering much exceeded that of all the rest of the party put
together. As for Jack Tier, his conduct singularly belied his appearance. No
one would have expected any great show of manly resolution from the little
rotund, lymphatic figure of Tier; but he had manifested a calmness that denoted
either great natural courage, or a resolution derived from familiarity with
danger. In this particular, even Mulford regarded his deportment with surprise,
not unmingled with respect.
“You have had a
tranquil watch, Jack,” said Harry, when he was called by the person named, and
had fairly aroused himself from his slumbers. “Has the wind stood as it is
since sunset?”
“No change whatever,
sir. It has blown a good working breeze the whole watch, and what is surprising
not as much lipper has got up as would frighten a colt on a sea-beach.”
“We must be near the
reef, by that. I think the only currents we feel come from the tide, and they
seem to be setting us back and forth, instead of carrying us in any one settled
direction.”
“Quite likely, sir; and
this makes my opinion of what I saw an hour since all the more probable.”
“What you saw! In the
name of a merciful Providence, Tier, do not trifle with me! Has any thing been
seen near by?”
“Don’t talk to me of
your liquors and other dhrinks,” murmured Biddy in her sleep. “It’s wather that
is a blessed thing; and I wish I lived, the night and the day, by the swate
pump that’s in our own yard, I do.”
“The woman has been
talking in her sleep, in this fashion, most of the watch,” observed Jack,
coolly, and perhaps a little contemptuously. “But, Mr. Mulford, unless my eyes
have cheated me, we are near that boat again. The passage through the reef is
close aboard us, here, on our larboard bow, as it might be, and the current has
sucked us in it in a fashion to bring it in a sort of athwart-hawse direction
to us.”
“If that boat, after
all, should be sent by Providence to our relief! How long is it since you saw
it, Jack.”
“But a bit since, sir;
or, for that matter, I think I see it now. Look hereaway, sir, just where the
dead-eyes of the fore-rigging would bear from us, if the craft stood upon her
legs, as she ought to do. If that isn’t a boat, it’s a rock out of water.”
Mulford gazed through
the gloom of midnight, and saw, or fancied he saw, an object that might really
be the boat. It could not be very distant either; and his mind was instantly
made up as to the course he would pursue. Should it actually turn out to be
that which he now so much hoped for, and its distance in the morning did not
prove too great for human powers, he was resolved to swim for it at the hazard
of his life. In the meantime, or until light should return, there remained
nothing to do but to exercise as much patience as could be summoned, and to
confide in God, soliciting his powerful succour by secret prayer.
Mulford was no sooner
left alone, as it might be, by Tier’s seeking a place in which to take his rest,
than he again examined the state of the wreck. Little as he had hoped from its
long-continued buoyancy, he found matters even worse than he apprehended they
would be. The hull had lost much air, and had consequently sunk in the water in
an exact proportion to this loss. The space that was actually above the water,
was reduced to an area not more than six or seven feet in one direction, by
some ten or twelve in the other. This was reducing its extent, since the
evening previous, by fully one-half; and there could be no doubt that the air
was escaping, in consequence of the additional pressure, in a ratio that
increased by a sort of arithmetical progression. The young man knew that the
whole wreck, under its peculiar circumstances, might sink entirely beneath the
surface, and yet possess sufficient buoyancy to sustain those that were on it
for a time longer, but this involved the terrible necessity of leaving the
females partly submerged themselves.
Our mate heard his own
heart beat, as he became satisfied of the actual condition of the wreck, and of
the physical certainty that existed of its sinking, at least to the point last
mentioned, ere the sun came to throw his glories over the last view that the
sufferers would be permitted to take of the face of day. It appeared to him
that no time was to be lost. There lay the dim and shapeless object that seemed
to be the boat, distant, as he thought, about a mile. It would not have been
visible at all but for the perfect smoothness of the sea, and the low position
occupied by the observer. At times it did disappear altogether, when it would
rise again, as if undulating in the ground-swell. This last circumstance, more
than any other, persuaded Harry that it was not a rock, but some floating
object that he beheld. Thus encouraged, he delayed no longer. Every moment was
precious, and all might be lost by indecision. He did not like the appearance
of deserting his companions, but, should he fail, the motive would appear in
the act. Should he fail, every one would alike soon be beyond the reach of
censure, and in a state of being that would do full justice to all.
Harry threw off most of
his clothes, reserving only his shirt and a pair of light summer trowsers. He
could not quit the wreck, however, without taking a sort of leave of Rose. On
no account would he awake her, for he appreciated the agony she would feel
during the period of his struggles. Kneeling at her side, he made a short
prayer, then pressed his lips to her warm cheek, and left her. Rose murmured
his name at that instant, but it was as the innocent and young betray their
secrets in their slumbers. Neither of the party awoke.
It was a moment to
prove the heart of man, that in which Harry Mulford, in the darkness of
midnight, alone, unsustained by any encouraging eye, or approving voice, with
no other aid than his own stout arm, and the unknown designs of a mysterious
Providence, committed his form to the sea. For an instant he paused, after he
had waded down on the wreck to a spot where the water already mounted to his
breast, but it was not in misgivings. He calculated the chances, and made an
intelligent use of such assistance as could be had. There had been no sharks
near the wreck that day, but a splash in the water might bring them back again
in a crowd. They were probably prowling over the reef, near at hand. The mate
used great care, therefore, to make no noise. There was the distant object, and
he set it by a bright star, that wanted about an hour before it would sink
beneath the horizon. That star was his beacon, and muttering a few words in
earnest prayer, the young man threw his body forward, and left the wreck,
swimming lightly but with vigour.
I THE YOUTH OF
SHAKSPEARE.
II SHAKSPEARE AND HIS
FRIENDS.
III THE SECRET PASSION.
Comprising together
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--