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The Pilot: A Tale of the Sea

by James Fenimore Cooper · English · Gutenberg #7974 · 907,695 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: The Pilot: A Tale of the Sea

Author: James Fenimore Cooper


        
Release date: April 1, 2005 [eBook #7974]
                Most recently updated: January 10, 2020

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PILOT: A TALE OF THE SEA ***




Produced by Charles Aldarondo, Tiffany Vergon, Marvin A.
Hodges, Charles Franks and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team








THE PILOT

A Tale of the Sea



By J. Fenimore Cooper




TO

WILLIAM BRANFORD SHUBRICK, ESQ.,

U. S. NAVY.


MY DEAR SHUBRICK,


Each year brings some new and melancholy chasm in what is now the brief
list of my naval friends and former associates. War, disease, and the
casualties of a hazardous profession have made fearful inroads in the
limited number; while the places of the dead are supplied by names that
to me are those of strangers. With the consequences of these sad changes
before me, I cherish the recollection of those with whom I once lived
in close familiarity with peculiar interest, and feel a triumph in their
growing reputations, that is but little short of their own honest pride.

But neither time nor separation has shaken our intimacy: and I know that
in dedicating to you this volume, I tell you nothing new, when I add
that it is a tribute paid to an enduring friendship, by

Your old Messmate,

THE AUTHOR.


      *       *       *       *       *




PREFACE.


It is probable a true history of human events would show that a far
larger proportion of our acts are the results of sudden impulses and
accident, than of that reason of which we so much boast. However true,
or false, this opinion may be in more important matters, it is certainly
and strictly correct as relates to the conception and execution of this
book.

The Pilot was published in 1823. This was not long after the appearance
of “The PIRATE,” a work which, it is hardly necessary to remind the
reader, has a direct connection with the sea. In a conversation with a
friend, a man of polished taste and extensive reading, the authorship of
the Scottish novels came under discussion. The claims of Sir Walter were
a little distrusted, on account of the peculiar and minute information
that the romances were then very generally thought to display. The
Pirate was cited as a very marked instance of this universal knowledge,
and it was wondered where a man of Scott's habits and associations could
have become so familiar with the sea. The writer had frequently observed
that there was much looseness in this universal knowledge, and that the
secret of its success was to be traced to the power of creating that
_resemblance_, which is so remarkably exhibited in those world-renowned
fictions, rather than to any very accurate information on the part of
their author. It would have been hypercritical to object to the Pirate,
that it was not strictly nautical, or true in its details; but, when the
reverse was urged as a proof of what, considering the character of other
portions of the work, would have been most extraordinary attainments,
it was a sort of provocation to dispute the seamanship of the Pirate, a
quality to which the book has certainly very little just pretension. The
result of this conversation was a sudden determination to produce a work
which, if it had no other merit, might present truer pictures of the
ocean and ships than any that are to be found in the Pirate. To this
unpremeditated decision, purely an impulse, is not only the Pilot due,
but a tolerably numerous school of nautical romances that have succeeded
it.

The author had many misgivings concerning the success of the
undertaking, after he had made some progress in the work; the opinions
of his different friends being anything but encouraging. One would
declare that the sea could not be made interesting; that it was tame,
monotonous, and without any other movement than unpleasant storms, and
that, for his part, the less he got of it the better. The women very
generally protested that such a book would have the odor of bilge
water, and that it would give them the _maladie de mer_. Not a single
individual among all those who discussed the merits of the project,
within the range of the author's knowledge, either spoke, or looked,
encouragingly. It is probable that all these persons anticipated a
signal failure.

So very discouraging did these ominous opinions get to be that the
writer was, once or twice, tempted to throw his manuscript aside, and
turn to something new. A favorable opinion, however, coming from a very
unexpected quarter, put a new face on the matter, and raised new
hopes. Among the intimate friends of the writer was an Englishman, who
possessed most of the peculiar qualities of the educated of his country.
He was learned even, had a taste that was so just as always to command
respect, but was prejudiced, and particularly so in all that related to
this country and its literature. He could never be persuaded to admire
Bryant's Water-Fowl, and this mainly because if it were accepted as good
poetry, it must be placed at once amongst the finest fugitive pieces of
the language. Of the Thanatopsis he thought better, though inclined
to suspect it of being a plagiarism. To the tender mercies of this
one-sided critic, who had never affected to compliment the previous
works of the author, the sheets of a volume of the Pilot were committed,
with scarce an expectation of his liking them. The reverse proved to
be the case;--he expressed himself highly gratified, and predicted a
success for the book which it probably never attained.

Thus encouraged, one more experiment was made, a seaman being selected
for the critic. A kinsman, a namesake, and an old messmate of the
author, one now in command on a foreign station, was chosen, and a
considerable portion of the first volume was read to him. There is no
wish to conceal the satisfaction with which the effect on this listener
was observed. He treated the whole matter as fact, and his criticisms
were strictly professional, and perfectly just. But the interest he
betrayed could not be mistaken. It gave a perfect and most gratifying
assurance that the work would be more likely to find favor with nautical
men than with any other class of readers.

The Pilot could scarcely be a favorite with females. The story has
little interest for them, nor was it much heeded by the author of the
book, in the progress of his labors. His aim was to illustrate vessels
and the ocean, rather than to draw any pictures of sentiment and
love. In this last respect, the book has small claims on the reader's
attention, though it is hoped that the story has sufficient interest to
relieve the more strictly nautical features of the work.

It would be affectation to deny that the Pilot met with a most
unlooked-for success. The novelty of the design probably contributed a
large share of this result. Sea-tales came into vogue, as a consequence;
and, as every practical part of knowledge has its uses, something has
been gained by letting the landsman into the secrets of the seaman's
manner of life. Perhaps, in some small degree, an interest has been
awakened in behalf of a very numerous, and what has hitherto been a sort
of proscribed class of men, that may directly tend to a melioration of
their condition.

It is not easy to make the public comprehend all the necessities of a
service afloat. With several hundred rude beings confined within the
narrow limits of a vessel, men of all nations and of the lowest habits,
it would be to the last degree indiscreet to commence their reformation
by relaxing the bonds of discipline, under the mistaken impulses of
a false philanthropy. It has a lofty sound, to be sure, to talk about
American citizens being too good to be brought under the lash, upon the
high seas; but he must have a very mistaken notion who does not see that
tens of thousands of these pretending persons on shore, even, would be
greatly benefited by a little judicious flogging. It is the judgment
in administering, and not the mode of punishment, that requires to be
looked into; and, in this respect, there has certainly been a great
improvement of late years. It is seldom, indeed, that any institution,
practice, or system, is improved by the blind interference of those who
know nothing about it. Better would it be to trust to the experience
of those who have long governed turbulent men, than to the impulsive
experiments of those who rarely regard more than one side of a question,
and that the most showy and glittering; having, quite half of the time,
some selfish personal end to answer.

