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The Red Rover: A Tale

by James Fenimore Cooper · English · Gutenberg #11409 · 953,356 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: The Red Rover: A Tale

Author: James Fenimore Cooper


        
Release date: March 1, 2004 [eBook #11409]
                Most recently updated: October 28, 2024

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/11409

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RED ROVER: A TALE ***

The Red Rover

A Tale.

by James Fenimore Cooper

“Ye speak like honest men: pray God ye prove so”

Complete in One Volume

1855

Contents

 Preface.
 Chapter I.
 Chapter II.
 Chapter III.
 Chapter IV.
 Chapter V.
 Chapter VI.
 Chapter VII.
 Chapter VIII.
 Chapter IX.
 Chapter X.
 Chapter XI.
 Chapter XII.
 Chapter XIII.
 Chapter XIV.
 Chapter XV.
 Chapter XVI.
 Chapter XVII.
 Chapter XVIII.
 Chapter XIX.
 Chapter XX.
 Chapter XXI.
 Chapter XXII.
 Chapter XXIII.
 Chapter XXIV.
 Chapter XXV.
 Chapter XXVI.
 Chapter XXVII.
 Chapter XXVIII.
 Chapter XXIX.
 Chapter XXX.
 Chapter XXXI.
 Chapter XXXII.




Preface.


The Writer felt it necessary, on a former occasion, to state, that, in
sketching his marine life, he did not deem himself obliged to adhere,
very closely, to the chronological order of nautical improvements. It
is believed that no very great violation of dates will be found in the
following pages. If any keen-eyed critic of the ocean, however, should
happen to detect a rope rove through the wrong leading-block, or a term
spelt in such a manner as to destroy its true sound, he is admonished
of the duty of ascribing the circumstances, in charity, to any thing
but ignorance on the part of a brother. It must be remembered that
there is an undue proportion of landsmen employed in the mechanical as
well as the more spiritual part of book-making; a fact which, in
itself, accounts for the numberless imperfections that still embarrass
the respective departments of the occupation. In due time, no doubt, a
remedy will be found for this crying evil; and then the world may hope
to see the several branches of the trade a little better ordered. The
true Augustan age of literature can never exist until works shall be as
accurate, in their typography, as a “log book,” and as sententious, in
their matter, as a “watch-bill.”

On the less important point of the materials, which are very possibly
used to so little advantage in his present effort, the Writer does not
intend to be very communicative, if their truth be not apparent, by the
manner in which he has set forth the events in the tale itself, he must
be content to lie under the imputation of having disfigured it, by his
own clumsiness. All testimony must, in the nature of things, resolve
itself into three great classes—the positive, the negative, and the
circumstantial. The first and the last are universally admitted to be
entitled to the most consideration, since the third can only be
resorted to in the absence of the two others. Of the positive evidence
of the verity of its contents, the book itself is a striking proof. It
is hoped, also, that there is no want of circumstance to support this
desirable character. If these two opening points be admitted those who
may be still disposed to cavil are left to the full enjoyment of their
negation, with which the Writer wishes them just as much success as the
question may merit.

To W. B. Shubrick, Esquire, U. S. Navy.


In submitting this hastily-composed and imperfect picture of a few
scenes, peculiar to the profession, to your notice, dear Shubrick, I
trust much more to your kind feelings than to any merit in the
execution. Such as it may be, however, the book is offered as another
tribute to the constant esteem and friendship of

The Author.




The Red Rover.




Chapter I.

Par. “Mars dote on you for his novices.”

_All’s Well that ends Well._


No one, who is familiar with the bustle and activity of an American
commercial town, would recognize, in the repose which now reigns in the
ancient mart of Rhode Island, a place that, in its day, has been ranked
amongst the most important ports along the whole line of our extended
coast. It would seem, at the first glance, that nature had expressly
fashioned the spot to anticipate the wants and to realize the wishes of
the mariner. Enjoying the four great requisites of a safe and
commodious haven, a placid basin, an outer harbour, and a convenient
roadstead, with a clear offing, Newport appeared, to the eyes of our
European ancestors, designed to shelter fleets and to nurse a race of
hardy and expert seamen. Though the latter anticipation has not been
entirely disappointed, how little has reality answered to expectation
in respect to the former. A successful rival has arisen, even in the
immediate vicinity of this seeming favourite of nature, to defeat all
the calculations of mercantile sagacity, and to add another to the
thousand existing evidences “that the wisdom of man is foolishness.”

There are few towns of any magnitude, within our broad territories, in
which so little change has been effected in half a century as in
Newport. Until the vast resources of the interior were developed the
beautiful island on which it stands was a chosen retreat of the
affluent planters of the south, from the heats and diseases of their
burning climate. Here they resorted in crowds, to breathe the
invigorating breezes of the sea. Subjects of the same government, the
inhabitants of the Carolinas and of Jamaica met here, in amity, to
compare their respective habits and policies, and to strengthen each
other in a common delusion, which the descendants of both, in the third
generation, are beginning to perceive and to regret.

The communion left, on the simple and unpractised offspring of the
Puritans, its impression both of good and evil. The inhabitants of the
country, while they derived, from the intercourse, a portion of that
bland and graceful courtesy for which the gentry of the southern
British colonies were so distinguished did not fail to imbibe some of
those peculiar notions, concerning the distinctions in the races of
men, for which they are no less remarkable Rhode Island was the
foremost among the New England provinces to recede from the manners and
opinions of their simple ancestors. The first shock was given, through
her, to that rigid and ungracious deportment which was once believed a
necessary concomitant of true religion, a sort of outward pledge of the
healthful condition of the inward man; and it was also through her that
the first palpable departure was made from those purifying principles
which might serve as an apology for even far more repulsive exteriors.
By a singular combination of circumstances and qualities, which is,
however, no less true than perplexing, the merchants of Newport were
becoming, at the same time, both slave-dealers and gentlemen.

Whatever might have been the moral condition of its proprietors at the
precise period of 1759, the island itself was never more enticing and
lovely. Its swelling crests were still crowned with the wood of
centuries; its little vales were then covered with the living verdure
of the north; and its unpretending but neat and comfortable villas lay
sheltered in groves, and embedded in flowers. The beauty and fertility
of the place gained for it a name which, probably, expressed far more
than was, at that early day, properly understood. The inhabitants of
the country styled their possessions the “Garden of America.” Neither
were their guests, from the scorching plains of the south, reluctant to
concede so imposing a title to distinction. The appellation descended
even to our own time; nor was it entirely abandoned, until the
traveller had the means of contemplating the thousand broad and lovely
vallies which, fifty years ago, lay buried in the dense shadows of the
forest.

The date we have just named was a period fraught with the deepest
interest to the British possessions on this Continent. A bloody and
vindictive war, which had been commenced in defeat and disgrace, was
about to end in triumph. France was deprived of the last of her
possessions on the main, while the immense region which lay between the
bay of Hudson and the territories of Spain submitted to the power of
England. The colonists had shared largely in contributing to the
success of the mother country. Losses and contumely, that had been
incurred by the besotting prejudices of European commanders were
beginning to be forgotten in the pride of success. The blunders of
Braddock, the indolence of Loudon, and the impotency of Abercrombie,
were repaired by the vigour of Amherst, and the genius of Wolfe. In
every quarter of the globe the arms of Britain were triumphant. The
loyal provincials were among the loudest in their exultations and
rejoicings; wilfully shutting their eyes to the scanty meed of applause
that a powerful people ever reluctantly bestows on its dependants, as
though love of glory, like avarice, increases by its means of
indulgence.

The system of oppression and misrule, which hastened a separation that
sooner or later must have occurred, had not yet commenced. The mother
country, if not just, was still complaisant. Like all old and great
nations, she was indulging in the pleasing, but dangerous, enjoyment of
self-contemplation. The qualities and services of a race, who were
believed to be inferior, were, however, soon forgotten; or, if
remembered, it was in order to be misrepresented and vituperated. As
this feeling increased with the discontent of the civil dissensions, it
led to still more striking injustice, and greater folly. Men who, from
their observations, should have known better, were not ashamed to
proclaim, even in the highest council of the nation, their ignorance of
the character of a people with whom they had mingled their blood.
Self-esteem gave value to the opinions of fools. It was under this
soothing infatuation that veterans were heard to disgrace their noble
profession, by boastings that should have been hushed in the mouth of a
soldier of the carpet; it was under this infatuation that Burgoyne
gave, in the Commons of England, that memorable promise of marching
from Quebec to Boston, with a force he saw fit to name—a pledge that he
afterwards redeemed by going over the same ground, with twice the
number of followers, as captives; and it was under this infatuation
that England subsequently threw away her hundred thousand lives, and
lavished her hundred millions of treasure.

The history of that memorable struggle is familiar to every American.
Content with the knowledge that his country triumphed, he is willing to
let the glorious result take its proper place in the pages of history.
He sees that her empire rests on a broad and natural foundation, which
needs no support from venal pens; and, happily for his peace of mind,
no less than for his character, he feels that the prosperity of the
Republic is not to be sought in the degradation of surrounding nations.

Our present purpose leads us back to the period of calm which preceded
the storm of the Revolution. In the early days of the month of October
1759, Newport, like every other town in America, was filled with the
mingled sentiment of grief and joy. The inhabitants mourned the fall of
Wolfe while they triumphed in his victory. Quebec, the strong-hold of
the Canadas, and the last place of any importance held by a people whom
they had been educated to believe were their natural enemies, had just
changed its masters. That loyalty to the Crown of England, which
endured so much before the strange principle became extinct, was then
at its height; and probably the colonist was not to be found who did
not, in some measure, identify his own honour with the fancied glory of
the head of the house of Brunswick. The day on which the action of our
tale commences had been expressly set apart to manifest the sympathy of
the good people of the town, and its vicinity, in the success of the
royal arms. It had opened, as thousands of days have opened since, with
the ringing of bells and the firing of cannon; and the population had,
at an early hour, poured into the streets of the place, with that
determined zeal in the cause of merriment, which ordinarily makes
preconcerted joy so dull an amusement. The chosen orator of the day had
exhibited his eloquence, in a sort of prosaic monody in praise of the
dead hero, and had sufficiently manifested his loyalty, by laying the
glory, not only of that sacrifice, but all that had been reaped by so
many thousands of his brave companions also, most humbly at the foot of
the throne.

Content with these demonstrations of their allegiance the inhabitants
began to retire to their dwellings as the sun settled towards those
immense regions which then lay an endless and unexplored wilderness but
which now are teeming with the fruits and enjoyments of civilized life.
The countrymen from the environs, and even from the adjoining main were
beginning to turn their faces towards their distant homes, with that
frugal care which still distinguishes the inhabitants of the country
even in the midst of their greatest abandonment to pleasures, in order
that the approaching evening might not lead them into expenditures
which were not deemed germain to the proper feelings of the occasion.
In short, the excess of the hour was past, and each individual was
returning into the sober channels of his ordinary avocations, with an
earnestness and discretion which proved he was not altogether unmindful
of the time that had been squandered in the display of a spirit that he
already appeared half disposed to consider a little supererogatory.

The sounds of the hammer, the axe, and the saw were again heard in the
place; the windows of more than one shop were half opened, as if its
owner had made a sort of compromise between his interests and his
conscience; and the masters of the only three inns in the town were to
be seen standing before their doors, regarding the retiring countrymen
with eyes that plainly betrayed they were seeking customers among a
people who were always much more ready to sell than to buy. A few noisy
and thoughtless seamen, belonging to the vessels in the haven, together
with some half dozen notorious tavern-hunters were, however, the sole
fruits of all their nods of recognition, inquiries into the welfare of
wives and children, and, in some instances, of open invitations to
alight and drink.

Worldly care, with a constant, though sometimes an oblique, look at the
future state, formed the great characteristic of all that people who
then dwelt in what were called the provinces of New-England. The
business of the day, however, was not forgotten though it was deemed
unnecessary to digest its proceedings in idleness, or over the bottle.
The travellers along the different roads that led into the interior of
the island formed themselves into little knots, in which the policy of
the great national events they had just been commemorating, and the
manner they had been treated by the different individuals selected to
take the lead in the offices of the day, were freely handled, though
still with great deference to the established reputations of the
distinguished parties most concerned. It was every where conceded that
the prayers, which had been in truth a little conversational and
historical, were faultless and searching exercises; and, on the whole,
(though to this opinion there were some clients of an advocate adverse
to the orator, who were moderate dissenters) it was established, that a
more eloquent oration had never issued from the mouth of man, than had
that day been delivered in their presence. Precisely in the same temper
was the subject discussed by the workmen on a ship, which was then
building in the harbour, and which, in the same spirit of provincial
admiration that has since immortalized so many edifices, bridges, and
even individuals, within their several precincts, was confidently
affirmed to be the rarest specimen then extant of the nice proportions
of naval architecture!

Of the orator himself it may be necessary to say a word, in order that
so remarkable an intellectual prodigy should fill his proper place in
our frail and short-lived catalogue of the worthies of that day. He was
the usual oracle of his neighbourhood, when a condensation of its ideas
on any great event, like the one just mentioned, became necessary. His
learning was justly computed, by comparison, to be of the most profound
and erudite character; and it was very truly affirmed to have
astonished more than one European scholar, who had been tempted, by a
fame which, like heat, was only the more intense from its being so
confined, to grapple with him on the arena of ancient literature. He
was a man who knew how to improve these high gifts to his exclusive
advantage. In but one instance had he ever been thrown enough off his
guard to commit an act that had a tendency to depress the reputation he
had gained in this manner; and that was, in permitting one of his
laboured flights of eloquence to be printed; or, as his more witty
though less successful rival, the only other lawyer in the place,
expressed it, in suffering one of his _fugitive_ essays to be _caught._
But even this experiment, whatever might have been its effects abroad,
served to confirm his renown at home. He now stood before his admirers
in all the dignity of types; and it was in vain for that miserable
tribe of “animalculæ, who live by feeding on the body of genius,” to
attempt to undermine a reputation that was embalmed in the faith of so
many parishes. The brochure was diligently scattered through the
provinces, lauded around the tea-pot, openly extolled in the prints—by
some kindred spirit, as was manifest in the striking similarity of
style—and by one believer, more zealous or perhaps more interested than
the rest, actually put on board the next ship which sailed for “home,”
as England was then affectionately termed, enclosed in an envelope
which bore an address no less imposing than the Majesty of Britain. Its
effect on the straight-going mind of the dogmatic German, who then
filled the throne of the Conqueror, was never known, though they, who
were in the secret of the transmission, long looked, in vain, for the
signal reward that was to follow so striking an exhibition of human
intellect.

Notwithstanding these high and beneficent gifts, their possessor was
now as unconsciously engaged in that portion of his professional
labours which bore the strongest resemblance to the occupation of a
scrivener, as though nature, in bestowing such rare endowments had
denied him the phrenological quality of self-esteem. A critical
observer might, however, have seen, or fancied that he saw, in the
forced humility of his countenance, certain gleamings of a triumph that
should not properly be traced to the fall of Quebec. The habit of
appearing meek had, however, united with a frugal regard for the
precious and irreclaimable minutes, in producing this extraordinary
diligence in a pursuit of a character that was so humble, when compared
with his recent mental efforts.

Leaving this gifted favourite of fortune and nature, we shall pass to
an entirely different individual, and to another quarter of the place.
The spot, to which we wish now to transport the reader, was neither
more nor less than the shop of a tailor, who did not disdain to perform
the most minute offices of his vocation in his own heedful person. The
humble edifice stood at no great distance from the water, in the skirts
of the town, and in such a situation as to enable its occupant to look
out upon the loveliness of the inner basin, and, through a vista cut by
the element between islands, even upon the lake-like scenery of the
outer harbour. A small, though little frequented wharf lay before his
door, while a certain air of negligence, and the absence of bustle,
sufficiently manifested that the place itself was not the immediate
site of the much-boasted commercial prosperity of the port.

The afternoon was like a morning in spring, the breeze which
occasionally rippled the basin possessing that peculiarly bland
influence which is so often felt in the American autumn; and the worthy
mechanic laboured at his calling, seated on his shop board, at an open
window, far better satisfied with himself than many of those whose
fortune it is to be placed in state, beneath canopies of velvet and
gold. On the outer side of the little building, a tall, awkward, but
vigorous and well-formed countryman was lounging, with one shoulder
placed against the side of the shop, as if his legs found the task of
supporting his heavy frame too grievous to be endured with out
assistance, seemingly in waiting for the completion of the garment at
which the other toiled, and with which he intended to adorn the graces
of his person, in an adjoining parish, on the succeeding sabbath.

In order to render the minutes shorter, and, possibly in indulgence to
a powerful propensity to talk, of which he who wielded the needle was
somewhat the subject, but few of the passing moments were suffered to
escape without a word from one or the other of the parties. As the
subject of their discourse had a direct reference to the principal
matter of our tale, we shall take leave to give such portions of it to
the reader as we deem most relevant to a clear exposition of that which
is to follow. The latter will always bear in mind, that he who worked
was a man drawing into the wane of life; that he bore about him the
appearance of one who, either from incompetency or from some fatality
of fortune, had been doomed to struggle through the world, keeping
poverty from his residence only by the aid of great industry and rigid
frugality; and that the idler was a youth of an age and condition that
the acquisition of an entire set of habiliments formed to him a sort of
era in his adventures.

“Yes.” exclaimed the indefatigable shaper of cloth, with a species of
sigh which might have been equally construed into an evidence of the
fulness of his mental enjoyment, or of the excess of his bodily
labours; “yes, smarter sayings have seldom fallen from the lips of man,
than such as the squire pour’d out this very day. When he spoke of the
plains of father Abraham, and of the smoke and thunder of the battle,
Pardon, it stirred up such stomachy feelings in my bosom, that I verily
believe I could have had the heart to throw aside the thimble, and go
forth myself, to seek glory in battling in the cause of the King.”

The youth, whose Christian or ‘given’ name, as it is even now generally
termed in New-England, had been intended, by his pious sponsors, humbly
to express his future hopes, turned his head towards the heroic tailor,
with an expression of drollery about the eye, that proved nature had
not been niggardly in the gift of humour, however the quality was
suppressed by the restraints of a very peculiar manner, and no less
peculiar education.

“There’s an opening now, neighbour Homespun, for an ambitious man,” he
said, “sin’ his Majesty has lost his stoutest general.”

“Yes, yes,” returned the individual who, either in his youth or in his
age, had made so capital a blunder in the choice of a profession, “a
fine and promising chance it is for one who counts but five-and-twenty;
most of my day has gone by, and I must spend the rest of it here, where
you see me, between buckram and osnaburghs—who put the dye into your
cloth, Pardy? it is the best laid-in bark I’ve fingered this fall.”

“Let the old woman alone for giving the lasting colour to her web; I’ll
engage, neighbour Homespun, provided you furnish the proper fit,
there’ll not be a better dress’d lad on the island than my own mother’s
son! But, sin’ you cannot be a general good-man, you’ll have the
comfort of knowing there’ll be no more fighting without you. Every body
agrees the French won’t hold out much longer, and then we must have a
peace for want of enemies.”

“So best, so best, boy; for one, who has seen so much of the horrors of
war as I, knows how to put a rational value on the blessings of
tranquillity!”

“Then you ar’n’t altogether unacquainted, good-man, with the new trade
you thought of setting up?”

“I! I have been through five long and bloody wars, and I’ve reason to
thank God that I’ve gone through them all without a scratch so big as
this needle would make. Five long and bloody, ay, and I may say
glorious wars, have I liv’d through in safety!”

“A perilous time it must have been for you, neighbour. But I don’t
remember to have heard of more than two quarrels with the Frenchmen in
my day.”
“You are but a boy, compared to one who has seen the end of his third
score of years. Here is this war that is now so likely to be soon
ended—Heaven, which rules all things in wisdom, be praised for the
same! Then there was the business of ’45, when the bold Warren sailed
up and down our coasts; a scourge to his Majesty’s enemies, and a
safeguard to all the loyal subjects. Then, there was a business in
Garmany, concerning which we had awful accounts of battles fou’t, in
which men were mowed down like grass falling before the scythe of a
strong arm. That makes three. The fourth was the rebellion of ’15, of
which I pretend not to have seen much, being but a youth at the time;
and the fifth was a dreadful rumour, that was spread through the
provinces, of a general rising among the blacks and Indians, which was
to sweep all us Christians into eternity at a minute’s warning!”

“Well, I had always reckoned you for a home-staying and a peaceable
man, neighbour;” returned the admiring countryman; “nor did I ever
dream that you had seen such serious movings.”