There is an uneasy desire among a vast many well-disposed persons to get
the fruits of the Christian Faith, without troubling themselves about
the Faith itself. This is done under the sanction of Peace Societies,
Temperance and Moral Reform Societies, in which the end is too often
mistaken for the means. When the Almighty sent His Son on earth, it was
to point out the way in which all this was to be brought about, by
means of the Church; but men have so frittered away that body of divine
organization, through their divisions and subdivisions, all arising from
human conceit, that it is no longer regarded as the agency it was so
obviously intended to be, and various contrivances are to be employed as
substitutes for that which proceeded directly from the Son of God!

Among the efforts of the day, however, there is one connected with the
moral improvement of the sailor that commands our profound respect. Cut
off from most of the charities of life for so large a portion of his
time, deprived altogether of association with the gentler and better
portions of the other sex, and living a man in a degree proscribed, amid
the many signs of advancement that distinguish the age, it was time
that he should be remembered and singled out, and become the subject
of combined and Christian philanthropy. There is much reason to believe
that the effort, now making in the right direction and under proper
auspices, will be successful; and that it will cause the lash to be
laid aside in the best and most rational manner,--by rendering its use
unnecessary.

COOPERSTOWN, _August_ 20, 1829.




THE PILOT




CHAPTER I

  “Sullen waves, incessant rolling,
  Rudely dash'd against her sides.”
   _Song_


A single glance at the map will make the reader acquainted with the
position of the eastern coast of the Island of Great Britain, as
connected with the shores of the opposite continent. Together they form
the boundaries of the small sea that has for ages been known to the
world as the scene of maritime exploits, and as the great avenue through
which commerce and war have conducted the fleets of the northern nations
of Europe. Over this sea the islanders long asserted a jurisdiction,
exceeding that which reason concedes to any power on the highway
of nations, and which frequently led to conflicts that caused an
expenditure of blood and treasure, utterly disproportioned to the
advantages that can ever arise from the maintenance of a useless and
abstract right. It is across the waters of this disputed ocean that
we shall attempt to conduct our readers, selecting a period for our
incidents that has a peculiar interest for every American, not only
because it was the birthday of his nation, but because it was also the
era when reason and common sense began to take the place of custom and
feudal practices in the management of the affairs of nations.

Soon after the events of the revolution had involved the kingdoms of
France and Spain, and the republics of Holland, in our quarrel, a group
of laborers was collected in a field that lay exposed to the winds
of the ocean, on the north-eastern coast of England. These men were
lightening their toil, and cheering the gloom of a day in December, by
uttering their crude opinions on the political aspects of the times. The
fact that England was engaged in a war with some of her dependencies on
the other side of the Atlantic had long been known to them, after the
manner that faint rumors of distant and uninteresting events gain on the
ear; but now that nations, with whom she had been used to battle, were
armed against her in the quarrel, the din of war had disturbed the quiet
even of these secluded and illiterate rustics. The principal speakers,
on the occasion, were a Scotch drover, who was waiting the leisure of
the occupant of the fields, and an Irish laborer, who had found his
way across the Channel, and thus far over the island, in quest of
employment.

“The Nagurs wouldn't have been a job at all for ould England, letting
alone Ireland,” said the latter, “if these French and Spanishers hadn't
been troubling themselves in the matter. I'm sure its but little reason
I have for thanking them, if a man is to kape as sober as a praist at
mass, for fear he should find himself a souldier, and he knowing nothing
about the same.”

“Hoot! mon! ye ken but little of raising an airmy in Ireland, if ye mak'
a drum o' a whiskey keg,” said the drover, winking to the listeners.
“Noo, in the north, they ca' a gathering of the folk, and follow the
pipes as graciously as ye wad journey kirkward o' a Sabbath morn. I've
seen a' the names o' a Heeland raj'ment on a sma' bit paper, that ye
might cover wi' a leddy's hand. They war' a' Camerons and M'Donalds,
though they paraded sax hundred men! But what ha' ye gotten here! That
chield has an ow'r liking to the land for a seafaring body; an' if the
bottom o' the sea be onything like the top o't, he's in gr'at danger o'
a shipwreck!”

This unexpected change in the discourse drew all eyes on the object
toward which the staff of the observant drover was pointed. To the utter
amazement of every individual present, a small vessel was seen moving
slowly round a point of land that formed one of the sides of the little
bay, to which the field the laborers were in composed the other. There
was something very peculiar in the externals of this unusual visitor,
which added in no small degree to the surprise created by her appearance
in that retired place. None but the smallest vessels, and those rarely,
or, at long intervals, a desperate smuggler, were ever known to venture
so close to the land, amid the sand-bars and sunken rocks with which
that immediate coast abounded. The adventurous mariners who now
attempted this dangerous navigation in so wanton, and, apparently,
so heedless a manner, were in a low black schooner, whose hull seemed
utterly disproportioned to the raking masts it upheld, which, in their
turn, supported a lighter set of spars, that tapered away until their
upper extremities appeared no larger than the lazy pennant, that in vain
endeavored to display its length in the light breeze.

The short day of that high northern latitude was already drawing to a
close, and the sun was throwing his parting rays obliquely across the
waters, touching the gloomy waves here and there with streaks of pale
light. The stormy winds of the German Ocean were apparently lulled
to rest; and, though the incessant rolling of the surge on the shore
heightened the gloomy character of the hour and the view, the light
ripple that ruffled the sleeping billows was produced by a gentle
air, that blew directly from the land. Notwithstanding this favorable
circumstance, there was something threatening in the aspect of the
ocean, which was speaking in hollow but deep murmurs, like a volcano
on the eve of an eruption, that greatly heightened the feelings of
amazement and dread with which the peasants beheld this extraordinary
interruption to the quiet of their little bay. With no other sails
spread to the action of the air than her heavy mainsail, and one of
those light jibs that projected far beyond her bows, the vessel glided
over the water with a grace and facility that seemed magical to the
beholders, who turned their wondering looks from the schooner to each
other in silent amazement. At length the drover spoke in a low solemn
voice:

“He's a bold chield that steers her! and if that bit craft has wood in
her bottom, like the brigantines that ply between Lon'on and the Frith
at Leith, he's in mair danger than a prudent mon could wish. Ay! he's
by the big rock that shows his head when the tide runs low, but it's
no mortal man who can steer long in the road he's journeying and not
speedily find land wi' water a-top o't.”

The little schooner, however, still held her way among the rocks and
sand-pits, making such slight deviations in her course as proved her to
be under the direction of one who knew his danger, until she entered as
far into the bay as prudence could at all justify, when her canvas was
gathered into folds, seemingly without the agency of hands, and the
vessel, after rolling for a few minutes on the long billows that hove in
from the ocean, swung round in the currents of the tide, and was held by
her anchor.

The peasants now began to make their conjectures more freely concerning
the character and object of their visitor; some intimating that she was
engaged in contraband trade, and others that her views were hostile, and
her business war. A few dark hints were hazarded on the materiality of
her construction, for nothing of artificial formation, it was urged,
would be ventured by men in such a dangerous place, at a time when even
the most inexperienced landsman was enabled to foretell the certain
gale. The Scotchman, who, to all the sagacity of his countrymen, added
no small portion of their superstition, leaned greatly to the latter
conclusion, and had begun to express this sentiment warily with
reverence, when the child of Erin, who appeared not to possess any very
definite ideas on the subject interrupted him, by exclaiming:

“Faith! there's two of them! a big and a little! sure the bogles of the
saa likes good company the same as any other Christians!”

“Twa!” echoed the drover; “twa! ill luck bides o' some o' ye. Twa craft
a sailing without hand to guide them, in sic a place as this, whar'
eyesight is na guid enough to show the dangers, bodes evil to a' that
luik thereon. Hoot! she's na yearling the tither! Luik, mon! luik!
she's a gallant boat, and a gr'at:” he paused, raised his pack from
the ground, and first giving one searching look at the objects of
his suspicions, he nodded with great sagacity to the listeners, and
continued, as he moved slowly towards the interior of the country, “I
should na wonder if she carried King George's commission aboot her:
weel, weel, I wull journey upward to the town, and ha' a crack wi' the
good mon; for they craft have a suspeecious aspect, and the sma' bit
thing wu'ld nab a mon quite easy, and the big ane wu'ld hold us a' and
no feel we war' in her.”

This sagacious warning caused a general movement in the party, for
the intelligence of a hot press was among the rumors of the times. The
husbandmen collected their implements of labor, and retired homewards;
though many a curious eye was bent on the movements of the vessels from
the distant hills, but very few of those not immediately interested in
the mysterious visitors ventured to approach the little rocky cliffs
that lined the bay.

The vessel that occasioned these cautious movements was a gallant ship,
whose huge hull, lofty masts, and square yards loomed in the evening's
haze, above the sea, like a distant mountain rising from the deep. She
carried but little sail, and though she warily avoided the near approach
to the land that the schooner had attempted, the similarity of their
movements was sufficiently apparent to warrant the conjecture that they
were employed on the same duty. The frigate, for the ship belonged to
this class of vessels, floated across the entrance of the little bay,
majestically in the tide, with barely enough motion through the water to
govern her movements, until she arrived opposite to the place where
her consort lay, when she hove up heavily into the wind, squared the
enormous yards on her mainmast, and attempted, in counteracting the
power of her sails by each other, to remain stationary; but the light
air that had at no time swelled her heavy canvas to the utmost began
to fail, and the long waves that rolled in from the ocean ceased to be
ruffled with the breeze from the land. The currents and the billows
were fast sweeping the frigate towards one of the points of the estuary,
where the black heads of the rocks could be seen running far into the
sea, and in their turn the mariners of the ship dropped an anchor to the
bottom, and drew her sails in festoons to the yards. As the vessel swung
round to the tide, a heavy ensign was raised to her peak, and a current
of air opening for a moment its folds, the white field and red cross,
that distinguish the flag of England, were displayed to view. So much
even the wary drover had loitered at a distance to behold; but when a
boat was launched from either vessel, he quickened his steps,
observing to his wondering and amused companions, that “they craft were
a'thegither mair bonny to luik on than to abide wi'.”

A numerous crew manned the barge that was lowered from the frigate,
which, after receiving an officer, with an attendant youth, left the
ship, and moved with a measured stroke of its oars directly towards the
head of the bay. As it passed at a short distance from the schooner a
light whale-boat, pulled by four athletic men, shot from her side, and
rather dancing over than cutting through the waves, crossed her course
with a wonderful velocity. As the boats approached each other, the men,
in obedience to signals from their officers, suspended their efforts,
and for a few minutes they floated at rest, during which time there was
the following dialogue:

“Is the old man mad!” exclaimed the young officer in the whale-boat,
when his men had ceased rowing; “does he think that the bottom of the
Ariel is made of iron, and that a rock can't knock a hole in it! or does
he think she is manned with alligators, who can't be drowned!”

A languid smile played for a moment round the handsome features of the
young man, who was rather reclining than sitting in the stern-sheets of
the barge, as he replied:

“He knows your prudence too well, Captain Barnstable, to fear either the
wreck of your vessel or the drowning of her crew. How near the bottom
does your keel lie?”

“I am afraid to sound,” returned Barnstable. “I have never the heart to
touch a lead-line when I see the rocks coming up to breathe like so many
porpoises.”

“You are afloat!” exclaimed the other, with a vehemence that denoted an
abundance of latent fire.

“Afloat!” echoed his friend; “ay, the little Ariel would float in air!”
 As he spoke, he rose in the boat, and lifting his leathern sea-cap from
his head, stroked back the thick clusters of black locks which shadowed
his sun-burnt countenance, while he viewed his little vessel with the
complacency of a seaman who was proud of her qualities. “But it's close
work, Mr. Griffith, when a man rides to a single anchor in a place like
this, and at such a nightfall. What are the orders?”

“I shall pull into the surf and let go a grapnel; you will take Mr.
Merry into your whale-boat, and try to drive her through the breakers on
the beach.”

“Beach!” retorted Barnstable; “do you call a perpendicular rock of a
hundred feet in height a beach!”

“We shall not dispute about terms,” said Griffith, smiling, “but you
must manage to get on the shore; we have seen the signal from the land,
and know that the pilot, whom we have so long expected, is ready to come
off.”

Barnstable shook his head with a grave air, as he muttered to himself,
“This is droll navigation; first we run into an unfrequented bay that is
full of rocks, and sandpits, and shoals, and then we get off our pilot.
But how am I to know him?”

“Merry will give you the password, and tell you where to look for him.
I would land myself, but my orders forbid it. If you meet with
difficulties, show three oar-blades in a row, and I will pull in to your
assistance. Three oars on end and a pistol will bring the fire of my
muskets, and the signal repeated from the barge will draw a shot from
the ship.”

“I thank you, I thank you,” said Barnstable, carelessly; “I believe I
can fight my own battles against all the enemies we are likely to fall
in with on this coast. But the old man is surely mad, I would----”

“You would obey his orders if he were here, and you will now please to
obey mine,” said Griffith, in a tone that the friendly expression of his
eye contradicted. “Pull in, and keep a lookout for a small man in a drab
pea-jacket; Merry will give you the word; if he answer it, bring him off
to the barge.”