“I have not boasted, Pardon, or I might have added other heavy matters
to the list. There was a great struggle in the East, no longer than the
year ’32, for the Persian throne. You have read of the laws of the
Medes and the Persians: Well, for the very throne that gave forth those
unalterable laws was there a frightful struggle, in which blood ran
like water; but, as it was not in Christendom, I do not account it
among my own experiences; though I might have spoken of the Porteous
mob with great reason, as it took place in another portion of the very
kingdom in which I lived.”

“You must have journeyed much, and been stirring late and early,
good-man, to have seen all these things, and to have got no harm.”

“Yes, yes, I’ve been something of a traveller too, Pardy. Twice have I
been over land to Boston, and once have I sailed through the Great
Sound of Long Island, down to the town of York. It is an awful
undertaking the latter, as it respects the distance, and more
especially because it is needful to pass a place that is likened, by
its name, to the entrance of Tophet.”

“I have often heard the spot call’d ‘Hell Gate’ spoken of, and I may
say, too, that I know a man _well_ who has been through it twice; once
in going to York, and once in coming homeward.”

“He had enough of it, as I’ll engage! Did he tell you of the pot which
tosses and roars as if the biggest of Beelzebub’s fires was burning
beneath, and of the hog’s-back over which the water pitches, as it may
tumble over the Great Falls of the West! Owing to reasonable skill in
our seamen, and uncommon resolution in the passengers, we happily made
a good time of it, through ourselves; though I care not who knows it, I
will own it is a severe trial to the courage to enter that same
dreadful Strait. We cast out our anchors at certain islands, which lie
a few furlongs this side the place, and sent the pinnace, with the
captain and two stout seamen, to reconnoitre the spot, in order to see
if it were in a peaceful state or not. The report being favourable, the
passengers were landed, and the vessel was got through, by the blessing
of Heaven, in safety. We had all reason to rejoice that the prayers of
the congregation were asked before we departed from the peace and
security of our homes!”

“You journeyed round the ‘Gate’ on foot?”—demanded the attentive boor.

“Certain! It would have been a sinful and a blasphemous tempting of
Providence to have done otherwise, seeing that our duty called us to no
such sacrifice. But all that danger is gone by, and so I trust will
that of this bloody war, in which we have both been actors; and then I
humbly hope his sacred Majesty will have leisure to turn his royal mind
to the pirates who infest the coast, and to order some of his stout
naval captains to mete out to the rogues the treatment they are so fond
of giving unto others. It would be a joyful sight to my old eyes to see
the famous and long-hunted Red Rover brought into this very port,
towing at the poop of a King’s cruiser.”

“And is it a desperate villain, he of whom you now make mention?”

“He! There are many he’s in that one, lawless ship, and bloody-minded
and nefarious thieves are they, to the smallest boy. It is
heart-searching and grievous, Pardy, to hear of their evil-doings on
the high seas of the King!”

“I have often heard mention made of the Rover,” returned the
countryman; “but never to enter into any of the intricate particulars
of his knavery.”

“How should you, boy, who live up in the country, know so much of what
is passing on the great deep, as we who dwell in a port that is so much
resorted to by mariners! I am fearful you’ll be making it late home,
Pardon,” he added, glancing his eye at certain lines drawn on his
shop-board, by the aid of which he was enabled to note the progress of
the setting sun. “It is drawing towards the hour of five, and you have
twice that number of miles to go, before you can, by any manner of
means, reach the nearest boundary of your father’s farm.”

“The road is plain, and the people honest,” returned the countryman,
who cared not if it were midnight, provided he could be the bearer of
tidings of some dreadful sea robbery to the ears of those whom he well
knew would throng around him, at his return, to hear the tidings from
the port. “And is he, in truth, so much feared and sought for, as
people say?”

“Is he sought for! Is Tophet sought by a praying Christian? Few there
are on the mighty deep, let them even be as stout for, battle as was
Joshua the great Jewish captain, that would not rather behold the land
than see the top-gallants of that wicked pirate! Men fight for glory,
Pardon, as I may say I have seen, after living through so many wars,
but none love to meet an enemy who hoists a bloody flag at the first
blow, and who is ready to cast both parties into the air, when he finds
the hand of Satan has no longer power to help him.”

“If the rogue is so desperate,” returned the youth straightening his
powerful limbs, with a look of rising pride, “why do not the Island and
the Plantations fit out a coaster in order to bring him in, that he
might get a sight of a wholesome gibbet? Let the drum beat on such a
message through our neighbourhood and I’ll engage that it don’t leave
it without one volunteer at least.”

“So much for not having seen war! Of what use would flails and
pitch-forks prove against men who have sold themselves to the devil?
Often has the Rover been seen at night, or just as the sun has been
going down, by the King’s cruisers, who, having fairly surrounded the
thieves, had good reason to believe that they had them already in the
bilboes; but, when the morning has come, the prize was vanished, by
fair means or by foul!”

“And are the villains so bloody-minded that they are called ‘Red?’”

“Such is the title of their leader,” returned the worthy tailor, who by
this time was swelling with the importance of possessing so interesting
a legend to communicate; “and such is also the name they give to his
vessel; because no man, who has put foot on board her, has ever come
back to say that she has a better or a worse; that is, no honest
mariner or lucky voyager. The ship is of the size of a King’s sloop,
they say, and of like equipments and form; but she has miraculously
escaped from the hands of many a gallant frigate; and once, it is
whispered for no loyal subject would like to say such a scandalous
thing openly, Pardon, that she lay under the guns of a fifty for an
hour, and seemingly, to all eyes, she sunk like hammered lead to the
bottom. But, just as every body was shaking hands, and wishing his
neighbour joy at so happy a punishment coming over the knaves, a
West-Indiaman came into port, that had been robbed by the Rover on the
morning after the night in which it was thought they had all gone into
eternity together. And what makes the matter worse, boy, while the
King’s ship was careening with her keel out, to stop the holes of
cannon balls, the pirate was sailing up and down the coast, as sound as
the day that the wrights first turned her from their hands!”

“Well, this is unheard of!” returned the countryman, on whom the tale
was beginning to make a sensible impression: “Is she a well-turned and
comely ship to the eye? or is it by any means certain that she is an
actual living vessel at all?”

“Opinions differ. Some say, yes; some say, no. But I am well acquainted
with a man who travelled a week in company with a mariner, who passed
within a hundred feet of her, in a gale of wind. Lucky it was for them,
that the hand of the Lord was felt so powerfully on the deep, and that
the Rover had enough to do to keep his own ship from foundering. The
acquaintance of my friend had a good view of both vessel and captain,
therefore, in perfect safety. He said, that the pirate was a man maybe
half as big again as the tall preacher over on the main, with hair of
the colour of the sun in a fog, and eyes that no man would like to look
upon a second time. He saw him as plainly as I see you; for the knave
stood in the rigging of his ship, beckoning, with a hand as big as a
coat-flap, for the honest trader to keep off, in order that the two
vessels might not do one another damage by coming foul.”

“He was a bold mariner, that trader, to go so nigh such a merciless
rogue.”

“I warrant you, Pardon, it was desperately against his will! But it was
on a night so dark—”

“Dark!” interrupted the other; by what contrivance then did he manage
to see so well?”

“No man can say!” answered the tailor, “but see he did, just in the
manner, and the very things I have named to you. More than that, he
took good note of the vessel, that he might know her, if chance, or
Providence, should ever happen to throw her again into his way. She was
a long, black ship, lying low in the water, like a snake in the grass,
with a desperate wicked look, and altogether of dishonest dimensions.
Then, every body says that she appears to sail faster than the clouds
above, seeming to care little which way the wind blows, and that no one
is a jot safer from her speed than her honesty. According to all that I
have heard, she is something such a craft as yonder slaver, that has
been lying the week past, the Lord knows why, in our outer harbour.”

As the gossipping tailor had necessarily lost many precious moments, in
relating the preceding history he now set about redeeming them with the
utmost diligence, keeping time to the rapid movement of his
needle-hand, by corresponding jerks of his head and shoulders. In the
meanwhile, the bumpkin, whose wondering mind was by this time charged
nearly to bursting with what he had heard, turned his look towards the
vessel the other had pointed out, in order to get the only image that
was now required, to enable him to do fitting credit to so moving a
tale, suitably engraved on his imagination. There was necessarily a
pause, while the respective parties were thus severally occupied. It
was suddenly broken by the tailor, who clipped the thread with which he
had just finished the garment, cast every thing from his hands, threw
his spectacles upon his forehead, and, leaning his arms on his knees in
such a manner as to form a perfect labyrinth with the limbs, he
stretched his body forward so far as to lean out of the window,
riveting his eyes also on the ship, which still attracted the gaze of
his companion.

“Do you know, Pardy,” he said, “that strange thoughts and cruel
misgivings have come over me concerning that very vessel? They say she
is a slaver come in for wood and water, and there she has been a week,
and not a stick bigger than an oar has gone up her side, and I’ll
engage that ten drops from Jamaica have gone on board her, to one from
the spring. Then you may see she is anchored in such a way that but one
of the guns from the battery can touch her; whereas, had she been a
real timid trader, she would naturally have got into a place where, if
a straggling picaroon should come into the port, he would have found
her in the very hottest of the fire.”

“You have an ingenious turn with you, good-man,” returned the wondering
countryman; “now a ship might have lain on the battery island itself,
and I would have hardly noticed the thing.”

“’Tis use and experience, Pardon, that makes men of us all. I should
know something of batteries, having seen so many wars, and I served a
campaign of a week, in that very fort, when the rumour came that the
French were sending cruisers from Louisburg down the coast. For that
matter, my duty was to stand sentinel over that very cannon; and, if I
have done the thing once, I have twenty times squinted along the piece,
to see in what quarter it would send its shot, provided such a calamity
should arrive as that it might become necessary to fire it loaded with
real warlike balls.”

“And who are these?” demanded Pardon, with that species of sluggish
curiosity which had been awakened by the wonders related by the other:
“Are these mariners of the slaver, or are they idle Newporters?”

“Them!” exclaimed the tailor; “sure enough, they are new-comers, and it
may be well to have a closer look at them in these troublesome times!
Here, Nab, take the garment, and press down the seams, you idle hussy;
for neighbour Hopkins is straitened for time, while your tongue is
going like a young lawyer’s in a justice court. Don’t be sparing of
your elbow, girl; for it’s no India muslin that you’ll have under the
iron, but cloth that would do to side a house with. Ah! your mother’s
loom, Pardy, robs the seamster of many an honest job.”

Having thus transferred the remainder of the job from his own hands to
those of an awkward, pouting girl, who was compelled to abandon her
gossip with a neighbour, she went to obey his injunctions, he quickly
removed his own person, notwithstanding a miserable limp with which he
had come into the world, from the shop-board to the open air. As more
important characters are, however, about to be introduced to the
reader, we shall defer the ceremony to the opening of another chapter.




Chapter II.

Sir Toby. “Excellent! I smell a device.”

_Twelfth Night._


The strangers were three in number; for strangers the good-man
Homespun, who knew not only the names but most of the private history
of every man and woman within ten miles of his own residence
immediately proclaimed them to be, in a whisper to his companion; and
strangers, too, of a mysterious and threatening aspect. In order that
others may have an opportunity of judging of the probability of the
latter conjecture, it becomes necessary that a more minute account
should be given of the respective appearances of these individuals,
who, unhappily for their reputations, had the misfortune to be unknown
to the gossipping tailor of Newport.

The one, by far the most imposing in his general mien, was a youth who
had apparently seen some six or seven-and-twenty seasons. That those
seasons had not been entirely made of sunny days, and nights of repose,
was betrayed by the tinges of brown which had been laid on his
features, layer after layer in such constant succession, as to have
changed, to a deep olive, a complexion which had once been fair, and
through which the rich blood was still mantling with the finest glow of
vigorous health. His features were rather noble and manly, than
distinguished for their exactness and symmetry; his nose being far more
bold and prominent than regular in its form, with his brows projecting,
and sufficiently marked to give to the whole of the superior parts of
his face that decided intellectual expression which is already becoming
so common to American physiognomy. The mouth was firm and manly; and,
while he muttered to himself, with a meaning smile, as the curious
tailor drew slowly nigher, it discovered a set of glittering teeth,
that shone the brighter from being cased in so dark a setting. The hair
was a jet black, in thick and confused ringlets; the eyes were very
little larger than common, gray, and, though evidently of a changing
expression, rather leaning to mildness than severity. The form of this
young man was of that happy size which so singularly unites activity
with strength. It seemed to be well knit, while it was justly
proportioned, and strikingly graceful. Though these several personal
qualifications were exhibited under the disadvantages of the perfectly
simple, though neat and rather tastefully disposed, attire of a common
mariner, they were sufficiently imposing to cause the suspicious dealer
in buckram to hesitate before he would venture to address the stranger,
whose eye appeared riveted, by a species of fascination, on the reputed
slaver in the outer harbour. A curl of the upper lip, and another
strange smile, in which scorn was mingled with his mutterings, decided
the vacillating mind of the good-man. Without venturing to disturb a
reverie that seemed so profound, he left the youth leaning against the
head of the pile where he had long been standing, perfectly unconscious
of the presence of any intruder, and turned a little hastily to examine
the rest of the party.

One of the remaining two was a white man, and the other a negro. Both
had passed the middle age, and both in their appearances, furnished the
strongest proofs of long exposure to the severity of climate, and to
numberless tempests. They were dressed in the plain, weather-soiled,
and tarred habiliments of common seamen, and bore about their several
persons all the other unerring evidences of their peculiar profession.
The former was of a short, thick-set powerful frame, in which, by a
happy ordering of nature, a little confirmed perhaps by long habit, the
strength was principally seated about the broad and brawny shoulders,
and strong sinewy arms, as if, in the construction of the man, the
inferior members had been considered of little other use than to
transfer the superior to the different situations in which the former
were to display their energies. His head was in proportion to the more
immediate members; the forehead low, and nearly covered with hair; the
eyes small, obstinate, sometimes fierce, and often dull; the nose snub,
coarse, and vulgar; the mouth large and voracious; the teeth short,
clean, and perfectly sound; and the chin broad, manly, and even
expressive. This singularly constructed personage had taken his seat on
an empty barrel, and, with folded arms, he sat examining the
often-mentioned slaver, occasionally favouring his companion, the
black, with such remarks as were suggested by his observation and great
experience.

The negro occupied a more humble post; one better suited to his subdued
habits and inclinations. In stature, and the peculiar division of
animal force, there was a great resemblance between the two, with the
exception that the latter enjoyed the advantage in height, and even in
proportions. While nature had stamped on his lineaments those
distinguishing marks which characterize the race from which he sprung,
she had not done it to that revolting degree to which her displeasure
against that stricken people is often carried. His features were more
elevated than common; his eye was mild, easily excited to joy, and,
like that of his companion, sometimes humorous. His head was beginning
to be sprinkled with gray, his skin had lost the shining jet colour
which had distinguished it in his youth, and all his limbs and
movements bespoke a man whose frame had been equally indurated and
stiffened by unremitted toil. He sat on a low stone, and seemed
intently employed in tossing pebbles into the air, and shewing his
dexterity by catching them in the hand from which they had just been
cast; an amusement which betrayed alike the natural tendency of his
mind to seek pleasure in trifles, and the absence of those more
elevating feelings which are the fruits of education. The process,
however, furnished a striking exhibition of the physical force of the
negro. In order to conduct this trivial pursuit without incumbrance, he
had rolled the sleeve of his light canvas jacket to the elbow, and laid
bare an arm that might have served as a model for the limb of Hercules.

There was certainly nothing sufficiently imposing about the persons of
either of these individuals to repel the investigations of one as much
influenced by curiosity as our tailor. Instead, however, of yielding
directly to the strong impulse, the honest shaper of cloth chose to
conduct his advance in a manner that should afford to the bumpkin a
striking proof of his boasted sagacity. After making a sign of caution
and intelligence to the latter, he approached slowly from behind, with
a light step, that might give him an opportunity of overhearing any
secret that should unwittingly fall from either of the seamen. His
forethought was followed by no very important results, though it served
to supply his suspicions with all the additional testimony of the
treachery of their characters that could be furnished by evidence so
simple as the mere sound of their voices. As to the words themselves,
though the good-man they might well contain treason, he was compelled
to acknowledge to himself that it was so artfully concealed as to
escape even his acute capacity We leave the reader himself to judge of
the correctness of both opinions.

“This is a pretty bight of a basin, Guinea,” observed the white,
rolling his tobacco in his mouth and turning his eyes, for the first
time in many minutes, from the vessel; “and a spot is it that a man,
who lay on a lee-shore without sticks, might be glad to see his craft
in. Now do I call myself something of a seaman, and yet I cannot
weather upon the philosophy of that fellow, in keeping his ship in the
outer harbour, when he might warp her into this mill-pond in half an
hour. It gives his boats hard duty, dusky S’ip; and that I call making
foul weather of fair!”

The negro had been christened Scipio Africanus, by a species of
witticism which was much more common to the Provinces than it is to the
States of America, and which filled so many of the meaner employments
of the country, in name at least, with the counterparts of the
philosophers, heroes, poets, and princes of Rome. To him it was a
matter of small moment, whether the vessel lay in the offing or in the
port; and, without discontinuing his childish amusement, he manifested
the same, by replying, with great indifference of manner,—

“I s’pose he t’ink all the water inside lie on a top.”

“I tell you, Guinea,” returned the other, in a harsh, positive tone,
“the fellow is a know-nothing! Would any man, who understands the
behaviour of a ship, keep his craft in a roadstead, when he might tie
her, head and stern, in a basin like this?”

“What he call roadstead?” interrupted the negro, seizing at once, with
the avidity of ignorance, on the little oversight of his adversary, in
confounding the outer harbour of Newport with the wilder anchorage
below, and with the usual indifference of all similar people to the
more material matter of whether the objection was at all germain to the
point in controversy; “I never hear ’em call anchoring ground, with
land around it, roadstead afore!”

“Hark ye, mister Gold-coast,” muttered the white, bending his head
aside in a threatening manner, though he still disdained to turn his
eyes on his humble adversary, “if you’ve no wish to wear your shins
parcelled for the next month, gather in the slack of your wit, and have
an eye to the manner in which you let it run again. Just tell me this;
isn’t a port a port? and isn’t an offing an offing?”

As these were two propositions to which even the ingenuity of Scipio
could raise no objection, he wisely declined touching on either,
contenting himself with shaking his head in great self-complacency, and
laughing as heartily, at his imaginary triumph over his companion, as
though he had never known care, nor been the subject of wrong and
humiliation, so long and so patiently endured.

“Ay, ay,” grumbled the white, re-adjusting his person in its former
composed attitude, and again crossing the arms, which had been a little
separated, to give force to the menace against the tender member of the
black, “now you are piping the wind out of your throat like a flock of
long-shore crows, you think you’ve got the best of the matter. The Lord
made a nigger an unrational animal; and an experienced seaman, who has
doubled both Capes, and made all the head-lands atween Fundy and Horn,
has no right to waste his breath in teaching any of the breed! I tell
you, Scipio, since Scipio is your name on the ship’s books, though I’ll
wager a month’s pay against a wooden boat-hook that your father was
known at home as Quashee, and your mother as Quasheeba—therefore do I
tell you, Scipio Africa—which is a name for all your colour, I
believe—that yonder chap, in the outer harbour of this here sea-port is
no judge of an anchorage, or he would drop a kedge mayhap hereaway, in
a line with the southern end of that there small matter of an island,
and hauling his ship up to it, fasten her to the spot with good hempen
cables and iron mud-hooks. Now, look you here, S’ip, at the reason of
the matter,” he continued, in a manner which shewed that the little
skirmish that had just passed was like one of those sudden squalls of
which they had both seen so many, and which were usually so soon
succeeded by corresponding seasons of calm; “look you at the whole
rationality of what I say. He has come into this anchorage either for
something or for nothing. I suppose you are ready to admit that. If for
nothing, he might have found that much outside, and I’ll say no more
about it; but if for something, he could get it off easier, provided
the ship lay hereaway, just where I told you, boy, not a fathom ahead
or astern, than where she is now riding, though the article was no
heavier than a fresh handful of feathers for the captain’s pillow. Now,
if you have any thing to gainsay the reason of this, why, I’m ready to
hear it as a reasonable man, and one who has not forgotten his manners
in learning his philosophy.”