The young men now nodded familiarly and kindly to each other, and the
boy who was called Mr. Merry having changed his place from the barge
to the whale-boat, Barnstable threw himself into his seat, and making a
signal with his hand, his men again bent to their oars. The light vessel
shot away from her companion, and dashed in boldly towards the rocks;
after skirting the shore for some distance in quest of a favorable
place, she was suddenly turned, and dashing over the broken waves, was
run upon a spot where a landing could be effected in safety.

In the mean time the barge followed these movements, at some distance,
with a more measured progress, and when the whale-boat was observed to
be drawn up alongside of a rock, the promised grapnel was cast into the
water, and her crew deliberately proceeded to get their firearms in a
state for immediate service. Everything appeared to be done in obedience
to strict orders that must have been previously communicated; for
the young man, who has been introduced to the reader by the name of
Griffith, seldom spoke, and then only in the pithy expressions that
are apt to fall from those who are sure of obedience. When the boat had
brought up to her grapnel, he sunk back at his length on the cushioned
seats of the barge, and drawing his hat over his eyes in a listless
manner, he continued for many minutes apparently absorbed in thoughts
altogether foreign to his present situation. Occasionally he rose, and
would first bend his looks in quest of his companions on the shore, and
then, turning his expressive eyes toward the ocean, the abstracted
and vacant air, that so often usurped the place of animation and
intelligence in his countenance, would give place to the anxious and
intelligent look of a seaman gifted with an experience beyond his years.
His weather beaten and hardy crew, having made their dispositions for
offence, sat in profound silence, with their hands thrust into the
bosoms of their jackets, but with their eyes earnestly regarding every
cloud that was gathering in the threatening atmosphere, and exchanging
looks of deep care, whenever the boat rose higher than usual on one of
those long heavy groundswells, that were heaving in from the ocean with
increasing rapidity and magnitude.




CHAPTER II

  ----“A horseman's coat shall hide
  thy taper shape and comeliness of side:
  And with a bolder stride and looser air,
  Mingled with men, a man thou must appear.”
   _Prior_.


When the whale-boat obtained the position we have described, the young
lieutenant, who, in consequence of commanding a schooner, was usually
addressed by the title of captain, stepped on the rocks, followed by the
youthful midshipman, who had quitted the barge to aid in the hazardous
duty of their expedition.

“This is, at best, but a Jacob's ladder we have to climb,” said
Barnstable, casting his eyes upward at the difficult ascent, “and it's
by no means certain that we shall be well received, when we get up, even
though we should reach the top.”

“We are under the guns of the frigate,” returned the boy; “and you
remember, sir, three oar-blades and a pistol, repeated from the barge,
will draw her fire.”

“Yes, on our own heads. Boy, never be so foolish as to trust a long
shot. It makes a great smoke and some noise, but it's a terrible
uncertain manner of throwing old iron about. In such a business as this,
I would sooner trust Tom Coffin and his harpoon to back me, than the
best broadside that ever rattled out of the three decks of a ninety-gun
ship. Come, gather your limbs together, and try if you can walk on terra
firma, Master Coffin.”

The seaman who was addressed by this dire appellation arose slowly from
the place where he was stationed as cockswain of the boat, and seemed to
ascend high in air by the gradual evolution of numberless folds in his
body. When erect, he stood nearly six feet and as many inches in his
shoes, though, when elevated in his perpendicular attitude, there was a
forward inclination about his head and shoulders that appeared to be the
consequence of habitual confinement in limited lodgings. His whole frame
was destitute of the rounded outlines of a well-formed man, though
his enormous hands furnished a display of bones and sinews which gave
indication of gigantic strength. On his head he wore a little, low,
brown hat of wool, with an arched top, that threw an expression
of peculiar solemnity and hardness over his hard visage, the sharp
prominent features of which were completely encircled by a set of black
whiskers that began to be grizzled a little with age. One of his hands
grasped, with a sort of instinct, the staff of a bright harpoon, the
lower end of which he placed firmly on the rock, as, in obedience to the
order of his commander, he left the place where, considering his vast
dimensions, he had been established in an incredibly small space.

As soon as Captain Barnstable received this addition to his strength, he
gave a few precautionary orders to the men in the boat, and proceeded
to the difficult task of ascending the rocks. Notwithstanding the great
daring and personal agility of Barnstable, he would have been completely
baffled in this attempt, but for the assistance he occasionally received
from his cockswain, whose prodigious strength and great length of limbs
enabled him to make exertions which it would have been useless for
most men to attempt. When within a few feet of the summit, they availed
themselves of a projecting rock to pause for consultation and breath,
both of which seemed necessary for their further movements.

“This will be but a bad place for a retreat, if we should happen to fall
in with enemies,” said Barnstable. “Where are we to look for this pilot,
Mr. Merry, or how are we to know him; and what certainty have you that
he will not betray us?”

“The question you are to put to him is written on this bit of paper,”
 returned the boy, as he handed the other the word of recognition; “we
made the signal on the point of the rock at yon headland, but, as he
must have seen our boat, he will follow us to this place. As to his
betraying us, he seems to have the confidence of Captain Munson, who has
kept a bright lookout for him ever since we made the land.”

“Ay,” muttered the lieutenant, “and I shall have a bright lookout kept
on him now we are _on_ the land. I like not this business of hugging the
shore so closely, nor have I much faith in any traitor. What think you
of it, Master Coffin?”

The hardy old seaman, thus addressed, turned his grave visage on his
commander, and replied with a becoming gravity:

“Give me a plenty of sea-room, and good canvas, where there is no
occasion for pilots at all, sir. For my part, I was born on board a
chebacco-man, and never could see the use of more land than now and then
a small island to raise a few vegetables, and to dry your fish--I'm sure
the sight of it always makes me feel uncomfortable, unless we have the
wind dead off shore.”

“Ah! Tom, you are a sensible fellow,” said Barnstable, with an air half
comic, half serious. “But we must be moving; the sun is just touching
those clouds to seaward, and God keep us from riding out this night at
anchor in such a place as this.”

Laying his hand on a projection of the rock above him, Barnstable swung
himself forward, and following this movement with a desperate leap
or two, he stood at once on the brow of the cliff. His cockswain very
deliberately raised the midshipman after his officer, and proceeding
with more caution but less exertion, he soon placed himself by his side.

When they reached the level land that lay above the cliffs and began to
inquire, with curious and wary eyes, into the surrounding scenery,
the adventurers discovered a cultivated country, divided in the usual
manner, by hedges and walls. Only one habitation for man, however, and
that a small dilapidated cottage, stood within a mile of them, most of
the dwellings being placed as far as convenience would permit from the
fogs and damps of the ocean.