“S’pose a wind come out fresh here, at nor-west,” answered the other,
stretching his brawny arm towards the point of the compass he named,
“and a vessel want to get to sea in a hurry, how you t’ink he get her
far enough up to lay through the weather reach? Ha! you answer me dat;
you great scholar, misser Dick, but you never see ship go in wind’s
teeth, or hear a monkey talk.”

“The black is right!” exclaimed the youth, who, it would seem, had
overheard the dispute, while he appeared otherwise engaged; “the slaver
has left his vessel in the outer harbour, knowing that the wind holds
so much to the westward at this season of the year; and then you see he
keeps his light spars aloft, although it is plain enough, by the manner
in which his sails are furled, that he is strong-handed. Can you make
out, boys, whether he has an anchor under foot, or is he merely riding
by a single cable?”

“The man must be a driveller, to lie in such a tides-way, without
dropping his stream, or at least a kedge, to steady the ship,” returned
the white, with out appearing to think any thing more than the received
practice of seamen necessary to decide the point. “That he is no great
judge of an anchorage, I am ready to allow; but no man, who can keep
things so snug aloft, would think of fastening his ship, for any length
of time, by a single cable, to sheer starboard and port, like that
kicking colt, tied to the tree by a long halter, that we fell in with,
in our passage over land from Boston.”

“’Em got a stream down, and all a rest of he anchors stowed,” said the
black, whose dark eye was glancing understandingly at the vessel, while
he still continued to east his pebbles into the air: “S’pose he jam a
helm hard a-port, misser Harry, and take a tide on he larboard bow,
what you t’ink make him kick and gallop about! Golly! I like to see
Dick, without a foot-rope, ride a colt tied to tree!”

Again the negro enjoyed his humour, by shaking his head, as if his
whole soul was amused by the whimsical image his rude fancy had
conjured, and indulged in a hearty laugh; and again his white companion
muttered certain exceedingly heavy and sententious denunciations. The
young man, who seemed to enter very little into the quarrels and
witticisms of his singular associates, still kept his gaze intently
fastened on the vessel, which to him appeared for the moment, to be the
subject of some extraordinary interest. Shaking his own head, though in
a far graver manner, as if his doubts were drawing to a close, he
added, as the boisterous merriment or the negro ceased,—

“Yes, Scipio, you are right: he rides altogether by his stream, and he
keeps every thing in readiness for a sudden move. In ten minutes he
would carry his ship beyond the fire of the battery, provided he had
but a capful of wind.”

“You appear to be a judge in these matters,” said an unknown voice
behind him.

The youth turned suddenly on his heel, and then for the first time, was
he apprised of the presence of any intruders. The surprise, however,
was not confined to himself; for, as there was another newcomer to be
added to the company, the gossipping tailor was quite as much, or even
more, the subject of astonishment, than any of that party, whom he had
been so intently watching as to have prevented him from observing the
approach of still another utter stranger.

The third individual was a man between thirty and forty, and of a mien
and attire not a little adapted to quicken the already active curiosity
of the good-man Homespun. His person was slight, but afforded the
promise of exceeding agility, and even of vigour, especially when
contrasted with his stature which was scarcely equal to the medium
height of man. His skin had been dazzling as that of woman though a
deep red, which had taken possession of the lower lineaments of his
face, and which was particularly conspicuous on the outline of a fine
aquiline nose, served to destroy all appearance of effeminacy. His hair
was like his complexion, fair and fell about his temples in rich,
glossy, and exuberant curls; His mouth and chin were beautiful in their
formation; but the former was a little scornful and the two together
bore a decided character of voluptuousness. The eye was blue, full
without being prominent, and, though in common placid and even soft,
there were moments when it seemed a little unsettled and wild. He wore
a high conical hat, placed a little on one side, so as to give a
slightly rakish expression to his physiognomy, a riding frock of light
green, breeches of buck-skin, high boots, and spurs. In one of his
hands he carried a small whip, with which, when first seen, he was
cutting the air with an appearance of the utmost indifference to the
surprise occasioned by his sudden interruption.

“I say, sir, you seem to be a judge in these matters,” he repeated,
when he had endured the frowning examination of the young seaman quite
as long as comported with his own patience; “you speak like a man who
feels he has a right to give an opinion!”

“Do you find it remarkable that one should not be ignorant of a
profession that he has diligently pursued for a whole life?”

“Hum! I find it a little remarkable, that one, whose business is that
of a handicraft, should dignify his trade with such a sounding name as
_profession,_ We of the learned science of the law, and who enjoy the
particular smiles of the learned universities, can say no more!”

“Then call it trade; for nothing in common with gentlemen of your craft
is acceptable to a seaman,” retorted the young mariner, turning away
from the intruder with a disgust that he did not affect to conceal.

“A lad of some metal!” muttered the other, with a rapid utterance and a
meaning smile. “Let not such a trifle as a word part us, friend. I
confess my ignorance of all maritime matters, and would gladly learn a
little from one as skilful as yourself in the noble—_profession_. I
think you said something concerning the manner in which yonder ship has
an chored, and of the condition in which they keep things alow and
aloft?”

“_Alow_ and aloft!” exclaimed the young sailor, facing his interrogator
with a stare that was quite as expressive as his recent disgust.

“Alow and aloft!” calmly repeated the other.

“I spoke of her neatness aloft, but do not affect to judge of things
below at this distance.”

“Then it was my error; but you will have pity on the ignorance of one
who is so new to the _profession_. As I have intimated, I am no more
than an unworthy barrister, in the service of his Majesty, expressly
sent from home on a particular errand. It it were not a pitiful pun, I
might add, I am not yet—judge.”

“No doubt you will soon arrive at that distinction,” returned the
other, “if his Majesty’s ministers have any just conceptions of modest
merit; unless, indeed you should happen to be prematurely”——

The youth bit his lip, made a haughty inclination of the head, and
walked leisurely up the wharf, followed with the same appearance of
deliberation, by the two seamen who had accompanied him in his visit to
the place. The stranger in green watched the whole movement with a calm
and apparently an amused eye, tapping his boot with his whip, and
seeming to reflect like one who would willingly find means to continue
the discourse.

“Hanged!” he at length uttered, as if to complete the sentence the
other had left unfinished. “It is droll enough that such a fellow
should dare to foretel so elevated a fate for _me_!”

He was evidently preparing to follow the retiring party, when he felt a
hand laid a little unceremoniously on his arm, and his step was
arrested.

“One word in your ear, sir,” said the attentive tailor, making a
significant sign that he had matters of importance to communicate: “A
single word, sir, since you are in the particular service of his
Majesty. Neighbour Pardon,” he continued, with a dignified and
patronising air, “the sun is getting low, and you will make it late
home, I fear. The girl will give you the garment, and—God speed you!
Say nothing of what you have heard and seen, until you have word from
me to that effect; for it is seemly that two men, who have had so much
experience in a war like this, should not lack in discretion. Fare ye
well, lad!—pass the good word to the worthy farmer, your father, not
forgetting a refreshing hint of friendship to the thrifty housewife,
your mother. Fare ye well, honest youth; fare ye well!”

Homespun, having thus disposed of his admiring companion, waited, with
much elevation of mien, until the gaping bumpkin had left the wharf,
before he again turned his look on the stranger in green. The latter
had continued standing in his tracks, with an air of undisturbed
composure, until he was once more addressed by the tailor, whose
character and dimensions he seemed to have taken in, at a single glance
of his rapid eye.

“You say, sir, you are a servant of his Majesty?” demanded the latter,
determined to solve all doubts as to the other’s claims on his
confidence, before he committed himself by any precipitate disclosure.

“I may say more;—his familiar confident!”

“It is an honour to converse with such a man, that I feel in every bone
in my body,” returned the cripple, smoothing his scanty hairs, and
bowing nearly to the earth; “a high and loyal honour do I feel this
gracious privilege to be.”

“Such as it is, my friend, I take on myself in his Majesty’s name, to
bid you welcome.”

“Such munificent condescension would open my whole heart, though
treason, and all other unrighteousness was locked up in it. I am happy,
honoured and I doubt not, honourable sir, to have this opportunity of
proving my zeal to the King, before one who will not fail to report my
humble efforts to his royal ears.”

“Speak freely,” interrupted the stranger in green, with an air of
princely condescension; though one, less simple and less occupied with
his own budding honours than the tailor, might have easily discovered
that he began to grow weary of the other’s prolix loyalty: “Speak
without reserve, friend; it is what we always do at court.” Then,
switching his boot with his riding whip, he muttered to himself, as he
swung his light frame on his heel, with an indolent, indifferent air,
“If the fellow swallows that, he is as stupid as his own goose!”

“I shall, sir, I shall; and a great proof of charity is it in one like
your noble self to listen. You see yonder tall ship, sir, in the outer
harbour of this loyal sea-port?”

“I do; she seems to be an object of general attention among the worthy
lieges of the place.”

“Therein I conceive, sir, you have over-rated the sagacity of my
townsmen. She has been lying where you now see her for many days, and
not a syllable have I heard whispered against her character from mortal
man, except myself.”

“Indeed!” muttered the stranger, biting the handle of his whip, and
fastening his glittering eyes intently on the features of the good-man,
which were literally swelling with the importance of his discovery;
“and what may be the nature of _your_ suspicions?”

“Why, sir, I maybe wrong—and God forgive me if I am—but this is no more
nor less than what has arisen in my mind on the subject. Yonder ship,
and her crew, bear the reputation of being innocent and harmless
slavers, among the good people of Newport and as such are they received
and welcomed in the place, the one to a safe and easy anchorage, and
the others among the taverners and shop-dealers. I would not have you
imagine that a single garment has ever gone from my fingers for one of
all her crew; no, let it be for ever remembered that the whole of their
dealings have been with the young tradesman named Tape, who entices
customers to barter, by backbiting and otherwise defiling the fair
names of his betters in the business: not a garment has been made by my
hands for even the smallest boy.”

“You are lucky,” returned the stranger in green, “in being so well quit
of the knaves! and yet have you forgotten to name the particular
offence with which I am to charge them before the face of the King.”

“I am coming as fast as possible to the weighty matter. You must know,
worthy and commendable sir, that I am a man that has seen much, and
suffered much, in his Majesty’s service. Five bloody and cruel wars
have I gone through, besides other adventures and experiences, such as
becomes a humble subject to suffer meekly and in silence.”

“All of which shall be directly communicated to the royal ear. And now,
worthy friend, relieve your mind, by a frank communication of your
suspicions.”

“Thanks, honourable sir; your goodness in my behalf cannot be
forgotten, though it shall never be said that any impatience to seek
the relief you mention hurried me into a light and improper manner of
unburthening my mind. You must know, honoured gentleman, that
yesterday, as I sat alone, at this very hour, on my board, reflecting
in my thoughts—for the plain reason that my envious neighbour had
enticed all the newly arrived customers to his own shop—well, sir, the
head will be busy when the hands are idle; there I sat, as I have
briefly told you, reflecting in my thoughts, like any other accountable
being, on the calamities of life, and on the great experiences that I
have had in the wars. For you must know, valiant gentleman, besides the
affair in the land of the Medes and Persians, and the Porteous mob in
Edinbro’, five cruel and bloody”——

“There is that in your air which sufficiently proclaims the soldier,”
interrupted his listener, who evidently struggled to keep down his
rising impatience; “but, as my time is so precious, I would now more
especially hear what you have to say concerning yonder ship.”

“Yes, sir, one gets a military look after seeing numberless wars; and
so, happily for the need of both, I have now come to the part of my
secret which touches more particularly on the character of that vessel.
There sat I, reflecting on the manner in which the strange seamen had
been deluded by my tonguey neighbour—for, as you should know, sir, a
desperate talker is that Tape, and a younker who has seen but one war
at the utmost—therefore, was I thinking of the manner in which he had
enticed my lawful customers from my shop, when, as one thought is the
father of another, the following concluding reasoning, as our pious
priest has it weekly in his reviving and searching discourses, came
uppermost in my mind: If these mariners were honest and conscientious
slavers, would they overlook a labouring man with a large family, to
pour their well-earned gold into the lap of a common babbler? I
proclaimed to myself at once, sir, that they would not. I was bold to
say the same in my own mind, and, thereupon, I openly put the question
to all in hearing, If they are not slavers, what are they? A question
which the King himself would, in his royal wisdom, allow to be a
question easier asked than answered; upon which I replied, If the
vessel be no fair-trading slaver, nor a common cruiser of his Majesty,
it is as tangible as the best man’s reasoning, that she may be neither
more nor less than the ship of that nefarious pirate the Red Rover.”

“The Red Rover!” exclaimed the stranger in green, with a start so
natural as to evidence that his dying interest in the tailor’s
narrative was suddenly and powerfully revived. “That indeed would be a
secret worth having!—but why do you suppose the same?”

“For sundry reasons, which I am now about to name, in their respective
order. In the first place, she is an armed ship, sir. In the second,
she is no lawful cruiser, or the same would be publicly known, and by
no one sooner than myself, inasmuch as it is seldom that I do not
finger a penny from the King’s ships. In the third place, the
burglarious and unfeeling conduct of the few seamen who have landed
from her go to prove it; and, lastly, what is well proved may be
considered as substantially established These are what, sir, I should
call the opening premises of my inferences, all of which I hope you
will properly lay before the royal mind of his Majesty.”

The barrister in green listened to the somewhat wire-drawn deductions
of Homespun with great attention notwithstanding the confused and
obscure manner in which they were delivered by the aspiring tradesman.
His keen eye rolled quickly, and often, from the vessel to the
countenance of his companion; but several moments elapsed before he saw
fit to make any reply. The reckless gayety with which he had introduced
himself, and which he had hitherto maintained in the discourse, was
entirely superseded by a musing and abstracted air, which sufficiently
proved, that, whatever levity he might betray in common, he was far
from being a stranger to deep and absorbing thought. Suddenly throwing
off his air of gravity, however, he assumed one in which irony and
sincerity were singularly blended and, laying his hand familiarly on
the shoulder of the expecting tailor, he replied—

“You have communicated such matter as becometh a faithful and loyal
servant of the King. It is well known that a heavy price is set on the
head of the meanest follower of the Rover, and that a rich, ay, a
splendid reward will be the fortune of him who is the instrument of
delivering the whole knot of miscreants into the hands of the
executioner. Indeed I know not but some marked evidence of the royal
pleasure might follow such a service. There was Phipps, a man of humble
origin, who received knighthood—”

“Knighthood!” echoed the tailor, in awful admiration.

“Knighthood,” coolly repeated the stranger; “honourable and chivalric
knighthood. What may have been the appellation you received from your
sponsors in baptism?”

“My given name, gracious and grateful sir, is Hector.”

“And the house itself?—the distinctive appellation of the family?”

“We have _always_ been called Homespun.”

“Sir Hector Homespun will sound as well as another! But to secure these
rewards, my friend, it is necessary to be discreet. I admire your
ingenuity, and am a convert to your logic. You have so entirely
demonstrated the truth of your suspicions, that I have no more doubt of
yonder vessel being the pirate, than I have of your wearing spurs, and
being called sir Hector. The two things are equally established in my
mind: but it is needful that we proceed in the matter with caution. I
understand you to say, that no one else has been enlightened by your
erudition in this affair?”

“Not a soul. Tape himself is ready to swear that the crew are
conscientious slavers.”

“So best. We must first render conclusions certain; then to our reward.
Meet me at the hour of eleven this night, at yonder low point, where
the land juts into the outer harbour. From that stand will we make our
observations; and, having removed every doubt, let the morning produce
a discovery that shall ring from the Colony of the Bay to the
settlements of Oglethorpe. Until then we part; for it is not wise that
we be longer seen in conference. Remember silence, punctuality, and the
favour of the King. These are our watch-words.”

“Adieu, honourable gentlemen,” said his companion making a reverence
nearly to the earth, as the other slightly touched his hat in passing.

“Adieu, sir Hector,” returned the stranger in green, with an affable
smile and a gracious wave of the hand. He then walked slowly up the
wharf, and disappeared behind the mansion of the Homespuns; leaving the
head of that ancient family, like many a predecessor and many a
successor, so rapt in the admiration of his own good fortune, and so
blinded by his folly, that, while physically he saw to the right and to
the left as well as ever, his mental vision was completely obscured in
the clouds of ambition.




Chapter III.

Alonzo. “Good boatswain, have care.”

_Tempest._


The instant the stranger had separated from the credulous tailor, he
lost his assumed air in one far more natural and sedate. Still it would
seem that thought was an unwonted, or an unwelcome tenant of his mind;
for, switching his boot with his little riding whip, he entered the
principal street of the place with a light step and a wandering eye.
Though his look was unsettled, few of the individuals, whom he passed,
escaped his quick glances; and it was quite apparent, from the hurried
manner in which he began to regard objects, that his mind was not less
active than his body. A stranger thus accoutred, and one bearing about
his person so many evidences of his recent acquaintance with the road,
did not fail to attract the attention of the provident publicans we
have had occasion to mention in our opening chapter. Declining the
civilities of the most favoured of the inn-keepers, he suffered his
steps to be, oddly enough, arrested by the one whose house was the
usual haunt of the hangers-on of the port.

On entering the bar-room of this tavern, as it was called, but which in
the mother country would probably have aspired to be termed no more
than a pot-house he found the hospitable apartment thronged with its
customary revellers. A slight interruption was produced by the
appearance of a guest who was altogether superior, in mien and attire,
to the ordinary customers of the house, but it ceased the moment the
stranger had thrown himself on a bench, and intimated to the host the
nature of his wants. As the latter furnished the required draught, he
made a sort of apology, which was intended for the ears of all his
customers nigh the stranger, for the manner in which an individual, in
the further end of the long narrow room, not only monopolized the
discourse, but appeared to extort the attention of all within hearing
to some portentous legend he was recounting.

“It is the boatswain of the slaver in the outer harbour, squire,” the
worthy disciple of Bacchus concluded; “a man who has followed the water
many a day, and who has seen sights and prodigies enough to fill a
smart volume. Old Bor’us the people call him, though his lawful name is
Jack Nightingale. Is the toddy to the squire’s relish?”

The stranger assented to the latter query, by smacking his lips, and
bowing, as he put down the nearly untouched draught. He then turned his
head, to examine the individual who might, by the manner in which he
declaimed, have been termed, in the language of the country, the second
“orator of the day.”

A stature which greatly exceeded six feet; enormous whiskers, that
quite concealed a moiety of his grim countenance; a scar, which was the
memorial of a badly healed gash, that had once threatened to divide
that moiety in quarters; limbs in proportion; the whole rendered
striking by the dress of a sea man; a long, tarnished silver chain, and
a little whistle of the same metal, served to render the individual in
question sufficiently remarkable. Without appearing to be in the
smallest decree aware of the entrance of one altogether so superior to
the class of his usual auditors, this son of the Ocean continued his
narrative as follows, and in a voice that seemed given to him by nature
as if in very mockery of his musical name; indeed, so very near did his
tones approach to the low murmurings of a bull, that some little
practice was necessary to accustom the ear to the strangely uttered
words.

“Well!” he continued, thrusting his brawny arm forth, with the fist
clenched, indicating the necessary point of the compass by the thumb;
“the coast of Guinea might have lain hereaway, and the wind you see,
was dead off shore, blowing in squalls, as a cat spits, all the same as
if the old fellow, who keeps it bagged for the use of us seamen,
sometimes let the stopper slip through his fingers, and was sometimes
fetching it up again with a double turn round the end of his sack.—You
know what a sack is, brother?”