“Here seems to be neither anything to apprehend, nor the object of
our search,” said Barnstable, when he had taken the whole view in his
survey: “I fear we have landed to no purpose, Mr. Merry. What say you,
long Tom; see you what we want?”

“I see no pilot, sir,” returned the cockswain; “but it's an ill wind
that blows luck to nobody; there is a mouthful of fresh meat stowed away
under that row of bushes, that would make a double ration to all hands
in the Ariel.”

The midshipman laughed, as he pointed out to Barnstable the object
of the cockswain's solicitude, which proved to be a fat ox, quietly
ruminating under a hedge near them.

“There's many a hungry fellow aboard of us,” said the boy, merrily,
“who would be glad to second long Tom's motion, if the time and business
would permit us to slay the animal.”

“It is but a lubber's blow, Mr. Merry,” returned the cockswain, without
a muscle of his hard face yielding, as he struck the end of his harpoon
violently against the earth, and then made a motion toward poising the
weapon; “let Captain Barnstable but say the word, and I'll drive the
iron through him to the quick; I've sent it to the seizing in many a
whale, that hadn't a jacket of such blubber as that fellow wears.”

“Pshaw! you are not on a whaling-voyage, where everything that offers is
game,” said Barnstable, turning himself pettishly away from the beast,
as if he distrusted his own forbearance; “but stand fast! I see some one
approaching behind the hedge. Look to your arms, Mr. Merry,--the first
thing we hear may be a shot.”

“Not from that cruiser,” cried the thoughtless lad; “he is a younker,
like myself, and would hardly dare run down upon such a formidable force
as we muster.”

“You say true, boy,” returned Barnstable, relinquishing the grasp he
held on his pistol. “He comes on with caution, as if afraid. He is
small, and is in drab, though I should hardly call it a pea-jacket--and
yet he may be our man. Stand you both here, while I go and hail him.”

As Barnstable walked rapidly towards the hedge, that in part concealed
the stranger, the latter stopped suddenly, and seemed to be in doubt
whether to advance or to retreat. Before he had decided on either, the
active sailor was within a few feet of him.

“Pray, sir,” said Barnstable, “what water have we in this bay?”

The slight form of the stranger started, with an extraordinary emotion,
at this question, and he shrunk aside involuntarily, as if to conceal
his features, before he answered, in a voice that was barely audible:

“I should think it would be the water of the German Ocean.”

“Indeed! you must have passed no small part of your short life in the
study of geography, to be so well informed,” returned the lieutenant;
“perhaps, sir, your cunning is also equal to telling me how long we
shall sojourn together, if I make you a prisoner, in order to enjoy the
benefit of your wit?”

To this alarming intimation, the youth who was addressed made no reply;
but as he averted his face, and concealed it with both his hands, the
offended seaman, believing that a salutary impression had been made upon
the fears of his auditor, was about to proceed with his interrogatories.
The singular agitation of the stranger's frame, however, caused the
lieutenant to continue silent a few moments longer, when, to his
utter amazement, he discovered that what he had mistaken for alarm was
produced by an endeavor, on the part of the youth, to suppress a violent
fit of laughter.

“Now, by all the whales in the sea,” cried Barnstable, “but you are
merry out of season, young gentleman. It's quite bad enough to be
ordered to anchor in such a bay as this with a storm brewing before
my eyes, without landing to be laughed at by a stripling who has not
strength to carry a beard if he had one, when I ought to be getting an
offing for the safety of both body and soul. But I'll know more of you
and your jokes, if I take you into my own mess, and am giggled out of my
sleep for the rest of the cruise.”

As the commander of the schooner concluded, he approached the stranger,
with an air of offering some violence, but the other shrank back from
his extended arm, and exclaimed, with a voice in which real terror had
gotten the better of mirth:

“Barnstable! dear Barnstable! would you harm me?”

The sailor recoiled several feet, at this unexpected appeal, and rubbing
his eyes, he threw the cap from his head, before he cried:

“What do I hear! and what do I see! There lies the Ariel--and yonder is
the frigate. Can this be Katherine Plowden!”

His doubts, if any doubts remained, were soon removed, for the stranger
sank on the bank at her side, in an attitude in which female bashfulness
was beautifully contrasted with her attire, and gave vent to her mirth
in an uncontrollable burst of merriment.

From that moment, all thoughts of his duty, and the pilot, or even of
the Ariel, appeared to be banished from the mind of the seaman, who
sprang to her side, and joined in her mirth, though he hardly knew why
or wherefore.

When the diverted girl had in some degree recovered her composure, she
turned to her companion, who had sat good-naturedly by her side, content
to be laughed at, and said:

“But this is not only silly, but cruel to others. I owe you an
explanation of my unexpected appearance, and perhaps, also, of my
extraordinary attire.”

“I can anticipate everything,” cried Barnstable; “you heard that we
were on the coast, and have flown to redeem the promises you made me in
America. But I ask no more; the chaplain of the frigate--”

“May preach as usual, and to as little purpose,” interrupted the
disguised female; “but no nuptial benediction shall be pronounced over
me, until I have effected the object of this hazardous experiment. You
are not usually selfish, Barnstable; would you have me forgetful of the
happiness of others?”

“Of whom do you speak?”

“My poor, my devoted cousin. I heard that two vessels answering the
description of the frigate and the Ariel were seen hovering on the
coast, and I determined at once to have a communication with you. I
have followed your movements for a week, in this dress, but have been
unsuccessful till now. To-day I observed you to approach nearer to
the shore than usual, and happily, by being adventurous, I have been
successful.”

“Ay, God knows we are near enough to the land! But does Captain Munson
know of your wish to get on board his ship?”

“Certainly not--none know of it but yourself. I thought that if Griffith
and you could learn our situation, you might be tempted to hazard a
little to redeem us from our thraldom. In this paper I have prepared
such an account as will, I trust, excite all your chivalry, and by which
you may govern your movements.”

“Our movements!” interrupted Barnstable. “You will pilot us in person.”

“Then there's two of them!” said a hoarse voice near them.

The alarmed female shrieked as she recovered her feet, but she still
adhered, with instinctive dependence, to the side of her lover.
Barnstable, who recognized the tones of his cockswain, bent an angry
brow on the sober visage that was peering at them above the hedge, and
demanded the meaning of the interruption.

“Seeing you were hull down, sir, and not knowing but the chase might
lead you ashore, Mr. Merry thought it best to have a lookout kept. I
told him that you were overhauling the mail-bags of the messenger for
the news, but as he was an officer, sir, and I nothing but a common
hand, I did as he ordered.”

“Return, sir, where I commanded you to remain,” said Barnstable, “and
desire Mr. Merry to wait my pleasure.”