This abrupt question was put to the gaping bumpkin, already known to
the reader, who, with the nether garment just received from the tailor
under his arm, had lingered, to add the incidents of the present legend
to the stock of lore that he had already obtained for the ears of his
kinsfolk in the country. A general laugh, at the expense of the
admiring Pardon succeeded. Nightingale bestowed a knowing wink on one
or two of his familiars, and, profiting by the occasion, “to freshen
his nip,” as he quaintly styled swallowing a pint of rum and water, he
continued his narrative by saying, in a sort of admonitory tone,—

“And the time may come when you will know what a round-turn is, too, if
you let go your hold of honesty. A man’s neck was made, brother, to
keep his head above water, and not to be stretched out of shape like a
pair of badly fitted dead-eyes. Therefore have your reckoning worked up
in season, and the lead of conscience going, when you find yourself
drifting on the shoals of temptation.” Then, rolling his tobacco in his
mouth, he looked boldly about him, like one who had acquitted himself
of a moral obligation, and continued: “Well, there lay the land, and,
as I was saying, the wind was here, at east-and-by-south or mayhap at
east-and-by-south-half-south, sometimes blowing like a fin-back in a
hurry, and sometimes leaving all the canvas chafing ag’in the rigging
and spars, as if a bolt of duck cost no more nor a rich man’s blessing.
I didn’t like the looks of the weather, seeing that there was
altogether too much unsartainty for a quiet watch, so I walked aft, in
order to put myself in the way of giving an opinion if-so-be such a
thing should be asked. You must know, brothers, that, according to my
notions of religion and behaviour, a man is not good for much, unless
he has a full share of manners; therefore I am never known to put my
spoon into the captain’s mess, unless I am invited, for the plain
reason, that my berth is for’ard, and his’n aft. I do not say in which
end of a ship the better man is to be found; that is a matter
concerning which men have different opinions, though most judges in the
business are agreed. But aft I walked, to put myself in the way of
giving an opinion, if one should be asked; nor was it long before the
thing came to pass just as I had foreseen. ‘Mister Nightingale,’ says
he; for our Captain is a gentleman, and never forgets his behaviour on
deck, or when any of the ship’s company are at hand, ‘_Mister_
Nightingale,’ says he, ‘what do you think of that rag of a cloud,
hereaway at the north-west?’ says he. ‘Why, sir,’ says I, boldly, for
I’m never backward in speaking, when properly spoken to, so, ‘why,
sir,’ says I, ‘saving your Honour’s better judgment,’—which was all a
flam, for he was but a chicken to me in years and experience, but then
I never throw hot ashes to windward, or any thing else that is warm—so,
‘sir,’ says I, ‘it is my advice to hand the three topsails and to stow
the jib. We are in no hurry; for the plain reason, that Guinea will be
to-morrow just where Guinea is to-night. As for keeping the ship steady
in these matters of squalls, we have the mainsail on her—’”

“You should have furl’d your mainsail too,” exclaimed a voice from
behind, that was quite as dogmatical, though a little less grum, than
that of the loquacious boatswain.

“What know-nothing says that?” demanded Nightingale fiercely, as if all
his latent ire was excited by so rude and daring an interruption.

“A man who has run Africa down, from Bon to Good-Hope, more than once,
and who knows a white squall from a rainbow,” returned Dick Fid, edging
his short person stoutly towards his furious adversary, making his way
through the crowd by which the important personage of the boatswain was
environed by dint of his massive shoulders; “ay, brother, and a man,
know-much or know-nothing, who would never advise his officer to keep
so much after-sail on a ship, when there was the likelihood of the wind
taking her aback.”

To this bold vindication of an opinion which all present deemed to be
so audacious, there succeeded a general and loud murmur. Encouraged by
this evidence of his superior popularity, Nightingale was not slow, nor
very meek, with his retort; and then followed a clamorous concert, in
which the voices of the company in general served for the higher and
shriller notes, through which the bold and vigorous assertions,
contradictions, and opinions of the two principal disputants were heard
running a thorough-bass.

For some time, no part of the discussion was very distinct, so great
was the confusion of tongues; and there were certain symptoms of an
intention, on the part of Fid and the boatswain, to settle their
controversy by the last appeal. During this moment of suspense, the
former had squared his firm-built frame in front of his gigantic
opponent, and there were very vehement passings and counter-passings,
in the way of gestures from four athletic arms, each of which was
knobbed, like a fashionable rattan, with a lump of bones, knuckles, and
sinews, that threatened annihilation to any thing that should oppose
them. As the general clamour, however, gradually abated, the chief
reasoners began to be heard; and, as if content to rely on their
respective powers of eloquence, each gradually relinquished his hostile
attitude, and appeared disposed to maintain his ground by a member
scarcely less terrible than his brawny arm.

“You are a bold seaman, brother,” said Nightingale resuming his seat,
“and, if saying was doing, no doubt you would make a ship talk. But I,
who have seen fleets of two and three deckers—and that of all nations,
except your Mohawks, mayhap, whose cruisers I will confess never to
have fallen in with—lying as snug as so many white gulls, under reefed
mainsails, know how to take the strain off a ship, and to keep my
bulkheads in their places.”

“I deny the judgment of heaving-to a boat under her after
square-sails,” retorted Dick. “Give her the stay-sails, if you will,
and no harm done; but a true seaman will never get a bagful of wind
between his mainmast and his lee-swifter, if-so-be he knows his
business. But words are like thunder, which rumbles aloft, without
coming down a spar, as I have yet seen; let us therefore put the
question to some one who has been on the water, and knows a little of
life and of ships.”

“If the oldest admiral in his Majesty’s fleet was here, he wouldn’t be
backward in saying who is right and who is wrong. I say, brothers, if
there is a man among you all who has had the advantage of a sea
education, let him speak, in order that the truth of this matter may
not be hid, like a marling-spike jammed between a brace-block and a
blackened yard.”

“Here, then, is the man,” returned Fid; and, stretching out his arm, he
seized Scipio by the collar, and drew him, without ceremony, into the
centre of the circle, that had opened around the two disputants “There
is a man for you, who has made one more voyage between this and Africa
than myself, for the reason that he was born there. Now, answer as if
you were hallooing from a lee-earing, S’ip, under what sail would you
heave-to a ship, on the coast of your native country, with the danger
of a white squall at hand?”

“I no heave-’em-to,” said the black, “I make ’em scud.”

“Ay, boy; but, to be in readiness for the puff, would you jam her up
under a mainsail, or let her lie a little off under a fore course?”

“Any fool know dat,” returned Scipio, grumly and evidently tired
already of being thus catechised.

“If you want ’em fall off, how you’m expect, in reason, he do it under
a main course? You answer me dat, misser Dick.”

“Gentlemen,” said Nightingale, looking about him with an air of great
gravity, “I put it to your Honours, is it genteel behaviour to bring a
nigger, in this out-of-the-way fashion, to give an opinion in the teeth
of a white man?”

This appeal to the wounded dignity of the company was answered by a
common murmur. Scipio, who was prepared to maintain, and would have
maintained, his professional opinion, after his positive and peculiar
manner, against any disputant, had not the heart to resist so general
an evidence of the impropriety of his presence. Without uttering a word
in vindication or apology, he folded his arms, and walked out of the
house, with the submission and meekness of one who had been too long
trained in humility to rebel. This desertion on the part of his
companion was not, however, so quietly acquiesced in by Fid, who found
himself thus unexpectedly deprived of the testimony of the black. He
loudly remonstrated against his retreat; but, finding it in vain, he
crammed the end of several inches of tobacco into his mouth, swearing,
as he followed the African, and keeping his eye, at the same time,
firmly fastened on his adversary, that, in his opinion, “the lad, if he
was fairly skinned, would be found to be the whiter man of the two.”

The triumph of the boatswain was now complete; nor was he at all
sparing of his exultation.

“Gentlemen,” he said, addressing himself, with an air of increased
confidence, to the motley audience who surrounded him, “you see that
reason is like a ship bearing down with studding-sails on both sides,
leaving a straight wake and no favours. Now, I scorn boasting, nor do I
know who the fellow is who has just sheered off, in time to save his
character, but this I will say, that the man is not to be found,
between Boston and the West Indies, who knows better than myself how to
make a ship walk, or how to make her stand still, provided I”—

The deep voice of Nightingale became suddenly hushed, and his eye was
riveted, by a sort of enchantment on the keen glance of the stranger in
green, whose countenance was now seen blended among the more vulgar
faces of the crowd.

“Mayhap,” continued the boatswain, swallowing his words, in the
surprise of seeing himself so unexpectedly confronted by so imposing an
eye, “mayhap this gentleman has some knowledge of the sea, and can
decide the matter in dispute.”

“We do not study naval tactics at the universities,” returned the other
briskly, “though I will confess, from the little I have heard, I am
altogether in favour of _scudding._”

He pronounced the latter word with an emphasis which rendered it
questionable if he did not mean to pun; the more especially as he threw
down his reckoning and instantly left the field to the quiet possession
of Nightingale. The latter, after a short pause, resumed his narrative,
though, either from weariness or some other cause, it was observed that
his voice was far less positive than before, and that his tale was cut
prematurely short. After completing his narrative and his grog, he
staggered to the beach, whither a boat was shortly after despatched to
convey him on board the ship, which, during all this time, had not
ceased to be the constant subject of the suspicious examination of the
good-man Homespun.

In the mean while, the stranger in green had pursued his walk along the
main street of the town. Fid had given chase to the disconcerted
Scipio, grumbling as he went, and uttering no very delicate remarks on
the knowledge and seamanship of the boatswain. They soon joined company
again, the former changing his attack to the negro, whom he liberally
abused, for abandoning a point which he maintained was as simple, and
as true, as “that yonder bit of a schooner would make more way, going
wing-and-wing, than jammed up on a wind.”

Probably diverted with the touches of peculiar character he had
detected in this singular pair of confederates, or possibly led by his
own wayward humour, the stranger followed their footsteps. After
turning from the water, they mounted a hill, the latter a little in the
rear of his pilots, until he lost sight of them in a bend of the
street, or rather road; for by this time, they were past even the
little suburbs of the town. Quickening his steps, the barrister, as he
had announced himself to be, was glad to catch a glimpse of the two
worthies, seated under a fence several minutes after he had believed
them lost. They were making a frugal meal, off the contents of a little
bag which the white had borne under his arm and from which he now
dispensed liberally to his companion, who had taken his post
sufficiently nigh to proclaim that perfect amity was restored, though
still a little in the back ground, in deference to the superior
condition which the other enjoyed through favour of his colour.
Approaching the spot, the stranger observed,—

“If you make so free with the bag, my lads, your third man may have to
go supperless to bed.”

“Who hails?” said Dick, looking up from his bone, with an expression
much like that of a mastiff when engaged at a similar employment.

“I merely wished to remind you that you had another messmate,”
cavalierly returned the other.

“Will you take a cut, brother?” said the seaman, offering the bag, with
the liberality of a sailor, the moment he fancied there was an indirect
demand made on its contents.

“You still mistake my meaning; on the wharf you had another companion.”

“Ay, ay; he is in the offing there, overhauling that bit of a
light-house, which is badly enough moored unless they mean it to shew
the channel to your ox-teams and inland traders; hereaway, gentlemen,
where you see that pile of stones which seems likely to be coming down
shortly by-the-run.”

The stranger looked in the direction indicated by the other, and saw
the young mariner, to whom he had alluded, standing at the foot of a
ruined tower, which was crumbling under the slow operations of time, at
no great distance from the place where he stood. Throwing a handful of
small change to the seamen, he wished them a better meal, and crossed
the fence, with an apparent intention of examining the ruin also.

“The lad is free with his coppers,” said Dick, suspending the movements
of his teeth, to give the stranger another and a better look; “but, as
they will not grow where he has planted them, S’ip, you may turn them
over to my pocket. An off-handed and a free-handed chap that, Africa;
but then these law-dealers get all their pence of the devil, and they
are sure of more, when the shot begins to run low in the locker.”

Leaving the negro to collect the money, and to transfer it, as in duty
bound, to the hands of him who, if not his master, was at all times
ready and willing to exercise the authority of one, we shall follow the
stranger in his walk toward, the tottering edifice. There was little
about the ruin itself to attract the attention of one who, from his
assertions, had probably often enjoyed the opportunities of examining
far more imposing remains of former ages, on the other side of the
Atlantic. It was a small circular tower, which stood on rude pillars,
connected by arches, and might have been constructed, in the infancy of
the country, as a place of defence, though it is far more probable that
it was a work of a less warlike nature. More than half a century after
the period of which we are writing, this little edifice, peculiar in
its form, its ruinous condition, and its materials, has suddenly become
the study and the theme of that very learned sort of individual the
American antiquarian. It is not surprising that a ruin thus honoured
should have become the object of many a hot and erudite discussion.
While the chivalrous in the arts and in the antiquities of the country
have been gallantly breaking their lances around the mouldering walls,
the less instructed and the less zealous have regarded the combatants
with the same species of wonder as they would have manifested had they
been present when the renowned knight of La Mancha tilted against those
other wind-mills so ingeniously described by the immortal Cervantes.

On reaching the place, the stranger in green gave his boot a smart blow
with the riding whip, as if to attract the attention of the abstracted
young sailor, and freely remarked,—

“A very pretty object this would be, if covered with ivy, to be seen
peeping through an opening in a wood. But I beg pardon; gentlemen of
your _profession_ have little to do with woods and crumbling stones.
Yonder is the tower,” pointing to the tail masts of the ship in the
outer harbour, “you love to look on; and your only ruin is a wreck!”

“You seem familiar with our tastes, sir,” coldly returned the other.

“It is by instinct, then; for it is certain I have had but little
opportunity of acquiring my knowledge by actual communion with any of
the—cloth; nor do I perceive that I am likely to be more fortunate at
present. Let us be frank, my friend, and talk in amity: What do you see
about this pile of stones, that can keep you so long from your study of
yonder noble and gallant ship?”

“Did it then surprise you that a seaman out of employment should
examine a vessel that he finds to his mind, perhaps with an intention
to ask for service?”

“Her commander must be a dull fellow, if he refuse it to so proper a
lad! But you seem to be too well instructed for any of the meaner
births.”

“Births!” repeated the other, again fastening his eyes, with a singular
expression, on the stranger in green.

“Births! It is your nautical word for ‘situation, or; station;’ is it
not? We know but little of the marine vocabulary, we barristers; but I
think I may venture on that as the true Doric. Am I justified by your
authority?”

“The word is certainly not yet obsolete; and, by a figure, it is as
certainly correct in the sense you used it.”

“Obsolete!” repeated the stranger in green, returning the meaning look
he had just received: “Is that the name of any part of a ship? Perhaps,
by _figure_, you mean figure-head; and, by _obsolete_, the long-boat!”

The young seaman laughed; and, as if this sally had broken through the
barrier of his reserve, his manner lost much of its cold restraint
during the remainder of their conference.

“It is just as plain,” he said, “that you have been at sea, as it is
that I have been at school. Since we have both been so fortunate, we
may afford to be generous and cease speaking in parables. For instance,
what think you has been the object and use of this ruin, when it was in
good condition?”

“In order to judge of that,” returned the stranger in green, “it may be
necessary to examine it more closely. Let us ascend.”

As he spoke, the barrister mounted, by a crazy ladder, to the floor
which lay just above the crown of the arches, through which he passed
by an open trapdoor His companion hesitated to follow; but, observing
that the other expected him at the summit of the ladder, and that he
very kindly pointed out a defective round, he sprang forward, and went
up the ascent with the agility and steadiness peculiar to his calling.

“Here we are!” exclaimed the stranger in green, looking about at the
naked walls, which were formed of such small and irregular stones as to
give the building the appearance of dangerous frailty, “with good oaken
plank for our deck, as you would say, and the sky for our roof, as we
call the upper part of a house at the universities. Now let us speak of
things on the lower world. A—a—; I forget what you said was your usual
appellation—”

“That might depend on circumstances. I have been known by different
names in different situations However, if you call me Wilder, I shall
not fail to answer.”

“Wilder!” a good name; though, I dare say, it would have been as true
were it Wildone. You young ship-boys have the character of being a
little erratic in your humours at times. How many tender hearts have
you left to sigh for your errors, amid shady bowers, while you have
been ploughing—that is the word, I believe—ploughing the salt-sea
ocean?”

“Few sigh for me,” returned Wilder, thoughtfully, though he evidently
began to chafe a little under this free sort of catechism. “Let us now
return to our study of the tower. What think you has been its object?”

“Its present use is plain, and its former use can be no great mystery.
It holds at this moment two light hearts; and, if I am not mistaken, as
many light heads, not overstocked with the stores of wisdom. Formerly
it had its granaries of corn, at least, and, I doubt not, certain
little quadrupeds, who were quite as light of fingers as we are of head
and heart. In plain English, it has been a mill”

“There are those who think it had been a fortress.”

“Hum! The place might do, at need,” returned he in green, casting a
rapid and peculiar glance around him. “But mill it has been,
notwithstanding one might wish it a nobler origin. The windy situation
the pillars to keep off the invading vermin, the shape, the air, the
very complexion, prove it. Whir-r-r, whir-r-r; there has been clatter
enough here in time past, I warrant you. Hist! It is not done yet!”

Stepping lightly to one of the little perforations which had once
served as windows to the tower, he cautiously thrust his head through
the opening; and, after gazing there half a minute, he withdrew it
again, making a gesture to the attentive Wilder to be silent. The
latter complied; nor was it long before the nature of the interruption
was sufficiently explained.

The silvery voice of woman was first heard at a little distance; and
then, as the speakers drew nigher the sounds arose directly from
beneath, within the very shadow of the tower. By a sort of tacit
consent, Wilder and the barrister chose spots favourable to the
execution of such a purpose; and each continued, during the time the
visiters remained near the ruin, examining their persons, unseen
themselves, and we are sorry we must do so much violence to the
breeding of two such important characters in our legend, amused and
attentive listeners also to their conversation.




Chapter IV.

“They fool me to the top of my bent.”

_Hamlet._


The party below consisted of four individuals all of whom were females.
One was a lady in the decline of her years; another was past the middle
age the third was on the very threshold of what is called “life,” as it
is applied to intercourse with the world; and the fourth was a negress,
who might have seen some five-and-twenty revolutions of the seasons.
The latter, at that time, and in that country, of course appeared only
in the character of a humble, though perhaps favoured domestic.

“And now, my child, that I have given you all the advice which
circumstances and your own excellent heart need,” said the elderly
lady, among the first words that were distinctly intelligible to the
listeners, “I will change the ungracious office to one more agreeable.
You will tell your father of my continued affection, and of the promise
he has given, that you are to return once again, before we separate for
the last time.”

This speech was addressed to the younger female, and was apparently
received with as much tenderness and sincerity as it was uttered. The
one who was addressed raised her eyes, which were glittering with tears
she evidently struggled to conceal, and answered in a voice that
sounded in the ears of the two youthful listeners like the notes of the
Syren, so very sweet and musical were its tones.

“It is useless to remind me of a promise, my beloved aunt, which I have
so much interest in remembering,” she said. “I hope for even more than
you have perhaps dared to wish; if my father does not return with me in
the spring, it shall not be for want of urging on my part.”

“Our good Wyllys will lend her aid,” returned the aunt, smiling and
bowing to the third female, with that mixture of suavity and form which
was peculiar to the stately manners of the time, and which was rarely
neglected, when a superior addressed an inferior. “She is entitled to
command some interest with General Grayson, from her fidelity and
services.”

“She is entitled to everything that love and heart can give!” exclaimed
the niece, with a haste and earnestness that proclaimed how willingly
she would temper the formal politeness of the other by the warmth of
her own affectionate manner; “my father will scarcely refuse _her_ any
thing.”

“And have we the assurance of Miss Wyllys that she will be in our
interests?” demanded the aunt, without permitting her own sense of
propriety to be overcome by the stronger feelings of her niece; “with
so powerful an ally, our league will be invincible.”

“I am so entirely of opinion, that the salubrious air of this healthful
island is of great importance to my young charge, Madam, that, were all
other considerations wanting, the little I can do to aid your wishes
shall be sure to be done.”

Wyllys spoke with dignity, and perhaps with some portion of that
reserve which distinguished all the communications between the wealthy
and high-born aunt and the salaried and dependent governess of her
brother’s heiress. Still her manner was gentle, and the voice, like
that of her pupil, soft and strikingly feminine.

“We may then consider the victory as achieved, as my late husband the
Rear-Admiral was accustomed to say. Admiral de Lacey, my dear Mrs
Wyllys, adopted it in early life as a maxim, by which all his future
conduct was governed, and by adhering to which he acquired no small
share of his professional reputation, that, in order to be successful,
it was only necessary to be determined one would be so;—a noble and
inspiriting rule, and one that could not fail to lead to those signal
results which, as we all know them, I need not mention.”

Wyllys bowed her head, in acknowledgment of the truth of the opinion,
and in testimony of the renown of the deceased Admiral; but did not
think it necessary to make any reply. Instead of allowing the subject
to occupy her mind any longer, she turned to her young pupil, and
observed, speaking in a voice and with a manner from which every
appearance of restraint was banished,—

“Gertrude, my love, you will have pleasure in returning to this
charming island, and to these cheering sea breezes.”

“And to my aunt!” exclaimed Gertrude. “I wish my father could be
persuaded to dispose of his estates in Carolina, and come northward, to
reside the whole year.”