The cockswain gave the usual reply of an obedient seaman; but before
he left the hedge, he stretched out one of his brawny arms towards the
ocean, and said, in tones of solemnity suited to his apprehensions and
character:

“I showed you how to knot a reef-point, and pass a gasket, Captain
Barnstable, nor do I believe you could even take two half-hitches when
you first came aboard of the Spalmacitty. These be things that a man
is soon expart in, but it takes the time of his nat'ral life to larn to
know the weather. There be streaked wind-galls in the offing, that speak
as plainly to all that see them, and know God's language in the clouds,
as ever you spoke through a trumpet, to shorten sail; besides, sir,
don't you hear the sea moaning as if it knew the hour was at hand when
it was to wake up from its sleep!”

“Ay, Tom,” returned his officer, walking to the edge of the cliffs,
and throwing a seaman's glance at the gloomy ocean, “'tis a threatening
night indeed; but this pilot must be had--and--”

“Is that the man?” interrupted the cockswain, pointing toward a man
who was standing not far from them, an attentive observer of their
proceedings, the same time that he was narrowly watched himself by the
young midshipman. “God send that he knows his trade well, for the bottom
of a ship will need eyes to find its road out of this wild anchorage.”

“That must indeed be the man!” exclaimed Barnstable, at once recalled to
his duty. He then held a short dialogue with his female companion, whom
he left concealed by the hedge, and proceeded to address the stranger.
When near enough to be heard, the commander of the schooner demanded:

“What water have you in this bay?”

The stranger, who seemed to expect this question, answered without the
least hesitation:

“Enough to take all out in safety, who have entered with confidence.”

“You are the man I seek,” cried Barnstable; “are you ready to go off?”

“Both ready and willing,” returned the pilot, “and there is need of
haste. I would give the best hundred guineas that ever were coined for
two hours more use of that sun which has left us, or for even the time
of this fading twilight.”

“Think you our situation so bad?” said the lieutenant. “Follow this
gentleman to the boat then; I will join you by the time you can descend
the cliffs. I believe I can prevail on another hand to go off with us.”

“Time is more precious now than any number of hands,” said the pilot,
throwing a glance of impatience from under his lowering brows, “and the
consequences of delay must be visited on those who occasion it.”

“And, sir, I will meet the consequences with those who have a right to
inquire into my conduct,” said Barnstable, haughtily.

With this warning and retort they separated; the young officer retracing
his steps impatiently toward his mistress, muttering his indignation in
suppressed execrations, and the pilot, drawing the leathern belt of his
pea-jacket mechanically around his body, as he followed the midshipman
and cockswain to their boat, in moody silence.

Barnstable found the disguised female who had announced herself as
Katherine Plowden, awaiting his return, with intense anxiety depicted
on every feature of her intelligent countenance. As he felt all the
responsibility of his situation, notwithstanding his cool reply to the
pilot, the young man hastily drew an arm of the apparent boy, forgetful
of her disguise, through his own, and led her forward.

“Come, Katherine,” he said, “the time urges to be prompt.”

“What pressing necessity is there for immediate departure?” she
inquired, checking his movements by withdrawing herself from his side.

“You heard the ominous prognostic of my cockswain on the weather, and
I am forced to add my own testimony to his opinion. 'Tis a crazy night
that threatens us, though I cannot repent of coming into the bay, since
it has led to this interview.”

“God forbid that we should either of us have cause to repent of it,”
 said Katherine, the paleness of anxiety chasing away the rich bloom
that had mantled the animated face of the brunette. “But you have the
paper--follow its directions, and come to our rescue; you will find us
willing captives, if Griffith and yourself are our conquerors.”

“What mean you, Katherine!” exclaimed her lover; “you at least are now
in safety--'twould be madness to tempt your fate again. My vessel
can and shall protect you, until your cousin is redeemed; and then,
remember, I have a claim on you for life.”

“And how would you dispose of me in the interval?” said the young
maiden, retreating slowly from his advances.

“In the Ariel--by heaven, you shall be her commander; I will bear that
rank only in name.”

“I thank you, thank you, Barnstable, but distrust my abilities to fill
such a station,” she said, laughing, though the color that again crossed
her youthful features was like the glow of a summer's sunset, and even
her mirthful eyes seemed to reflect their tints. “Do not mistake me,
saucy one. If I have done more than my sex will warrant, remember it was
through a holy motive, and if I have more than a woman's enterprise, it
must be----”

“To lift you above the weakness of your sex,” he cried, “and to enable
you to show your noble confidence in me.”

“To fit me for, and to keep me worthy of being one day your wife.” As
she uttered these words she turned and disappeared, with a rapidity that
eluded his attempts to detain her, behind an angle of the hedge, that
was near them. For a moment, Barnstable remained motionless, through
surprise, and when he sprang forward in pursuit, he was able only to
catch a glimpse of her light form, in the gloom of the evening, as she
again vanished in a little thicket at some distance.

Barnstable was about to pursue, when the air lighted with a sudden
flash, and the bellowing report of a cannon rolled along the cliffs, and
was echoed among the hills far inland.

“Ay, grumble away, old dotard!” the disappointed young sailor muttered
to himself, while he reluctantly obeyed the signal; “you are in as great
a hurry to get out of your danger as you were to run into it.”

The quick reports of three muskets from the barge beneath where he stood
urged him to quicken his pace, and as he threw himself carelessly down
the rugged and dangerous passes of the cliffs, his experienced eye
beheld the well-known lights displayed from the frigate, which commanded
“the recall of all her boats.”




CHAPTER III.

  In such a time as this it is not meet
  That every nice offence should bear its comment.
  _Shakespeare_


The cliffs threw their dark shadows wide on the waters, and the gloom
of the evening had so far advanced as to conceal the discontent that
brooded over the ordinarily open brow of Barnstable as he sprang from
the rocks into the boat, and took his seat by the side of the silent
pilot. “Shove off,” cried the lieutenant, in tones that his men knew
must be obeyed. “A seaman's curse light on the folly that exposes planks
and lives to such navigation; and all to burn some old timberman, or
catch a Norway trader asleep! give way, men, give way!”

Notwithstanding the heavy and dangerous surf that was beginning to
tumble in upon the rocks in an alarming manner, the startled seamen
succeeded in urging their light boat over the waves, and in a few
seconds were without the point where danger was most to be apprehended.
Barnstable had seemingly disregarded the breakers as they passed, but
sat sternly eyeing the foam that rolled by them in successive surges,
until the boat rose regularly on the long seas, when he turned his looks
around the bay in quest of the barge.

“Ay, Griffith has tired of rocking in his pillowed cradle,” he muttered,
“and will give us a pull to the frigate, when we ought to be getting the
schooner out of this hard-featured landscape. This is just such a place
as one of your sighing lovers would doat on; a little land, a little
water, and a good deal of rock. Damme, long Tom, but I am more than half
of your mind, that an island now and then is all the terra firma that a
seaman needs.”