“It is not quite as easy for an affluent proprietor to remove as you
may imagine, my child,” returned Mrs de Lacey. “Much as I wish that
some such plan could be adopted, I never press my brother on the
subject. Besides, I am not certain, that, if we were ever to make
another change in the family, it would not be to return _home_
altogether. It is now more than a century, Mrs Wyllys, since the
Graysons came into the colonies, in a moment of dissatisfaction with
the government in England. My great-grandfather sir Everard, was
displeased with his second son, and the dissension led my grandfather
to the province of Carolina. But, as the breach has long since been
healed, I often think my brother and myself may yet return to the halls
of our ancestors. Much will, however, depend on the manner in which we
dispose of our treasure on this side of the Atlantic.”

As the really well-meaning, though, perhaps, a little too much
self-satisfied lady concluded her remark, she glanced her eye at the
perfectly unconscious subject of the close of her speech. Gertrude had,
as usual, when her aunt chose to favour her governess with any of her
family reminiscences, turned her head aside, and was now offering her
cheek, burning with health, and perhaps a little with shame, to the
cooling influence of the evening breeze. The instant the voice of Mrs
de Lacey had ceased, she turned hastily to her companions; and,
pointing to a noble-looking ship, whose masts, as it lay in the inner
harbour, were seen rising above the roofs of the town, she exclaimed,
as if glad to change the subject in any manner,—

“And yonder gloomy prison is to be our home, dear Mrs Wyllys, for the
next month!”

“I hope your dislike to the sea has magnified the time,” mildly
returned her governess; “the passage between this place and Carolina
has been often made in a shorter period.”

“That it has been so done, I can testify,” resumed the Admiral’s widow,
adhering a little pertinaciously to a train of thoughts, which, once
thoroughly awakened in her bosom, was not easily diverted into another
channel, “since my late estimable and (I feel certain all who hear me
will acquiesce when I add) gallant husband once conducted a squadron of
his Royal Master, from one extremity of his Majesty’s American
dominions to the other, in a time less than that named by my niece: It
may have made some difference in his speed that he was in pursuit of
the enemies of his King and country, but still the fact proves that the
voyage can be made within the month.”

“There is that dreadful Henlopen, with its sandy shoals and shipwrecks
on one hand, and that stream they call the Gulf on the other!”
exclaimed Gertrude, with a shudder, and a burst of natural female
terror, which makes timidity sometimes attractive, when exhibited in
the person of youth and beauty. “If it were not for Henlopen, and its
gales, and its shoals, and its gulfs, I could think only of the
pleasure of meeting my father.”

Mrs Wyllys, who never encouraged her pupil in those, natural
weaknesses, however pretty and be coming they might appear to other
eyes, turned with a steady mien to the young lady, as she remarked,
with a brevity and decision that were intended to put the question of
fear at rest for ever,—

“If all the dangers you appear to apprehend existed in reality, the
passage would not be made daily or even hourly, in safety. You have
often, Madam, come from the Carolinas by sea, in company with Admiral
de Lacey?”

“Never,” the widow promptly and a little drily remarked. “The water has
not agreed with my constitution, and I have never neglected to journey
by land. But then you know, Wyllys, as the consort and relict of a
flag-officer, it was not seemly that I should be ignorant of naval
science. I believe there are few ladies in the British empire who are
more familiar with ships, either singly or in squadron particularly the
latter, than myself. This in formation I have naturally acquired, as
the companion of an officer, whose fortune it was to lead fleets. I
presume these are matters of which you are profoundly ignorant.”

The calm, dignified countenance of Wyllys, on which it would seem as if
long cherished and painful recollections had left a settled, but mild
expression of sorrow, that rather tempered than destroyed the traces of
character which were still remarkable in her firm collected eye, became
clouded, for a moment, with a deeper shade of melancholy. After
hesitating, as if willing to change the subject, she replied,—

“I have not been altogether a stranger to the sea. It has been my lot
to have made many long, and some perilous voyages.”

“As a mere passenger. But we wives of sailors only, among our sex, can
lay claim to any real knowledge of the noble profession! What natural
object is there, or can there be,” exclaimed the nautical dowager, in a
burst of professional enthusiasm, “finer than a stately ship breasting
the billows, as I have heard the Admiral say a thousand times, its
taffrail ploughing the main, and its cut-water gliding after, like a
sinuous serpent pursuing its shining wake, as a living creature
choosing its path on the land, and leaving the bone under its
fore-foot, a beacon for those that follow? I know not, my dear Wyllys,
if I make myself intelligible to you, but, to my instructed eye, this
charming description conveys a picture of all that is grand and
beautiful!”

The latent smile, on the countenance of the governess might have
betrayed that she was imagining the deceased Admiral had not been
altogether devoid of the waggery of his vocation, had not a slight
noise, which sounded like the rustling of the wind, but which in truth
was suppressed laughter, proceeded from the upper room of the tower.
The words, “It is lovely!” were still on the lips of the youthful
Gertrude, who saw all the beauty of the picture her aunt had essayed to
describe, without descending to the humble employment of verbal
criticism. But her voice became hushed, and her attitude that of
startled attention:—

“Did you hear nothing?” she said.

“The rats have not yet altogether deserted the mill,” was the calm
reply of Wyllys.

“Mill! my dear Mrs Wyllys, will you persist in calling this picturesque
ruin _a mill_?”

“However fatal it may be to its charms, in the eyes of eighteen, I must
call it _a mill_.”

“Ruins are not so plenty in this country, my dear governess,” returned
her pupil, laughing, while the ardour of her eye denoted how serious
she was in defending her favourite opinion, “as to justify us in
robbing them of any little claims to interest they may happen to
possess.”

“Then, happier is the country! Ruins in a land are, like most of the
signs of decay in the human form, sad evidences of abuses and passions,
which have hastened the inroads of time. These provinces are like
yourself, my Gertrude, in their freshness and their youth, and,
comparatively, in their innocence also. Let us hope for both a long, an
useful, and a happy existence.”

“Thank you for myself, and for my country; but still I can never admit
this picturesque ruin has been _a mill_.”

“Whatever it may have been, it has long occupied its present place, and
has the appearance of continuing where it is much longer, which is more
than can be said of our prison, as you call yonder stately ship, in
which we are so soon to embark. Unless my eyes deceive me, Madam, those
masts are moving slowly past the chimnies of the town.”

“You are very right, Wyllys. The seamen are towing the vessel into the
outer harbour, where they will warp her fast to the anchors, and thus
secure her, until they shall be ready to unmake their sails, in order
to put to sea in the morning. This is a manoeuvre often performed, and
one which the Admiral has so clearly explained, that I should find
little difficulty in superintending it in my own person, were it
suitable to my sex and station.”

“This is, then, a hint that all our own preparations are not completed.
However lovely this spot may seem, Gertrude, we must now leave it, for
some months at least.”

“Yes,” continued Mrs de Lacey, slowly following the footsteps of the
governess, who had already moved from beneath the ruin; “whole fleets
have often been towed to their anchors, and there warped, waiting for
wind and tide to serve. None of our sex know the dangers of the Ocean,
but we who have been bound in the closest of all ties to officers of
rank and great service; and none others can ever truly enjoy the real
grandeur of the ennobling profession. A charming object is a vessel
cutting the waves with her taffrail, and chasing her wake on the
trackless waters, like a courser that ever keeps in his path, though
dashing madly on at the very top of his speed!—”

The reply of Mrs Wyllys was not audible to the covert listeners.
Gertrude had followed her companions; but, when at some little distance
from the tower, she paused, to take a parting look at its mouldering
walls. A profound stillness succeeded for more than a minute.

“There is something in that pile of stones, Cassandra,” she said to the
jet-black maiden at her elbow, “that could make me wish it had been
something more than a mill.”

“There rat in ’em,” returned the literal and simple-minded black; “you
hear what Misse Wyllys say?”

Gertrude turned, laughed, patted the dark cheek of her attendant with
fingers that looked like snow by the contrast, as if to chide her for
wishing to destroy the pleasing illusion she would so gladly harbour
and then bounded down the hill after her aunt and governess, like a
joyous and youthful Atalanta.

The two singularly consorted listeners in the tower stood gazing, at
their respective look-outs, so long as the smallest glimpse of the
flowing robe of her light form was to be seen and then they turned to
each other, and stood confronted, the eyes of each endeavouring to read
the expression of his neighbour’s countenance.

“I am ready to make an affidavit before my Lord High Chancellor,”
suddenly exclaimed the barrister, “that this has never been a mill!”

“Your opinion has undergone a sudden change!”

“I am open to conviction, as I hope to be a judge. The case has been
argued by a powerful advocate, and I have lived to see my error.”

“And yet there are rats in the place.”

“Land rats, or water rats?” quickly demanded the other, giving his
companion one of those startling and searching glances, which his keen
eye had so freely at command.

“Both, I believe,” was the dry and caustic reply; “certainly the
former, or the gentlemen of the long robe are much injured by report.”

The barrister laughed; nor did his temper appear in the slightest
degree ruffled at so free an allusion at his learned and honourable
profession.

“You gentlemen of the Ocean have such an honest and amusing frankness
about you,” he said, “that I vow to God you are overwhelming. I am a
downright admirer of your noble calling, and something skilled in its
terms. What spectacle, for instance, can be finer than a noble ship
‘stemming the waves with her taffrail,’ and chasing her wake, like a
racer on the course!”

“Leaving the ‘bone in her mouth’ under her stern, as a light-house for
all that come after!”

Then, as if they found singular satisfaction in dwelling on these
images of the worthy relict of the gallant Admiral, they broke out
simultaneously into a fit of clamorous merriment, that caused the old
ruin to ring, as in its best days of windy power. The barrister was the
first to regain his self-command, for the mirth of the young mariner
was joyous, and without the least restraint.

“But this is dangerous ground for any but a seaman’s widow to touch,”
the former observed, as suddenly causing his laughter to cease as he
had admitted of its indulgence. “The younger, she who is no lover of a
mill, is a rare and lovely creature! it would seem that she is the
niece of the nautical critic.”

The young manner ceased laughing in his turn, as though he were
suddenly convinced of the glaring impropriety of making so near a
relative of the fair vision he had seen the subject of his merriment.
Whatever might have been his secret thoughts, he was content with
replying,—

“She so declared herself.”

“Tell me,” said the barrister, walking close to the other, like one who
communicated an important secret in the question, “was there not
something remarkable searching, extraordinary, heart-touching, in the
voice of her they called Wyllys?”

“Did you note it?”

“It sounded to me like the tones of an oracle—the whisperings of
fancy—the very words of truth! It was a strange and persuasive voice!”

“I confess I felt its influence, and in a way for which I cannot
account!”

“It amounts to infatuation!” returned the barrister pacing up and down
the little apartment, every trace of humour and irony having
disappeared in a look of settled and abstracted care. His companion
appeared little disposed to interrupt his meditations, but stood
leaning against the naked walls, himself the subject of deep and
sorrowful reflection. At length the former shook off his air of
thought, with that startling quickness which seemed common to his
manner; he approached a window, and, directing the attention of Wilder
to the ship in the outer harbour, abruptly demanded,—

“Has all your interest in yon vessel ceased?”

“Far from it; it is just such a boat as a seaman’s eye most loves to
study!”

“Will you venture to board her?”

“At this hour? alone? I know not her commander, or her people.”

“There are other hours beside this, and a sailor is certain of a frank
reception from his messmates.”

“These slavers are not always willing to be boarded; they carry arms,
and know how to keep strangers at a distance.”

“Are there no watch-words, in the masonry of your trade, by which a
brother is known? Such terms as ‘stemming the waves with the taffrail,’
for instance, or some of those knowing phrases we have lately heard?”

Wilder kept his own keen look on the countenance of the other, as he
thus questioned him, and seemed to ponder long before he ventured on a
reply.

“Why do you demand all this of me?” he coldly asked.

“Because, as I believe that ‘faint heart never won fair lady,’ so do I
believe that indecision never won a ship. You wish a situation, you
say; and, if I were an Admiral, I would make you my flag-captain. At
the assizes, when we wish a brief, we have our manner of letting the
thing be known. But perhaps I am talking too much at random for an
utter stranger. You will however remember, that, though it is the
advice of a lawyer, it is given gratuitously.”

“And is it the more to be relied on for such extraordinary liberality?”

“Of that you must judge for yourself,” said the stranger in green, very
deliberately putting his foot on the ladder, and descending, until no
part of his person but his head was seen. “Here I go, literally cutting
the waves with my taffrail,” he added, as he descended backwards, and
seeming to take great pleasure in laying particular emphasis on the
words. “Adieu, my friend; if we do not meet again, I enjoin you never
to forget the rats in the Newport ruin.”

He disappeared as he concluded, and in another instant his light form
was on the ground. Turning with the most admirable coolness, he gave
the bottom of the ladder a trip with one of his feet, and laid the only
means of descent prostrate on the earth. Then, looking up at the
wondering Wilder, he nodded his head familiarly, repeated his adieu,
and passed with a swift step from beneath the arches.

“This is extraordinary conduct,” muttered Wilder who was by the process
left a prisoner in the ruin. After ascertaining that a fall from the
trap might endanger his legs, the young sailor ran to one of the
windows of the place, in order to reproach his treacherous comrade, or
indeed to assure himself that he was serious in thus deserting him. The
barrister was already out of hailing distance, and, before Wilder had
time to decide on what course to take, his active footsteps had led him
into the skirts of the town, among the buildings of which his person
became immediately lost to the eye.

During all the time occupied by the foregoing scenes and dialogue, Fid
and the negro had been diligently discussing the contents of the bag,
under the fence where they were last seen. As the appetite of the
former became appeased, his didactic disposition returned, and, at the
precise moment when Wilder was left alone in the tower, he was intently
engaged in admonishing the black on the delicate subject, of behaviour
in mixed society.

“And so you see, Guinea,” he concluded, “in or der to keep a
weather-helm in company, you are never to throw all aback, and go stern
foremost out of a dispute, as you have this day seen fit to do
According to my l’arning, that Master Nightingale is better in a
bar-room than in a squall; and if you had just luffed-up on his
quarter, when you saw me laying myself athwart his hawse in the
argument, you see we should have given him a regular jam in the
discourse, and then the fellow would have been shamed in the eyes of
all the by-standers. Who hails? what cook is sticking his neighbour’s
pig now?”

“Lor’! Misser Fid,” cried the black, “here masser Harry, wid a head out
of port-hole, up dereaway in a light-house, singing-out like a marine
in a boat wid a plug out!”

“Ay, ay, let him alone for hailing a top-gallant yard, or a
flying-jib-boom! The lad has a voice like a French horn, when he has a
mind to tune it! And what the devil is he manning the guns of that
weather-beaten wreck for? At all events, if he has to fight his craft
alone, there is no one to blame but himself, since he has gone to
quarters without beat of drum, or without, in any other manner, seeing
fit to muster his people.”

As Dick and the negro had both been making the best of their way
towards the ruin, from the moment they discovered the situation of
their friend, by this time they were within speaking distance of the
spot itself. Wilder, in those brief, pithy tones that distinguish the
manner in which a sea officer issues his orders, directed them to raise
the ladder. When he was liberated, he demanded, with a sufficiently
significant air, if they had observed the direction in which the
stranger in green had made his retreat?

“Do you mean the chap in boots, who was for shoving his oar into
another man’s rullock, a bit ago, on the small matter of wharf,
hereaway, in a range, over yonder house, bringing the north-east
chimney to hear in a line, with the mizen-top-gallant-mast-head of that
ship they are warping into the stream?”

“The very same.”

“He made a slant on the wind until he had weathered yonder bit of a
barn, and then he tacked and stretched away off here to the
east-and-by-south, going large, and with studding sails alow and aloft,
as I think, for he made a devil of a head-way.”

“Follow,” cried Wilder, starting forward in the direction indicated by
Fid, without waiting to hear any more of the other’s characteristic
explanations.

The search, however, was vain. Although they continued their inquiries
until long after the sun had set, no one could give them the smallest
tidings of what had become of the stranger in green. Some had seen him,
and marvelled at his singular costume, and bold and wandering look;
but, by all accounts, he had disappeared from the town as strangely and
mysteriously as he had entered it.




Chapter V.

“Are you so brave! I’ll have you talked with anon.”

_Coriolanus._


The good people of the town of Newport sought their rest at an early
hour. They were remarkable for that temperance and discretion which,
even to this day, distinguish the manners of the inhabitants of
New-England. By ten, the door of every house in the place was closed
for the night; and it is quite probable, that, before another hour had
passed, scarcely an eye was open, among all those which, throughout the
day, had been sufficiently alert, not only to superintend the interests
of their proper-owners, but to spare some wholesome glances at the
concerns of the rest of the neighbourhood.

The landlord of the “Foul Anchor,” as the inn, where Fid and
Nightingale had so nearly come to blows, was called, scrupulously
closed his doors at eight; a sort of expiation, by which he endeavoured
to atone, while he slept, for any moral peccadillos that he might have
committed during the day. Indeed it was to be observed as a rule, that
those who had the most difficulty in maintaining their good name, on
the score of temperance and moderation, were the most rigid in
withdrawing, in season, from the daily cares of the world. The
Admiral’s widow had given no little scandal, in her time, because
lights were so often seen burning in her house long after the hour
prescribed by custom for their extinction. Indeed, there were several
other little particulars in which this good lady had rendered herself
obnoxious to the whispered remarks of some of her female visitants. An
Episcopalian herself, she was always observed to be employed with her
needle on the evenings of Saturdays, though by no means distinguished
for her ordinary industry. It was, however, a sort of manner the good
lady had of exhibiting her adherence to the belief that the night of
Sunday was the orthodox evening of the Sabbath. On this subject there
was, in truth, a species of silent warfare between herself and the wife
of the principal clergyman of the town. It resulted, happily, in no
very striking marks of hostility. The latter was content to retaliate
by bringing her work, on the evenings of Sundays to the house of the
dowager, and occasionally interrupting their discourse, by a diligent
application of the needle for some five or six minutes at a time.
Against this contamination Mrs de Lacey took no other precaution than
to play with the leaves of a prayer book, precisely on the principle
that one uses holy water to keep the devil at that distance which the
Church has considered safest for its proselytes.

Let these matters be as they would, by ten o’clock on the night of the
day our tale commences, the town of Newport was as still as though it
did not contain a living soul. Watchmen there were none; for roguery
had not yet begun to thrive openly in the provinces. When, therefore,
Wilder and his two companions issued, at that hour, from their place of
retirement into the empty streets, they found them as still as if man
had never trod there. Not a candle was to be seen, nor the smallest
evidence of human life to be heard. It would seem our adventurers knew
their errand well; for, instead of knocking up any of the drowsy
publicans to demand admission, they held their way steadily to the
water’s side; Wilder leading, Fid coming next, and Scipio, in
conformity to all usage, bringing up the rear, in his ordinary, quiet,
submissive manner.

At the margin of the water they found several small boats, moored under
the shelter of a neighbouring wharf. Wilder gave his companions their
directions, and walked to a place convenient for embarking. After
waiting the necessary time, the bows of two boats came to the land at
the same moment, one of which was governed by the hands of the negro,
and the other by those of Fid.

“How’s this?” demanded Wilder; “Is not one enough? There is some
mistake between you.”

“No mistake at all,” responded Dick, suffering his oar to float on its
blade, and running his fingers into his hair, as if he was content with
his achievement “no more mistake than there is in taking the sun on a
clear day and in smooth water. Guinea is in the boat you hired; but a
bad bargain you made of it, as I thought at the time; and so, as
‘better late than never’ is my rule, I have just been casting an eye
over all the craft; if this is not the tightest and fastest rowing
clipper of them all, then am I no judge; and yet the parish priest
would tell you, if he were here, that my father was a boat-builder, ay,
and swear it too; that is to say, if you paid him well for the same.”

“Fellow,” returned Wilder, angrily, “you will one day induce me to turn
you adrift. Return the boat to the place where you found it, and see it
secured in the same manner as before.”

“Turn me adrift!” deliberately repeated Fid, “that would be cutting all
your weather lanyards at one blow, master Harry. Little good would come
of Scipio Africa and you, after I should part company. Have you ever
fairly logg’d the time we have sailed together?”

“Ay, have I; but it is possible to break even a friendship of twenty
years.”

“Saving your presence, master Harry, I’ll be d——d if I believe any such
thing. Here is Guinea, who is no better than a nigger, and therein far
from being a fitting messmate to a white man; but, being used to look
at his black face for four-and-twenty years, d’ye see, the colour has
got into my eye, and now it suits as well as another. Then, at sea, in
a dark night, it is not so easy a matter to tell the difference. No,
no, I am not tired of you yet, master Harry; and it is no trifle that
shall part us.”