“It's reason and philosophy, sir,” returned the sedate cockswain; “and
what land there is, should always be a soft mud, or a sandy ooze, in
order that an anchor might hold, and to make soundings sartin. I have
lost many a deep-sea, besides hand leads by the dozen, on rocky bottoms;
but give me the roadstead where a lead comes up light and an anchor
heavy. There's a boat pulling athwart our forefoot, Captain Barnstable;
shall I run her aboard or give her a berth, sir?”

“'Tis the barge!” cried the officer; “Ned has not deserted me, after
all!”

A loud hail from the approaching boat confirmed this opinion, and in a
few seconds the barge and whale-boat were again rolling by each other's
side. Griffith was no longer reclining on the cushions of his seats, but
spoke earnestly, and with a slight tone of reproach in his manner.

“Why have you wasted so many precious moments, when every minute
threatens us with new dangers? I was obeying the signal, but I heard
your oars, and pulled back to take out the pilot. Have you been
successful?”

“There he is; and if he finds his way out, through the shoals, he will
earn a right to his name. This bids fair to be a night when a man will
need a spy-glass to find the moon. But when you hear what I have seen
on those rascally cliffs, you will be more ready to excuse my delay, Mr.
Griffith.”

“You have seen the true man, I trust, or we incur this hazard to an evil
purpose.”

“Ay, I have seen him that is a true man, and him that is not,” replied
Barnstable, bitterly; “you have the boy with you, Griffith--ask him what
his young eyes have seen.”

“Shall I!” cried the young midshipman, laughing; “then I have seen a
little clipper, in disguise, out sail an old man-of-war's man in a hard
chase, and I have seen a straggling rover in long-togs as much like my
cousin----”

“Peace, gabbler!” exclaimed Barnstable in a voice of thunder; “would you
detain the boats with your silly nonsense at a time like this? Away into
the barge, sir, and if you find him willing to hear, tell Mr. Griffith
what your foolish conjectures amount to, at your leisure.”

The boy stepped lightly from the whale-boat to the barge, whither the
pilot had already preceded him, and, as he sunk, with a mortified air,
by the side of Griffith, he said, in a low voice:

“And that won't be long, I know, if Mr. Griffith thinks and feels on the
coast of England as he thought and felt at home.”

A silent pressure of his hand was the only reply that the young
lieutenant made, before he paid the parting compliments to Barnstable,
and directed his men to pull for their ship.

The boats were separating, and the plash of the oars was already heard,
when the voice of the pilot was for the first time raised in earnest.

“Hold!” he cried; “hold water, I bid ye!”

The men ceased their efforts at the commanding tones of his voice, and
turning toward the whale-boat, he continued:

“You will get your schooner under way immediately, Captain Barnstable,
and sweep into the offing with as little delay as possible. Keep the
ship well open from the northern headland, and as you pass us, come
within hail.”

“This is a clean chart and plain sailing, Mr. Pilot,” returned
Barnstable; “but who is to justify my moving without orders, to Captain
Munson? I have it in black and white, to run the Ariel into this
feather-bed sort of a place, and I must at least have it by signal or
word of mouth from my betters, before my cutwater curls another wave.
The road may be as hard to find going out as it was coming in--and then
I had daylight as well as your written directions to steer by.”

“Would you lie there to perish on such a night?” said the pilot,
sternly. “Two hours hence, this heavy swell will break where your vessel
now rides so quietly.”

“There we think exactly alike; but if I get drowned now, I am drowned
according to orders; whereas, if I knock a plank out of the schooner's
bottom, by following your directions, 'twill be a hole to let in mutiny,
as well as sea-water. How do I know but the old man wants another pilot
or two.”

“That's philosophy,” muttered the cockswain of the whale-boat, in a
voice that was audible: “but it's a hard strain on a man's conscience to
hold on in such an anchorage!”

“Then keep your anchor down, and follow it to the bottom,” said the
pilot to himself; “it's worse to contend with a fool than a gale of
wind; but if----”

“No, no, sir--no fool neither,” interrupted Griffith. “Barnstable does
not deserve that epithet, though he certainly carries the point of duty
to the extreme. Heave up at once, Mr. Barnstable, and get out of this
bay as fast as possible.”

“Ah! you don't give the order with half the pleasure with which I shall
execute it; pull away, boys--the Ariel shall never lay her bones in such
a hard bed, if I can help it.”

As the commander of the schooner uttered these words with a cheering
voice, his men spontaneously shouted, and the whale-boat darted away
from her companion, and was soon lost in the gloomy shadows cast from
the cliffs.

In the mean time, the oarsmen of the barge were not idle, but by
strenuous efforts they forced the heavy boat rapidly through the water,
and in a few minutes she ran alongside of the frigate. During this
period the pilot, in a voice which had lost all the startling fierceness
and authority it had manifested in his short dialogue with Barnstable,
requested Griffith to repeat to him, slowly, the names of the officers
that belonged to his ship. When the young lieutenant had complied with
this request, he observed to his companion:

“All good men and true, Mr. Pilot; and though this business in which you
are just now engaged may be hazardous to an Englishman, there are none
with us who will betray you. We need your services, and as we expect
good faith from you, so shall we offer it to you in exchange.”

“And how know you that I need its exercise?” asked the pilot, in a
manner that denoted a cold indifference to the subject.

“Why, though you talk pretty good English, for a native,” returned
Griffith, “yet you have a small bur-r-r in your mouth that would prick
the tongue of a man who was born on the other side of the Atlantic.”

“It is but of little moment where a man is born, or how he speaks,”
 returned the pilot, coldly, “so that he does his duty bravely and in
good faith.”

It was perhaps fortunate for the harmony of this dialogue, that
the gloom, which had now increased to positive darkness, completely
concealed the look of scornful irony that crossed the handsome features
of the young sailor, as he replied: “True, true, so that he does his
duty, as you say, in good faith. But, as Barnstable observed, you must
know your road well to travel among these shoals on such a night as
this. Know you what water we draw?”

“'Tis a frigate's draught, and I shall endeavor to keep you in four
fathoms; less than that would be dangerous.”

“She's a sweet boat!” said Griffith, “and minds her helm as a marine
watches the eye of his sergeant at a drill; but you must give her room
in stays, for she fore-reaches, as if she would put out the wind's eye.”

The pilot attended, with a practised ear, to this description of the
qualities of the ship that he was about to attempt extricating from an
extremely dangerous situation. Not a syllable was lost on him; and
when Griffith had ended, he remarked, with the singular coldness that
pervaded his manner:

“That is both a good and a bad quality in a narrow channel. I fear it
will be the latter to-night, when we shall require to have the ship in
leading-strings.”

“I suppose we must feel our way with the lead?” said Griffith.