“Then, abandon your habit of making free with the property of others.”

“I abandon nothing. No man can say he ever knowed me to quit a deck
while a plank stuck to the beams; and shall I abandon, as you call it,
my rights? What is the mighty matter, that all hands must be called to
see an old sailor punished? You gave a lubberly fisherman, a fellow who
has never been in deeper water than his own line will sound you gave
him, I say, a glittering Spaniard, just for the use of a bit of a skiff
for the night, or, mayhap, for a small reach into the morning. Well,
what does Dick do? He says to himself—for d——e if he’s any blab to run
round a ship grumbling at his officer—so he just says to himself,
‘That’s too much;’ and he looks about, to find the worth of it in some
of the fisherman’s neighbours. Money can be eaten; and, what is better,
it may be drunk; therefore, it is not to be pitched overboard with the
cook’s ashes. I’ll warrant me, if the truth could be fairly come by, it
would be found that, as to the owners of this here yawl, and that there
skiff, their mothers are cousins, and that the dollar will go in snuff
and strong drink among the whole family—so, no great harm done, after
all.”

Wilder made an impatient gesture to the other to obey, and walked up
the bank, while he had time to comply. Fid never disputed a positive
and distinct order, though he often took so much discretionary latitude
in executing those which were less precise. He did not hesitate,
therefore, to return the boat; but he did not carry his subordination
so far as to do it without complaint. When this act of justice was
performed, Wilder entered the skiff; and, seeing that his companions
were seated at their oars, he bade them to pull down the harbour,
admonishing them, at the same time, to make as little noise as
possible.

“The night I rowed you into Louisbourg, a-reconnoitring,” said Fid,
thrusting his left hand into his bosom, while, with his right, he
applied sufficient force to the light oar to make the skiff glide
swiftly over the water—“that night we muffled every thing even to our
tongues. When there is occasion to put stoppers on the mouths of a
boat’s crew, why, I’m not the man to gainsay it; but, as I am one of
them that thinks tongues were just as much made to talk with, as the
sea was made to live on, I uphold rational conversation in sober
society. S’ip, you Guinea where are you shoving the skiff to? hereaway
lies the island, and you are for going into yonder bit of a church.”

“Lay on your oars,” interrupted Wilder; “let the boat drift by this
vessel.”

They were now in the act of passing the ship, which had been warping
from the wharfs to an anchorage and in which the young sailor had so
clandestinely heard that Mrs Wyllys and the fascinating Gertrude were
to embark, on the following morning, for the distant province of
Carolina. As the skiff floated past, Wilder examined the vessel, by the
dim light of the stars, with a seaman’s eye. No part of her hull, her
spars, or her rigging, escaped his notice, and, when the whole became
confounded, by the distance, in one dark mass of shapeless matter, he
leaned his head over the side of his little bark, and mused long and
deeply with himself. To this abstraction Fid presumed to offer no
interruption. It had the appearance of professional duty; a subject
that, in his eyes, was endowed with a species of character that might
be called sacred. Scipio was habitually silent. After losing many
minutes in the manner, Wilder suddenly regained his recollection and
abruptly observed,—

“It is a tall ship, and one that should make a long chase!”

“That’s as may be,” returned the ready Fid. “Should that fellow get a
free wind, and his canvas all abroad, it might worry a King’s cruiser
to get nigh enough to throw the iron on his decks; but jamm’d up close
hauled, why, I’d engage to lay on his weather quarter, with the saucy
He—”

“Boys,” interrupted Wilder, “it is now proper that you dhould know
something of my future movements. We have been shipmates, I might
almost say messmates, for more than twenty years. I was better than an
infant, Fid, when you brought me to the commander of your ship, and not
only was instrumental in saving my life, but in putting me into a
situation to make an officer.”

“Ay, ay, you were no great matter, master Harry as to bulk; and a short
hammock served your turn as well as the captain’s birth.”

“I owe you a heavy debt, Fid, for that one generous act, and something,
I may add, for your steady adherence to me since.”

“Why, yes, I’ve been pretty steady in my conduct master Harry, in this
here business, more particularly seeing that I have never let go my
grapplings, though you’ve so often sworn to turn me adrift. As for
Guinea, here, the chap makes fair weather with you, blow high or blow
low, whereas it is no hard matter to get up a squall between us, as
might be seen in that small affair about the boat;”—

“Say no more of it,” interrupted Wilder, whose feelings appeared
sensibly touched, as his recollections ran over long-past and
bitterly-remembered scenes: “You know that little else than death can
part us, unless indeed you choose to quit me now. It is right that you
should know that I am engaged in a desperate pursuit, and one that may
easily end in ruin to myself and all who accompany me. I feel reluctant
to separate from you, my friends, for it may be a final parting, but,
at the same time, you should know all the danger.”

“Is there much more travelling by land?” bluntly demanded Fid.

“No; the duty, such as it is, will be done entirely in the water.”

“Then bring forth your ship’s books, and find room for such a mark as a
pair of crossed anchors, which stand for all the same as so many
letters reading ‘Richard Fid.’”

“But perhaps, when you know”——

“I want to know nothing about it, master Harry Haven’t I sailed with
you often enough under sealed orders, to trust my old body once more in
your company without forgetting my duty? What say you Guinea? will you
ship? or shall we land you at once, on yonder bit of a low point, and
leave you to scrape acquaintance with the clams?”

“’Em berry well off, here,” muttered the perfectly contented negro.

“Ay, ay, Guinea is like the launch of one of the coasters, always
towing in your wake, master Harry; whereas I am often luffing athwart
your hawse, or getting foul, in some fashion or other, on one of your
quarters. Howsomever, we are both shipped, as you see, in this here
cruise, with the particulars of which we are both well satisfied. So
pass the word among us, what is to be done next, and no more parley.”

“Remember the cautions you have already received returned Wilder, who
saw that the devotion of his followers was too infinite to need
quickening, and who knew, from long and perilous experience, how
implicitly he might rely on their fidelity, notwithstanding certain
failings, that were perhaps peculiar to their condition; remember what
I have already given in charge; and now pull directly for yon ship in
the outer harbour.”

Fid and the black promptly complied; and the boat was soon skimming the
water between the little island and what might, by comparison, be
called the main. As they approached the vessel, the strokes of the oars
were moderated, and finally abandoned altogether, Wilder preferring to
let the skiff drop down with the tide upon the object he wished well to
examine before venturing to board.

“Has not that ship her nettings triced to the rigging?” he demanded, in
a voice that was lowered to the tones necessary to escape observation,
and which betrayed, at the same time, the interest he took in the
reply.

“According to my sight, she has,” returned Fid; “your slavers are a
little pricked by conscience, and are never over-bold, unless when they
are chasing a young nigger on the coast of Congo. Now, there is about
as much danger of a Frenchman’s looking in here to-night, with this
land breeze and clear sky, as there is of my being made Lord High
Admiral of England; a thing not likely to come to pass soon, seeing
that the King don’t know a great deal of my merit.”

“They are, to a certainty, ready to give a warm reception to any
boarders!” continued Wilder, who rarely paid much attention to the
amplifications with which Fid so often saw fit to embellish the
discourse. “It would be no easy matter to carry a ship thus prepared,
if her people were true to themselves.”

“I warrant ye there is a full quarter-watch at least sleeping among her
guns, at this very moment, with a bright look-out from her cat-heads
and taffrail. I was once on the weather fore-yard-arm of the Hebe, when
I made, hereaway to the south-west, a sail coming large upon us,”—

“Hist! they are stirring on her decks!”

“To be sure they are. The cook is splitting a log; the captain has sung
out for his night-cap.”

The voice of Fid was lost in a summons from the ship, that sounded like
the roaring of some sea monster which had unexpectedly raised its head
above the water. The practised ears of our adventurers instantly
comprehended it to be, what it truly was, the manner in which it was
not unusual to hail a boat. Without taking time to ascertain that the
plashing of oars was to be heard in the distance. Wilder raised his
form in the skiff, and answered.

“How now?” exclaimed the same strange voice; “there is no one
victualled aboard here that speaks thus. Whereaway are you, he that
answers?”

“A little on your larboard bow; here, in the shadow of the ship.”

“And what are ye about, within the sweep of my hawse?”

“Cutting the waves with my taffrail,” returned Wilder, after a moment’s
hesitation.

“What fool has broke adrift here!” muttered his interrogator. “Pass a
blunderbuss forward, and let us see if a civil answer can’t be drawn
from the fellow.”

“Hold!” said a calm but authoritative voice from the most distant part
of the ship; “it is as it should be, let them approach.”

The man in the bows of the vessel bade them come along side, and then
the conversation ceased. Wilder had now an opportunity to discover,
that, as the hail had been intended for another boat, which was still
at a distance, he had answered prematurely. But, perceiving that it was
too late to retreat with safety, or perhaps only acting in conformity
to his original determination, he directed his companions to obey.

“‘Cutting the waves with the taffrail,’ is not the civillest answer a
man can give to a hail,” muttered Fid, as he dropped the blade of his
oar into the water; “nor is it a matter to be logged in a man’s memory,
that they have taken offence at the same. Howsomever, master Harry, if
they are so minded as to make a quarrel about the thing, give them as
good as they send, and count on manly backers.”

No reply was made to this encouraging assurance for, by this time, the
skiff was within a few feet of the ship. Wilder ascended the side of
the vessel amid a deep, and, as he felt it to be, an ominous silence.
The night was dark, though enough light fell from the stars, that were
here and there visible, to render objects sufficiently distinct to the
practised eyes of a seaman. When our young adventurer touched the deck,
he cast a hurried and scrutinizing look about him, as if doubts and
impressions, which had long been harboured, were all to be resolved by
that first view.

An ignorant landsman would have been struck with the order and symmetry
with which the tall spars rose towards the heavens, from the black mass
of the hull, and with the rigging that hung in the air, one dark line
crossing another, until all design seemed confounded in the confusion
and intricacy of the studied maze. But to Wilder these familiar objects
furnished no immediate attraction. His first rapid glance had, like
that of all seamen, it is true, been thrown upward, but it was
instantly succeeded by the brief, though keen, examination to which we
have just alluded. With the exception of one who, though his form was
muffled in a large sea-cloak, seemed to be an officer, not a living
creature was to be seen on the decks. On either side there was a dark,
frowning battery, arranged in the beautiful and imposing order of
marine architecture; but nowhere could he find a trace of the crowd of
human beings which usually throng the deck of an armed ship, or that
was necessary to render the engines effective. It might be that her
people were in their hammocks, as usual at that hour, but still it was
customary to leave a sufficient number on the watch, to look to the
safety of the vessel. Finding himself so unexpectedly confronted with a
single individual, our adventurer began to be sensible of the
awkwardness of his situation, and of the necessity of some explanation.

“You are no doubt surprised, sir,” he said, “at the lateness of the
hour that I have chosen for my visit.”

“You were certainly expected earlier,” was the laconic answer.

“Expected!”

“Ay, expected. Have I not seen you, and your two companions who are in
the boat, reconnoitring us half the day, from the wharfs of the town,
and even from the old tower on the hill? What did all this curiosity
foretel, but an intention to come on board?”

“This is odd, I will acknowledge!” exclaimed Wilder, in some secret
alarm. “And, then, you had notice of my intentions?”

“Hark ye, friend,” interrupted the other, indulging in a short, low
laugh; “from your outfit and appearance I think I am right in calling
you a seaman: Do you imagine that glasses were forgotten in the
inventory of this ship? or, do you fancy that we don’t know how to use
them?”

“You must have strong reasons for looking so deeply into the movements
of strangers on the land.”

“Hum! Perhaps we expect our cargo from the country. But I suppose you
have not come so far in the dark to look at our manifest. You would see
the Captain?”

“Do I not see him?”

“Where?” demanded the other, with a start that manifested he stood in a
salutary awe of his superior.

“In yourself.”

“I! I have not got so high in the books, though my time may come yet,
some fair day. Hark ye, friend; you passed under the stern of yonder
ship, which has been hauling into the stream, in coming out to us?”

“Certainly; she lies, as you see, directly in my course.”

“A wholesome-looking craft that! and one well found, I warrant you. She
is quite ready to be off they tell me.”

“It would so seem: her sails are bent, and she floats like a ship that
is full.”

“Of what?” abruptly demanded the other.

“Of articles mentioned in her manifest, no doubt. But you seem light
yourself: if you are to load at this port, it will be some days before
you put to sea.”

“Hum! I don’t think we shall be long after our neighbour,” the other
remarked, a little drily. Then, as if he might have said too much, he
added hastily, “We slavers carry little else, you know, than our
shackles and a few extra tierces of rice; the rest of our ballast is
made up of these guns, and the stuff to put into them.”

“And is it usual for ships in the trade to carry so heavy an armament?”

“Perhaps it is, perhaps not. To own the truth, there is not much law on
the coast, and the strong arm often does as much as the right. Our
owners, therefore, I believe, think it quite as well there should be no
lack of guns and ammunition on board.”

“They should also give you people to work them.”

“They have forgotten that part of their wisdom, certainly.”

His words were nearly drowned by the same gruff voice that had
brought-to the skiff of Wilder, which sent another hoarse summons
across the water, rolling out sounds that were intended to say,—

“Boat, ahoy!”

The answer was quick, short, and nautical; but it was rendered in a low
and cautious tone. The individual, with whom Wilder had been holding
such equivocating parlance, seemed embarrassed by the sudden
interruption, and a little at a loss to know how to conduct himself. He
had already made a motion towards leading his visiter to the cabin,
when the sounds of oars were heard clattering in a boat along side of
the ship, announcing that he was too late. Bidding the other remain
where he was, he sprang to the gangway, in order to receive those who
had just arrived.

By this sudden desertion, Wilder found himself in entire possession of
that part of the vessel where he stood. It gave him a better
opportunity to renew his examination, and to cast a scrutinizing eye
also over the new comers.

Some five or six athletic-looking seamen ascended from the boat, in
profound silence. A short and whispered conference took place between
them and their officer, who appeared both to receive a report, and to
communicate an order. When these preliminary matters were ended, a line
was lowered, from a whip on the main-yard, the end evidently dropping
into the newly-arrived boat. In a moment, the burthen it was intended
to transfer to the ship was seen swinging in the air, midway between
the water and the spar. It then slowly descended, inclining inboard
until it was safely, and somewhat carefully, landed on the decks of the
vessel.

During the whole of this process, which in itself had nothing
extraordinary or out of the daily practice of large vessels in port,
Wilder had strained his eyes, until they appeared nearly ready to start
from their sockets. The black mass, which had been lifted from the
boat, seemed, while it lay against the background of sky, to possess
the proportions of the human form. The seamen gathered about this
object After much bustle, and a good deal of low conversation, the
burthen or body, whichever it might be called, was raised by the men,
and the whole disappeared together, behind the masts, boats, and guns
which crowded the forward part of the vessel.

The whole event was of a character to attract the attention of Wilder.
His eye was not, however, so intently riveted on the groupe in the
gangway, as to prevent his detecting a dozen black objects, that were
suddenly thrust forward, from behind the spars and other dark masses of
the vessel. They might be blocks swinging in the air, but they bore
also a wonderful resemblance to human heads. The simultaneous manner in
which they both appeared and disappeared, served to confirm this
impression; nor, to confess the truth, had our adventurer any doubt
that curiosity had drawn so many inquiring countenances from their
respective places of concealment. He had not much leisure, however, to
reflect on all these little accompaniments of his situation, before he
was rejoined by his former companion, who, to all appearance, was again
left, with himself, to the entire possession of the deck.

“You know the trouble of getting off the people from the shore,” the
officer observed, “when a ship is ready to sail.”

“You seem to have a summary method of hoisting them in,” returned
Wilder.

“Ah! you speak of the fellow on the whip? Your eyes are good, friend,
to tell a jack-knife from a marling-spike, at this distance. But the
lad was mutinous; that is, not absolutely mutinous—but, drunk. As
mutinous as a man can well be, who can neither speak, sit, nor stand.”

Then, as if as well content with his humour as with this simple
explanation, the other laughed and chuckled, in a manner that showed he
was in perfect good humour with himself.

“But all this time you are left on deck,” he quickly added, “and the
Captain is waiting your appearance in the cabin: Follow; I will be your
pilot.”

“Hold,” said Wilder; “will it not be as well to announce my visit?”

“He knows it already: Little takes place aboard, here, that does not
reach his ears before it gets into the log-book.”

Wilder made no further objection, but indicated his readiness to
proceed. The other led the way to the bulkhead which separated the
principal cabin from the quarter-deck of the ship; and, pointing to a
door, he rather whispered than said aloud,—

“Tap twice; if he answer, go in.”

Wilder did as he was directed. His first summons was either unheard or
disregarded. On repeating it, he was bid to enter. The young seaman
opened the door, with a crowd of sensations, that will find their
solution in the succeeding parts of our narrative and instantly stood,
under the light of a powerful lamp, in the presence of the stranger in
green.




Chapter VI.

“The good old plan,
That they should get, who have the power,
And they should keep, who can.”

_Wordsworth._


The apartment, in which our adventurer now found himself, afforded no
bad illustration of the character of its occupant. In its form, and
proportions it was a cabin of the usual size and arrangements; but, in
its furniture and equipments, it exhibited a singular admixture of
luxury and martial preparation. The lamp, which swung from the upper
deck, was of solid silver; and, though adapted to its present situation
by mechanical ingenuity, there was that, in its shape and ornaments,
which betrayed it had once been used before some shrine of a far more
sacred character. Massive candlesticks of the same precious metal, and
which partook of the same ecclesiastical formation, were on a venerable
table, whose mahogany was glittering with the polish of half a century,
and whose gilded claws, and carved supporters, bespoke an original
destination very different from the ordinary service of a ship. A
couch, covered with cut velvet, stood along the transom; while a divan,
of blue silk, lay against the bulkhead opposite, manifesting, by its
fashion, its materials, and its piles of pillows, that even Asia had
been made to contribute to the ease of its luxurious owner. In addition
to these prominent articles, there were cut glass, mirrors, plate, and
even hangings; each of which, by something peculiar in its fashion or
materials, bespoke an origin different from that of its neighbour. In
short, splendour and elegance seemed to have been much more consulted
than propriety, or conformity in taste, in the selection of most of
those articles, which had been, oddly enough, made to contribute to the
caprice or to the comfort of their singular possessor.

In the midst of this medley of wealth and luxury, appeared the frowning
appendages of war. The cabin included four of those dark cannon whose
weight and number had been first to catch the attention of Wilder.
Notwithstanding they were placed in such close proximity to the
articles of ease just enumerated, it only needed a seaman’s eye to
perceive that they stood ready for instant service, and that five
minutes of preparation would strip the place of all its tinsel, and
leave it a warm and well protected battery. Pistols, sabres,
half-pikes, boarding-axes and all the minor implements of marine
warfare, were arranged about the cabin in such a manner as to aid in
giving it an appearance of wild embellishment, while, at the same time,
each was convenient to the hand.

Around the mast was placed a stand of muskets, and strong wooden bars,
that were evidently made to fit in brackets on either side of the door,
sufficiently showed that the bulkhead might easily be converted into a
barrier. The entire arrangement proclaimed that the cabin was
considered the citadel of the ship. In support of this latter opinion,
appeared a hatch, which evidently communicated with the apartments of
the inferior officers, and which also opened a direct passage into the
magazine. These dispositions, a little different from what he had been
accustomed to see, instantly struck the eye of Wilder, though leisure
was not then given to reflect on their uses and objects.

There was a latent expression of satisfaction, something modified,
perhaps, by irony, on the countenance of the stranger in green, (for he
was still clad as when first introduced to the reader,) as he arose, on
the entrance of his visiter. The two stood several moments without
speaking, when the pretended barrister saw fit to break the awkward
silence.

“To what happy circumstance is this ship indebted for the honour of
such a visit?” he demanded.

“I believe I may answer, To the invitation of her Captain,” Wilder
answered, with a steadiness and calmness equal to that displayed by the
other.

“Did he show you his commission, in assuming that office? They say, at
sea, I believe, that no cruiser should be found without a commission.”

“And what say they at the universities on this material point?”

“I see I may as well lay aside my gown, and own the marling-spike!”
returned the other, smiling, “There is something about the
trade—_profession_, though, I believe, is your favourite word—there is
something about the profession, which betrays us to each other. Yes, Mr
Wilder,” he added with dignity motioning to his guest to imitate his
example, and take a seat, “I am, like yourself, a seaman bred and happy
am I to add, the Commander of this gallant vessel.”

“Then, must you admit that I have not intruded without a sufficient
warrant.”

“I confess the same. My ship has filled your eye agreeably; nor shall I
be slow to acknowledge, that I have seen enough about your air, and
person, to make me wish to be an older acquaintance. You want service?”

“One should be ashamed of idleness in these stirring times.”

“It is well. This is an oddly-constructed world in which we live, Mr
Wilder! Some think themselves in danger, with a foundation beneath them
no less solid than _terra firma_, while others are content to trust
their fortunes on the sea. So, again, some there are who believe
praying is the business of man; and then come others who are sparing of
their breath, and take those favours for themselves which they have not
always the leisure or the inclination to ask for. No doubt you thought
it prudent to inquire into the nature of our trade, before you came
hither in quest of employment?”

“You are said to be a slaver, among the townsmen of Newport.”

“They are never wrong, your village gossips! If witchcraft ever truly
existed on earth, the first of the cunning tribe has been a village
innkeeper; the second, its doctor; and the third, its priest. The right
to the fourth honour may be disputed between the barber and the
tailor.—Roderick!”

The Captain accompanied the word by which he so unceremoniously
interrupted himself, by striking a light blow on a Chinese gong, which,
among other curiosities, was suspended from one of the beams of the
upper deck, within reach of his hand.

“I say, Roderick, do you sleep?”

A light and active boy darted out of one of the two little state-rooms
which were constructed on the quarters of the ship, and answered to the
summons by announcing his presence.

“Has the boat returned?”

The reply was in the affirmative.

“And has she been successful?”

“The General is in his room, sir, and can give you an answer better
than I.”

“Then, let the General appear, and report the result of his campaign.”

Wilder was by far too deeply interested, to break the sudden reverie
into which his companion had now evidently fallen, even by breathing as
loud as usual. The boy descended through the hatch like a serpent
gliding into his hole, or, rather, a fox darting into his burrow, and
then a profound stillness reigned in the cabin. The Commander of the
ship leaned his head on his hand, appearing utterly unconscious of the
presence of any stranger. The silence might have been of much longer
duration, had it not been interrupted by the appearance of a third
person. A straight, rigid form slowly elevated itself through the
little hatchway, very much in the manner that theatrical spectres are
seen to make their appearance on the stage, until about half of the
person was visible, when it ceased to rise, and turned its disciplined
countenance on the Captain.

“I wait for orders,” said a mumbling voice, which issued from lips that
were hardly perceived to move.

Wilder started as this unexpected individual appeared; nor was the
stranger wanting in an aspect sufficiently remarkable to produce
surprise in any spectator. The face was that of a man of fifty, with
the lineaments rather indurated than faded by time. Its colour was an
uniform red, with the exception of one of those expressive little
fibrous tell-tales on each cheek, which bear so striking a resemblance
to the mazes of the vine, and which would seem to be the true origin of
the proverb which says that “good wine needs no bush.” The head was
bald on its crown; but around either ear was a mass of grizzled hair,
pomatumed and combed into formal military bristles. The neck was long,
and supported by a black stock; the shoulders, arms, and body were
those of a man of tall stature; and the whole were enveloped in an
over-coat, which, though it had something methodical in its fashion,
was evidently intended as a sort of domino. The Captain raised his head
as the other spoke, exclaiming,—

“Ah! General, are you at your post? Did you find the land?”

“Yes.”

“And the point?—and the man?”

“Both.”

“And what did you?”

“Obey orders.”

“That was right.—You are a jewel for an executive officer, General;
and, as such, I wear you near my heart. Did the fellow complain?”

“He was gagged.”

“A summary method of closing remonstrance. It is as it should be,
General; as usual, you have merited my approbation.”

“Then reward me for it.”

“In what manner? You are already as high in rank as I can elevate you.
The next step must be knighthood.”

“Pshaw! my men are no better than militia. They want coats.”

“They shall have them. His Majesty’s guards shall not be half so well
equipt. General, I wish you a good night.”

The figure descended, in the same rigid, spectral manner as it had
risen on the sight, leaving Wilder again alone with the Captain of the
ship. The latter seemed suddenly struck with the fact that this odd
interview had occurred in the presence of one who was nearly a
stranger, and that, in his eyes at least, it might appear to require
some explanation.

“My friend,” he said, with an air something explanatory while it was at
the same time not a little naughty, “commands what, in a more regular
cruiser, would be called the ‘marine guard.’ He has gradually risen, by
service, from the rank of a subaltern, to the high station which he now
fills. You perceive he smells of the camp?”

“More than of the ship. Is it usual for slavers to be so well provided
with military equipments? I find you armed at all points.”

“You would know more of us, before we proceed to drive our bargain?”
the Captain answered, with a smile. He then opened a little casket that
stood on the table, and drew from it a parchment, which he coolly
handed to Wilder, saying, as he did so, with one of the quick,
searching glances of his restless eye, “You will see, by that, we have
‘letters of marque,’ and are duly authorized to fight the battles of
the King, while we are conducting our own more peaceable affairs.”

“This is the commission of a brig!”

“True, true. I have given you the wrong paper. I believe you will find
this more accurate.”

“This is truly a commission for the ‘good ship Seven Sisters;’ but you
surely carry more than ten guns, and, then, these in your cabin throw
nine instead of four pound shot!”

“Ah! you are as precise as though you had been the barrister, and I the
blundering seaman. I dare say you have heard of such a thing as
stretching a commission,” continued the Captain drily, as he carelessly
threw the parchment back among a pile of similar documents. Then,
rising from his seat, he began to pace the cabin with quick steps, as
he continued, “I need not tell you, Mr Wilder, that ours is a hazardous
pursuit. Some call it lawless. But, as I am little addicted to
theological disputes, we will wave the question. You have not come here
without knowing your errand.”

“I am in search of a birth.”

“Doubtless you have reflected well on the matter and know your own mind
as to the trade in which you would sail. In order that no time may be
wasted and that our dealings may be frank, as becomes two honest
seamen, I will confess to you, at once, that I have need of you. A
brave and skilful man, one older, though, I dare say, not better than
yourself occupied that larboard state-room, within the month; but, poor
fellow, he is food for fishes ere this.”

“He was drowned?”

“Not he! He died in open battle with a King’s ship!”

“A King’s ship! Have you then stretched your commission so far as to
find a warranty for giving battle to his Majesty’s cruisers?”

“Is there no King but George the Second! Perhaps she bore the white
flag, perhaps a Dane. But he was truly a gallant fellow; and there lies
his birth, as empty as the day he was carried from it, to be cast into
the sea. He was a man fit to succeed to the command, should an evil
star shine on my fate, I think I could die easier, were I to know this
noble vessel was to be transmitted to one who would make such use of
her as should be.”

“Doubtless your owners would provide a successor in the event of such a
calamity.”

“My owners are very reasonable,” returned the other, with a meaning
smile, while he cast another searching glance at his guest, which
compelled Wilder to lower his own eyes to the cabin floor; “they seldom
trouble me with importunities, or orders.”

“They are indulgent! I see that flags were not forgotten in your
inventory: Do they also give you permission to wear any one of all
those ensigns, as you may please?”

As this question was put, the expressive and understanding looks of the
two seamen met. The Captain drew a flag from the half-open locker,
where it had caught the attention of his visiter, and, letting the roll
unfold itself on the deck, he answered,—

“This is the Lily of France, you see. No bad emblem of your stainless
Frenchman. An escutcheon of pretence without spot, but, nevertheless, a
little soiled by too much use. Here, you have the calculating Dutchman;
plain, substantial, and cheap. It is a flag I little like. If the ship
be of value, her owners are not often willing to dispose of her without
a price. This is your swaggering Hamburgher. He is rich in the
possession of one town, and makes his boast of it, in these towers. Of
the rest of his mighty possessions he wisely says nothing in his
allegory These are the Crescents of Turkey; a moon-struck nation, that
believe themselves the inheritors of heaven. Let them enjoy their
birthright in peace; it is seldom they are found looking for its
blessings on the high seas—and these, the little satellites that play
about the mighty moon; your Barbarians of Africa. I hold but little
communion with these wide-trowsered gentry, for they seldom deal in
gainful traffic. And yet,” he added, glancing his eye at the silken
divan before which Wilder was seated, “I have met the rascals; nor have
we parted entirely without communication! Ah! here comes the man I
like; your golden, gorgeous Spaniard! This field of yellow reminds one
of the riches of her mines; and this Crown! one might fancy it of
beaten gold, and stretch forth a hand to grasp the treasure What a
blazonry is this for a galleon! Here is the humbler Portuguese; and yet
is he not without a wealthy look. I have often fancied there were true
Brazilian diamonds in this kingly bauble. Yonder crucifix, which you
see hanging in pious proximity to my state-room door, is a specimen of
the sort I mean.” Wilder turned his head, to throw a look on the
valuable emblem, that was really suspended from the bulkhead, within a
few inches of the spot the other named. After satisfying his curiosity
he was in the act of giving his attention again to the flags, when he
detected another of those penetrating, but stolen glances with which
his companion so often read the countenance of his associates. It might
have been that the Captain was endeavouring to discover the effect his
profuse display of wealth had produced on the mind of his visiter. Let
that be as it would, Wilder smiled; for, at that moment, the idea first
occurred that the ornaments of the cabin had been thus studiously
arranged with an expectation of his arrival, and with the wish that
their richness might strike his senses favourably. The other caught the
expression of his eye; and perhaps he mistook its meaning, when he
suffered his construction of what it said to animate him to pursue his
whimsical analysis of the flags, with an air still more cheerful and
vivacious than before.

“These double-headed monsters are land birds and seldom risk a flight
over deep waters. They are not for me. Your hardy, valiant Dane; your
sturdy Swede; a nest of smaller fry,” he continued, passing his hand
rapidly over a dozen little rolls as they lay, each in its own
repository, “who spread their bunting like larger states; and your
luxurious Neapolitan. Ah! here come the Keys of Heaven! This is a flag
to die under! I lay yard-arm and yard-arm, once, under that very bit of
bunting, with a heavy corsair from Algiers”—

“What! Did you choose to fight under the banners of the Church?”

“In mere devotion. I pictured to myself the surprise that would
overcome the barbarian, when he should find that we did not go to
prayers. We gave him but a round or two, before he swore that Allah had
decreed he might surrender. There was a moment while I luffed-up on his
weather-quarter, I believe, that the Mussulman thought the whole of the
holy Conclave was afloat, and that the downfall of Mahomet and his
offspring was ordained. I provoked the conflict, I will confess, in
showing him these peaceful Keys, which he is dull enough to think open
half the strong boxes of Christendom.”

“When he had confessed his error, you let him go?”

“Hum!—with my blessing. There was some interchange of commodities
between us, and then we parted. I left him smoking his pipe, in a heavy
sea with his fore-topmast over the side, his mizzenmast under his
counter, and some six or seven holes in his bottom, that let in the
water just as fast as the pumps discharged it. You see he was in a fair
way to acquire his portion of the inheritance. But Heaven had ordained
it all, and he was satisfied!”

“And what flags are these which you have passed? They seem rich, and
many.”

“These are England; like herself, aristocratic, party-coloured, and a
good deal touched by humour. Here is bunting to note all ranks and
conditions, as if men were not made of the same flesh, and the people
of one kingdom might not all sail honestly under the same emblems. Here
is my Lord High Admiral; your St. George; your field of red, and of
blue, as chance may give you a leader, or the humour of the moment
prevail; the stripes of mother India, and the Royal Standard itself!”

“The Royal Standard!”

“Why not? A commander is termed a ‘monarch in his ship.’ Ay; this is
the Standard of the King and, what is more, it has been worn in
presence of an Admiral!”

“This needs explanation!” exclaimed his listener who seemed to feel
much that sort of horror that a churchman would discover at the
detection of sacrilege. “To wear the Royal Standard in presence of a
flag! We all know how difficult, and even dangerous, it becomes, to
sport a simple pennant, with the eyes of a King’s cruiser on us—”

“I love to flaunt the rascals!” interrupted the other, with a
smothered, but bitter laugh. “There is pleasure in the thing!—In order
to punish, they must possess the power; an experiment often made, but
never yet successful. You understand balancing accounts with the law,
by showing a broad sheet of canvas! I need say no more.”

“And which of all these flags do you most use?” demanded Wilder, after
a moment of intense thought.

“As to mere sailing, I am as whimsical as a girl in her teens in the
choice of her ribbons. I will often show you a dozen in a day. Many is
the worthy trader who has gone into port with his veritable account of
this Dutchman, or that Dane, with whom he has spoken in the offing. As
to fighting, though I have been known to indulge a humour, too, in that
particular, still is there one which I most affect.”

“And that is?——”

The Captain kept his hand, for a moment, on the roll he had touched,
and seemed to read the very soul of his visiter, so intent and keen was
his look the while. Then, suffering the bunting to fall, a deep,
blood-red field, without relief or ornament of any sort, unfolded
itself, as he answered, with emphasis,—

“This.”

“That is the colour of a Rover!”

“Ay, it is _red_! I like it better than your gloomy fields of black,
with death’s heads, and other childish scare-crows. It threatens
nothing; but merely says, ‘Such is the price at which I am to be
bought.’ Mr Wilder,” he added, losing the mixture of irony and
pleasantry with which he had supported the previous dialogue, in an air
of authority, “We understand each other. It is time that each should
sail under his proper colours. I need not tell you who I am.”

“I believe it is unnecessary,” said Wilder. “If I can comprehend these
palpable signs, I stand in presence of—of—”

“The Red Rover,” continued the other, observing that he hesitated to
pronounce the appalling name. “It is true; and I hope this interview is
the commencement of a durable and firm friendship. I know not the
secret cause, but, from the moment of our meeting, a strong and
indefinable interest has drawn me towards you. Perhaps I felt the void
which my situation has drawn about me;—be that as it may, I receive you
with a longing heart and open arms.”

Though it must be very evident, from what-preceded this open avowal,
that Wilder was not ignorant of the character of the ship on board of
which he had just ventured, yet did he not receive the acknowledgment
without embarrassment. The reputation of this renowned freebooter, his
daring, his acts of liberality and licentiousness so frequently
blended, and his desperate disregard of life on all occasions, were
probably crowding together in the recollection of our more youthful
adventurer, and caused him to feel that species of responsible
hesitation to which we are all more or less subject on the occurrence
of important events, be they ever so much expected.

“You have not mistaken my purpose, or my suspicions,” he at length
answered, “for I own have come in search of this very ship. I accept
the service; and, from this moment, you will rate me in whatever
station you may think me best able to discharge my duty with credit.”

“You are next to myself. In the morning, the same shall be proclaimed
on the quarter-deck; and, in the event of my death, unless I am
deceived in my man, you will prove my successor. This may strike you as
sudden confidence. It is so, in part, I must acknowledge; but our
shipping lists cannot be opened, like those of the King, by beat of
drum in the streets of the metropolis; and, then, am I no judge of the
human heart, if my frank reliance on your faith does not, in itself,
strengthen your good feelings in my favour.”

“It does!” exclaimed Wilder, with sudden and deep emphasis.

The Rover smiled calmly, as he continued,—

“Young gentlemen of your years are apt to carry no small portion of
their hearts in their hands. But, notwithstanding this seeming
sympathy, in order that you may have sufficient respect for the
discretion of your leader, it is necessary that I should say we have
met before. I was apprised of your intention to seek me out, and to
offer to join me.”

“It is impossible!” cried Wilder, “No human being—”

“Can ever be certain his secrets are safe,” interrupted the other,
“when he carries a face as ingenuous as your own. It is but
four-and-twenty hours since you were in the good town of Boston.”

“I admit that much; but—”

“You will soon admit the rest. You were too curious in your inquiries
of the dolt who declares he was robbed by us of his provisions and
sails. The false-tongued villain! It may be well for him to keep from
my path, or he may get a lesson that shall prick his honesty. Does he
think such pitiful game as he would induce me to spread a single inch
of canvas, or even to lower a boat into the sea!”

“Is not his statement, then, true?” demanded Wilder, in a surprise he
took no pains to conceal.

“True! Am I what report has made me? Look keenly at the monster, that
nothing may escape you,” returned the Rover, with a hollow laugh, in
which scorn struggled to keep down the feelings of wounded pride.
“Where are the horns, and the cloven foot? Snuff the air: Is it not
tainted with sulphur? But enough of this. I knew of your inquiries, and
liked your mien. In short, you were my study; and, though my approaches
were made with some caution they were sufficiently nigh to effect the
object. You pleased me, Wilder; and I hope the satisfaction may be
mutual.”

The newly engaged buccanier bowed to the compliment of his superior,
and appeared at some little loss for a reply: As if to get rid of the
subject at once, he hurriedly observed,—

“As we now understand each other, I will intrude no longer, but leave
you for the night, and return to my duty in the morning.”

“Leave me!” returned the Rover, stopping short on his walk, and
fastening his eye keenly on the other. “It is not usual for my officers
to leave me at this hour. A sailor should love his ship, and never
sleep out of her, unless on compulsion.”

“We may as well understand each other,” said Wilder, quickly. “If it is
to be a slave, and, like one of the bolts, a fixture in the vessel,
that you need me, our bargain is at an end.”

“Hum! I admire your spirit, sir, much more than your discretion. You
will find me an attached friend and one who little likes a separation,
however short Is there not enough to content you here? I will not speak
of such low considerations as those which administer to the ordinary
appetites. But, you have been taught the value of reason; here are
books—you have taste; here is elegance—you are poor, here is wealth.”

“They amount to nothing, without liberty,” coldly returned the other.

“And what is this liberty you ask? I hope, young man, you would not so
soon betray the confidence you have just received! Our acquaintance is
but short, and I may have been too hasty in my faith.”

“I must return to the land,” Wilder added, firmly, “if it be only to
know that I am intrusted, and am not a prisoner.”

“There is generous sentiment, or deep villany, in all this,” resumed
the Rover, after a minute of deep thought. “I will believe the former.
Declare to me, that, while in the town of Newport, you will inform no
soul of the true character of this ship.”

“I will swear it,” eagerly interrupted Wilder.

“On this cross,” rejoined the Rover, with a sarcastic laugh; “on this
diamond-mounted cross! No, sir,” he added, with a proud curl of the
lip, as he cast the jewel contemptuously aside, “oaths are made for men
who need laws to keep them to their promises; I need no more than the
clear and unequivocal affirmation of a gentleman.”

“Then, plainly and unequivocally do I declare, that, while in Newport,
I will discover the character of this ship to no one, without your
wish, or order so to do. Nay more”—

“No more. It is wise to be sparing of our pledges, and to say no more
than the occasion requires. The time may come when you might do good to
yourself, without harming me, by being unfettered by a promise. In an
hour, you shall land; that time will be needed to make you acquainted
with the terms of your enlistment, and to grace my rolls with your
name.—Roderick,” he added, again touching the gong, “you are wanted,
boy.”

The same active lad, that had made his appearance at the first summons,
ran up the steps from the cabin beneath, and announced his presence
again by his voice.

“Roderick,” continued the Rover, “this is my future lieutenant, and, of
course, your officer, and my friend. Will you take refreshment, sir?
there is little, that man needs, which Roderick cannot supply.”

“I thank you; I have need of none.”

“Then, have the goodness to follow the boy. He will show you into the
dining apartment beneath, and give you the written regulations. In an
hour, you will have digested the code, and by that time I shall be with
you. Throw the light more upon the ladder, boy; you can descend
_without_ a ladder though, it would seem, or I should not, at this
moment, have the pleasure of your company.”

The intelligent smile of the Rover was unanswered by any corresponding
evidence from the subject of his joke, that he found satisfaction in
the remembrance of the awkward situation in which he had been left in
the tower. The former caught the displeased expression of the other’s
countenance, as he gravely prepared to follow the boy, who already
stood in the hatchway with a light. Advancing a step with the grace and
tones of sensitive breeding, he said quickly,—

“Mr Wilder, I owe you an apology for my seeming rudeness at parting on
the hill. Though I believed you mine, I was not sure of my acquisition.
You will readily see how necessary it might be, to one in my situation,
to throw off a companion at such a moment.”

Wilder turned, with a countenance from which every shade of displeasure
had vanished, and motioned to him to say no more.

“It was awkward enough, certainly, to find one’s self in such a prison;
but I feel the justice of what you say. I might have done the very
thing myself, if the same presence of mind were at hand to help me.”

“The good man, who grinds in the Newport ruin, must be in a sad way,
since all the rats are leaving his mill,” cried the Rover gaily, as his
companion descended after the boy. Wilder now freely returned his open,
cordial laugh, and then, as he descended, the cabin was left to him
who, a few minutes before, had been found in its quiet possession.




Chapter VII.

“The world affords no law to make thee rich;
Then be not poor, but break it, and take this.”
_Apoth._ “My poverty, but not my will, consents.”

_Romeo and Juliet._


The Rover arrested his step, as the other disappeared and stood for
more than a minute in an attitude of high and self-gratulating triumph.
It was quite apparent he was exulting in his success. But, though his
intelligent face betrayed the satisfaction of the inward man, it was
illumined by no expression of vulgar joy. It was the countenance of one
who was suddenly relieved from intense care, rather than that of a man
who was greedy of profiting by the services of others. Indeed, it would
not have been difficult, for a close and practised observer, to have
detected a shade of regret in the lightings of his seductive smile, or
in the momentary flashes of his changeful eye. The feeling, however,
quickly passed away, and his whole figure and countenance resumed the
ordinary easy mien in which he most indulged in his hours of
retirement.

After allowing sufficient time for the boy to conduct Wilder to the
necessary cabin, and to put him in possession of the regulations for
the police of the ship, the Captain again touched the gong, and once
more summoned the former to his presence. The lad had however, to
approach the elbow of his master, and to speak thrice, before the other
was conscious that he had answered his call.

“Roderick,” said the Rover, after a long pause, “are you there?”

“I am here,” returned a low, and seemingly a mournful voice.

“Ah! you gave him the regulations?”

“I did.”

“And he reads?”

“He reads.”

“It is well. I would speak to the General. Roderick, you must have need
of rest; good night; let the General be summoned to a council, and—Good
night, Roderick.”

The boy made an assenting reply; but, instead of springing, with his
former alacrity, to execute the order he lingered a moment nigh his
master’s chair. Failing, however, in his wish to catch his eye, he
slowly and reluctantly descended the stairs which led into the lower
cabins, and was seen no more.

It is needless to describe the manner in which the General made his
second appearance. It differed in no particular from his former entrée,
except that, on this occasion, the whole of his person was developed.
He appeared a tall, upright form, that was far from being destitute of
natural grace and proportions, but which had been so exquisitely
drilled into simultaneous movement, that the several members had so far
lost the power of volition, as to render it impossible for one to stir,
without producing some thing like a correspondent demonstration in all
its fellows. This rigid and well-regulated personage, after making a
formal military bow to his superior, helped himself to a chair, in
which, after some little time lost in preparation, he seated himself in
silence. The Rover seemed conscious of his presence; for he
acknowledged his salute by a gentle inclination of his own head; though
he did not appear to think it necessary to suspend his ruminations the
more on that account. At length, however, he turned short upon his
companion, and said abruptly,—

“General, the campaign is not finished.”

“What remains? the field is won, and the enemy is a prisoner.”

“Ay, your part of the adventure is well achieved, but much of mine
remains to be done. You saw the youth in the lower cabin?”

“I did.”

“And how find you his appearance?”

“Maritime.”

“That is as much as to say, you like him not.”

“I like discipline.”

“I am much mistaken if you do not find him to your taste on the
quarter-deck. Let that be as it may, I have still a favour to ask of
you!”

“A favour!—it is getting late.”

“Did I say ‘a favour?’ there is duty to be yet done.”

“I wait your orders.”

“It is necessary that we use great precaution for, as you know”——

“I wait your orders,” laconically repeated the other.

The Rover compressed his mouth, and a scornful smile struggled about
the nether lip; but it changed into a look half bland, half
authoritative, as he continued,—

“You will find two seamen, in a skiff, alongside the ship; the one is
white, and the other is black. These men you will have conducted into
the vessel—into one of the forward state-rooms—and you will have them
both thoroughly intoxicated.”

“It shall be done,” returned he who was called the General, rising, and
marching with long strides towards the door of the cabin.

“Pause a moment,” exclaimed the Rover; “what agent will you use?”

“Nightingale has the strongest head but one in the ship.”

“He is too far gone already. I sent him ashore, to look about for any
straggling seamen who might like our service; and I found him in a
tavern, with all the fastenings off his tongue, declaiming like a
lawyer who had taken a fee from both parties Besides, he had a quarrel
with one of these very men, and it is probable they would get to blows
in their cups.”

“I will do it myself. My night-cap is waiting for me; and it is only to
lace it a little tighter than common.”

The Rover seemed content with this assurance; for he expressed his
satisfaction with a familiar nod of the head. The soldier was now about
to depart, when he was again interrupted.

“One thing more, General; there is your captive.”—

“Shall I make him drunk too?”

“By no means. Let him be conducted hither.”

The General made an ejaculation of assent, and left the cabin. “It were
weak,” thought the Rover as he resumed his walk up and down the
apartment, “to trust too much to an ingenuous face and youthful
enthusiasm. I am deceived if the boy has not had reason to think
himself disgusted with the world, and ready to embark in any romantic
enterprise but, still, to be deceived might be fatal therefore will I
be prudent, even to excess of caution. He is tied in an extraordinary
manner to these two seamen I would I knew his history. But all that
will come in proper time. The men must remain as hostages for his own
return, and for his faith. If he prove false, why, they are seamen;—and
many men are expended in this wild service of ours! It is well
arranged; and no suspicion of any plot on our part will wound the
sensitive pride of the boy, if he be, as I would gladly think, a true
man.”

Such was, in a great manner, the train of thought in which the Rover
indulged, for many minutes, after his military companion had left him.
His lips moved; smiles, and dark shades of thought, in turn, chased
each other from his speaking countenance, which betrayed all the sudden
and violent changes that denote the workings of a busy spirit within.
While thus engrossed in mind, his step became more rapid, and, at
times, he gesticulated a little extravagantly when he found himself, in
a sudden turn, unexpectedly confronted by a form that seemed to rise on
his sight like a vision.

While most engaged in his own humours, two powerful seamen had,
unheeded, entered the cabin; and, after silently depositing a human
figure in a seat, they withdrew without speaking. It was before this
personage that the Rover now found himself. The gaze was mutual, long,
and uninterrupted by a syllable from either party. Surprise and
indecision held the Rover mute, while wonder and alarm appeared to have
literally frozen the faculties of the other. At length the former,
suffering a quaint and peculiar smile to gleam for a moment across his
countenance, said abruptly,—

“I welcome sir Hector Homespun!”

The eyes of the confounded tailor—for it was no other than that
garrulous acquaintance of the reader who had fallen into the toils of
the Rover—the eyes of the good-man rolled from right to left,
embracing, in their wanderings, the medley of elegance and warlike
preparation that they every where met never failing to return, from
each greedy look, to devour the figure that stood before him.

“I say, Welcome, sir Hector Homespun!” repeated the Rover.

“The Lord will be lenient to the sins of a miserable father of seven
small children!” ejaculated the tailor. “It is but little, valiant
Pirate, that can be gotten from a hard-working, upright tradesman, who
sits from the rising to the setting sun, bent over his labour.”

“These are debasing terms for chivalry, sir Hector,” interrupted the
Rover, laying his hand on the little riding whip, which had been thrown
carelessly on the cabin table, and, tapping the shoulder of the tailor
with the same, as though he were a sorcerer, and would disenchant the
other with the touch: “Cheer up, honest and loyal subject: Fortune has
at length ceased to frown: it is but a few hours since you complained
that no custom came to your shop from this vessel, and now are you in a
fair way to do the business of the whole ship.”

“Ah! honourable and magnanimous Rover,” rejoined Homespun, whose
fluency returned with his senses, “I am an impoverished and undone man.
My life has been one of weary and probationary hardships. Five bloody
and cruel wars”——

“Enough. I have said that Fortune was just beginning to smile. Clothes
are as necessary to gentlemen of our profession as to the parish
priest. You shall not baste a seam without your reward. Behold!” he
added, touching the spring of a secret drawer, which flew open, and
discovered a confused pile of gold, in which the coins of nearly every
Christian people were blended, “we are not without the means of paying
those who serve us faithfully.”

The sudden exhibition of a horde of wealth, which not only greatly
exceeded any thing of the kind he had ever before witnessed, but which
actually surpassed his limited imaginative powers, was not without its
effect on the sensitive feelings of the good-man After feasting on the
sight, for the few moments that his companion left the treasure exposed
to view, he turned to the envied possessor of so much gold, and
demanded,—the tones of increased confidence gradually stealing into his
voice, as the inward man felt additional motives of encouragement,—

“And what am I expected to perform, mighty Seaman, for my portion of
this wealth?”

“That which you daily perform on the land—to cut, to fashion, and to
sew. Perhaps, too, your talent at a masquerade dress may be taxed, from
time to time.”

“Ah! they are lawless and irreligious devices of the enemy, to lead men
into sin and worldly abominations But, worthy Mariner, there is my
disconsolate consort, Desire; though stricken in years, and given to
wordy strife, yet is she the lawful partner of my bosom, and the mother
of a numerous offspring.”

“She shall not want. This is an asylum for distressed husbands. Your
men, who have not force enough to command at home, come to my ship as
to a city of refuge. You will make the seventh who has found peace by
fleeing to this sanctuary. Their families are supported by ways best
known to ourselves, and all parties are content. This is not the least
of my benevolent acts.”

“It is praiseworthy and just, honourable Captain and I hope that Desire
and her offspring may not be forgotten. The labourer is surely worthy
of his hire and if, peradventure, I should toil in your behalf through
stress of compulsion, I hope the good and her young, may fatten on your
liberality.”

“You have my word; they shall not be neglected.”

“Perhaps, just Gentleman, if an allotment should be made in advance
from that stock of gold, the mind of my consort would be relieved, her
inquiries after my fate not so searching, and her spirit less troubled.
I have reason to understand the temper of Desire; and am well
identified, that, while the prospect of want is before her eyes, there
will be a clamour in Newport. Now that the Lord has graciously given me
the hopes of a respite, there can be no sin in wishing to enjoy it in
peace.”

Although the Rover was far from believing, with his captive, that the
tongue of Desire could disturb the harmony of his ship, he was in the
humour to be indulgent. Touching the spring again, he took a handful of
the gold, and, extending it towards Homespun demanded,—

“Will you take the bounty, and the oath? The money will then be your
own.”

“The Lord defend us from the evil one, and deliver us all from
temptation!” ejaculated the tailor: “Heroic Rover, I have a dread of
the law. Should any evil overcome you, in the shape of a King’s
cruiser, or a tempest cast you on the land, there might be danger in
being contaminated too closely with your crew. Any little services
which I may render, on compulsion, will be overlooked, I humbly hope
and I trust to your magnanimity, honest and honourable Commander, that
the same will not be forgotten in the division of your upright
earnings.”

“This is but the spirit of cabbaging, a little distorted muttered the
Rover, as he turned lightly on his heel, and tapped the gong, with an
impatience that sent the startling sound through every cranny of the
ship. Four or five heads were thrust in at the different doors of the
cabin, and the voice of one was heard, desiring to know the wishes of
their leader.

“Take him to his hammock,” was the quick, sudden order.

The good-man Homespun, who, from fright or policy, appeared to be
utterly unable to move, was quickly lifted from his seat, and conveyed
to the door which communicated with the quarter-deck.

“Pause,” he exclaimed to his unceremonious bearers, as they were about
to transport him to the place designated by their Captain; “I have one
word yet to say. Honest and loyal Rebel, though I do not accept your
service, neither do I refuse it in an unseemly and irreverent manner.
It is a sore temptation, and I feel it at my fingers’ ends. But a
covenant may be made between us, by which neither party shall be a
loser, and in which the law shall find no grounds of displeasure. I
would wish, mighty Commodore, to carry an honest name to my grave, and
I would also wish to live out the number of my days; for, after having
passed with so much credit, and unharmed, through five bloody and cruel
wars”——

“Away with him!” was the stern and startling interruption.

Homespun vanished, as though magic had been employed in transporting
him, and the Rover was again left to himself. His meditations were not
interrupted, for a long time, by human footstep or voice. That
breathing stillness, which unbending and stern discipline can alone
impart, pervaded the ship. A landsman, seated in the cabin, might have
fancied himself, although surrounded by a crew of lawless and violent
men, in the solitude of a deserted church, so suppressed, and deadened,
were even those sounds that were absolutely necessary. There were heard
at times, it is true, the high and harsh notes of some reveller who
appeared to break forth in the strains of a sea song, which, as they
issued from the depths of the vessel, and were not very musical in
themselves, broke on the silence like the first discordant strains of a
new practitioner on a bugle. But even these interruptions gradually
grew less frequent, and finally became inaudible. At length the Rover
heard a hand fumbling about the handle of the cabin door, and then his
military friend once more made his appearance.

There was that in the step, the countenance, and the whole air of the
General, which proclaimed that his recent service, if successful, had
not been achieved entirely without personal hazard. The Rover, who had
started from his seat the moment he saw who had entered, instantly
demanded his report.

“The white is so drunk, that he cannot lie down without holding on to
the mast; but the negro is either a cheat, or his head is made of
flint.”

“I hope you have not too easily abandoned the design.”

“I would as soon batter a mountain! my retreat was not made a minute
too soon.”

The Rover fastened his eyes on the General, for a moment, in order to
assure himself of the precise condition of his subaltern, ere he
replied,—

“It is well. We will now retire for the night.”

The other carefully dressed his tall person, and brought his face in
the direction of the little hatchway so often named. Then, by a sort of
desperate effort, he essayed to march to the spot, with his customary
upright mien and military step. As one or two erratic movements, and
crossings of the legs, were not commented on by his Captain, the worthy
martinet descended the stairs, as he believed, with sufficient dignity;
the moral man not being in the precise state which is the best adapted
to discover any little blunders that might be made by his physical
coadjutor. The Rover looked at his watch; and after allowing sufficient
time for the deliberate retreat of the General, he stepped lightly on
the stairs, and descended also.

The lower apartments of the vessel, though less striking in their
equipments than the upper cabin were arranged with great attention to
neatness and comfort. A few offices for the servants occupied the
extreme after-part of the ship, communicating by doors with the dining
apartment of the secondary officers; or, as it was called in technical
language, the “ward-room.” On either side of this, again, were the
state-rooms, an imposing name, by which the dormitories of those who
are entitled to the honours of the quarter-deck are ever called.
Forward of the ward-room, came the apartments of the minor officers;
and, immediately in front of them, the corps of the individual who was
called the General was lodged, forming, by their discipline, a barrier
between the more lawless seamen and their superiors.

There was little departure, in this disposition of the accommodations,
from the ordinary arrangements of vessels of war of the same
description and force as the “Rover;” but Wilder had not failed to
remark that the bulkheads which separated the cabins from the
birth-deck, or the part occupied by the crew, were far stouter than
common, and that a small howitzer was at hand, to be used, as a
physician might say, internally, should occasion require. The doors
were of extraordinary strength, and the means of barricadoing them
resembled more a preparation for battle, than the usual securities
against petty encroachments on private property. Muskets,
blunderbusses, pistols, sabres, half-pikes, &c., were fixed to the
beams and carlings, or were made to serve as ornaments against the
different bulkheads, in a profusion that plainly told they were there
as much for use as for show. In short, to the eye of a seaman, the
whole betrayed a state of things, in which the superiors felt that
their whole security, against the violence and insubordination of their
inferiors, depended on their influence and their ability to resist,
united; and that the former had not deemed it prudent to neglect any of
the precautions which might aid their comparatively less powerful
physical force.

In the principal of the lower apartments, or the ward-room, the Rover
found his newly enlisted lieutenant apparently busy in studying the
regulations of the service in which he had just embarked. Approaching
the corner in which the latter had seated himself, the former said, in
a frank, encouraging, and even confidential manner,——

“I hope you find our laws sufficiently firm, Mr Wilder.”

“Want of firmness is not their fault; if the same quality can always be
observed in administering them, it is well,” returned the other, rising
to salute his superior. “I have never found such rigid rules, even
in”——

“Even in what, sir?” demanded the Rover, perceiving that his companion
hesitated.

“I was about to say, ‘Even in his Majesty’s service,’” returned Wilder,
slightly colouring. “I know not whether it may be a fault, or a
recommendation, to have served in a King’s ship.”

“It is the latter; at least I, for one, should think it so, since I
learned my trade in the same service.”

“In what ship?” eagerly interrupted Wilder.

“In many,” was the cold reply. “But, speaking of rigid rules, you will
soon perceive, that, in a service where there are no courts on shore to
protect us, nor any sister-cruisers to look after each other’s welfare,
no small portion of power is necessarily vested in the Commander. You
find my authority a good deal extended.”

“A little unlimited,” said Wilder, with a smile that might have passed
for ironical.

“I hope you will have no occasion to say that it is arbitrarily
executed,” returned the Rover, without observing, or perhaps without
letting it appear that he observed, the expression of his companion’s
countenance. “But your hour is come, and you are now at liberty to
land.”

The young man thanked him, with a courteous inclination of the head,
and expressed his readiness to go. As they ascended the ladder into the
upper cabin, the Captain expressed his regret that the hour, and the
necessity of preserving the incognito of his ship, would not permit him
to send an officer of his rank ashore in the manner he could wish.

“But then there is the skiff, in which you came off, still alongside,
and your own two stout fellows will soon twitch you to yon point. A
propos of those two men, are they included in our arrangements?”

“They have never quitted me since my childhood, and would not wish to
do it now.”

“It is a singular tie that unites two men, so oddly constituted, to one
so different, by habits and education, from themselves,” returned the
Rover, glancing his eye keenly at the other, and withdrawing it the
instant he perceived his interest in the answer was observed.

“It is,” Wilder calmly replied; “but, as we are all seamen, the
difference is not so great as one would at first imagine. I will now
join them, and take an opportunity to let them, know that they are to
serve in future under your orders.”

The Rover suffered him to leave the cabin, following to the
quarter-deck, with a careless step, as if he had come abroad to breathe
the open air of the night.

The weather had not changed, but it still continued dark, though mild.
The same stillness as before reigned on the decks of the ship; and
nowhere, with a solitary exception, was a human form to be seen, amid
the collection of dark objects that rose on the sight, all of which
Wilder well understood to be necessary fixtures in the vessel. The
exception was the same individual who had first received our
adventurer, and who still paced the quarter-deck, wrapped, as before,
in a watch-coat. To this personage the youth now addressed himself,
announcing his intention temporarily to quit the vessel. His
communication was received with a respect that satisfied him his new
rank was already known, although, as it would seem, it was to be made
to succumb to the superior authority of the Rover.

“You know, sir, that no one, of whatever station, can leave the ship at
this hour, without an order from the Captain,” was the calm, but steady
reply.

“So I presume; but I have the order, and transmit it to you. I shall
land in my own boat.”

The other, seeing a figure within hearing, which he well knew to be
that of his Commander, waited an instant, to ascertain if what he heard
was true. Finding that no objection was made, nor any sign given, to
the contrary, he merely indicated the place where the other would find
his boat.

“The men have left it!” exclaimed Wilder, stepping back in surprise, as
he was about to descend the vessel’s side.

“Have the rascals run?”

“Sir, they have not run; neither are they rascals They are in this
ship, and must be found.”

The other waited, to witness the effect of these authoritative words,
too, on the individual, who still lingered in the shadow of a mast. As
no answer was, however, given from that quarter, he saw the necessity
of obedience. Intimating his intention to seek the men, he passed into
the forward parts of the vessel, leaving Wilder, as he thought, in the
sole possession of the quarter-deck. The latter was, however, soon
undeceived. The Rover, advancing carelessly to his side, made an
allusion to the condition of his vessel, in order to divert the
thoughts of his new lieutenant, who, by his hurried manner of pacing
the deck, he saw, was beginning to indulge in uneasy meditations.

“A charming sea-boat, Mr Wilder,” he continued, “and one that never
throws a drop of spray abaft her mainmast. She is just the craft a
seaman loves; easy on her rigging, and lively in a sea. I call her the
‘Dolphin,’ from the manner in which she cuts the water; and, perhaps,
because she has as many colours as that fish, you will say—Jack must
have a name for his ship, you know, and I dislike your cut-throat
appellations, your ‘Spit-fires’ and ‘Bloody-murders.’”

“You were fortunate in finding such a vessel. Was she built to your
orders?”

“Few ships, under six hundred tons, sail from these colonies, that a

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