“We shall need both eyes and leads,” returned the pilot, recurring
insensibly to his soliloquizing tone of voice. “I have been both in and
out in darker nights than this, though never with a heavier draught than
a half-two.”

“Then, by heaven, you are not fit to handle that ship among these rocks
and breakers!” exclaimed Griffith; “your men of a light draught never
know their water; 'tis the deep keel only that finds a channel;--pilot!
pilot! beware how you trifle with us ignorantly; for 'tis a dangerous
experiment to play at hazards with an enemy.”

“Young man, you know not what you threaten, nor whom,” said the pilot
sternly, though his quiet manner still remained undisturbed; “you forget
that you have a superior here, and that I have none.”

“That shall be as you discharge your duty,” said Griffith; “for if----”

“Peace!” interrupted the pilot; “we approach the ship, let us enter in
harmony.”

He threw himself back on the cushions when he had said this; and
Griffith, though filled with the apprehensions of suffering, either by
great ignorance or treachery on the part of his companion, smothered
his feelings so far as to be silent, and they ascended the side of the
vessel in apparent cordiality.

The frigate was already riding on lengthened seas, that rolled in from
the ocean at each successive moment with increasing violence, though her
topsails still hung supinely from her yards; the air, which continued
to breathe occasionally from the land, being unable to shake the heavy
canvas of which they were composed.

The only sounds that were audible, when Griffith and the pilot had
ascended to the gangway of the frigate, were produced by the sullen
dashing of the sea against the massive bows of the ship, and the shrill
whistle of the boatswain's mate as he recalled the side-boys, who were
placed on either side of the gangway to do honor to the entrance of the
first lieutenant and his companion.

But though such a profound silence reigned among the hundreds
who inhabited the huge fabric, the light produced by a dozen
battle-lanterns, that were arranged in different parts of the decks,
served not only to exhibit faintly the persons of the crew, but the
mingled feeling of curiosity and care that dwelt on most of their
countenances.

Large groups of men were collected in the gangways, around the mainmast,
and on the booms of the vessel, whose faces were distinctly visible,
while numerous figures, lying along the lower yards or bending out of
the tops, might be dimly traced in the background, all of whom expressed
by their attitudes the interest they took in the arrival of the boat.

Though such crowds were collected in other parts of the vessel, the
quarter-deck was occupied only by the officers, who were disposed
according to their several ranks, and were equally silent and attentive
as the remainder of the crew. In front stood a small collection of young
men, who, by their similarity of dress, were the equals and companions
of Griffith, though his juniors in rank. On the opposite side of the
vessel was a larger assemblage of youths, who claimed Mr. Merry as their
fellow. Around the capstan three or four figures were standing, one of
whom wore a coat of blue, with the scarlet facings of a soldier, and
another the black vestments of the ship's chaplain. Behind these, and
nearer the passage to the cabin from which he had just ascended, stood
the tall, erect form of the commander of the vessel.

After a brief salutation between Griffith and the junior officers, the
former advanced, followed slowly by the pilot, to the place where he
was expected by his veteran commander. The young man removed his hat
entirely, as he bowed with a little more than his usual ceremony, and
said:

“We have succeeded, sir, though not without more difficulty and delay
than were anticipated.”

“But you have not brought off the pilot,” said the captain, “and without
him, all our risk and trouble have been in vain.”

“He is here,” said Griffith, stepping aside, and extending his arm
towards the man that stood behind him, wrapped to the chin in his coarse
pea-jacket, and his face shadowed by the falling rims of a large hat,
that had seen much and hard service.

“This!” exclaimed the captain; “then there is a sad mistake--this is not
the man I would have, seen, nor can another supply his place.”

“I know not whom you expected, Captain Munson,” said the stranger, in
a low, quiet voice; “but if you have not forgotten the day when a very
different flag from that emblem of tyranny that now hangs over yon
taffrail was first spread to the wind, you may remember the hand that
raised it.”

“Bring here the light!” exclaimed the commander, hastily.

When the lantern was extended towards the pilot, and the glare fell
strong on his features, Captain Munson started, as he beheld the calm
blue eye that met his gaze, and the composed but pallid countenance of
the other. Involuntarily raising his hat, and baring his silver locks,
the veteran cried:

“It is he! though so changed----”

“That his enemies did not know him,” interrupted the pilot, quickly;
then touching the other by the arm as he led him aside, he continued,
in a lower tone, “neither must his friends, until the proper hour shall
arrive.”

Griffith had fallen back to answer the eager questions of his messmates,
and no part of this short dialogue was overheard by the officers, though
it was soon perceived that their commander had discovered his error, and
was satisfied that the proper man had been brought on board his vessel.
For many minutes the two continued to pace a part of the quarter-deck,
by themselves, engaged in deep and earnest discourse.

As Griffith had but little to communicate, the curiosity of his
listeners was soon appeased, and all eyes were directed toward that
mysterious guide, who was to conduct them from a situation already
surrounded by perils, which each moment not only magnified in
appearance, but increased in reality.




CHAPTER IV.

  ----“Behold the threaden sails,
  Borne with the invisible and creeping winds,
  Draw the huge bottoms through the furrowed sea,
  Breasting the lofty surge.”
   _Shakespeare._


It has been already explained to the reader, that there were threatening
symptoms in the appearance of the weather to create serious forebodings
of evil in the breast of a seaman. When removed from the shadows of the
cliffs, the night was not so dark but objects could be discerned at
some little distance, and in the eastern horizon there was a streak of
fearful light impending over the gloomy waters, in which the swelling
outline formed by the rising waves was becoming each moment more
distinct, and, consequently, more alarming. Several dark clouds overhung
the vessel, whose towering masts apparently propped the black vapor,
while a few stars were seen twinkling, with a sickly flame, in the
streak of clear sky that skirted the ocean. Still, light currents of
air occasionally swept across the bay, bringing with them the fresh odor
from the shore, but their flitting irregularity too surely foretold them
to be the expiring breath of the land breeze. The roaring of the surf,
as it rolled on the margin of the bay, produced a dull, monotonous
sound, that was only interrupted at times by a hollow bellowing, as a
larger wave than usual broke violently against some cavity in the rock.
Everything, in short, united to render the scene gloomy and portentous,
without creating instant terror, for the ship rose easily on the long
billows, without even straightening the heavy cable that held her to her
anchor.

The higher officers were collected around the capstan, engaged in
earnest discourse about their situation and prospects, while some of
the oldest and most favored seamen would extend their short walk to the
hallowed precincts of the quarter-deck, to catch, with greedy ears,
the opinions that fell from their superiors. Numberless were the uneasy
glances that were thrown from both officers and men at their commander
and the pilot, who still continued their secret communion in a distant
part of the vessel. Once, an ungovernable curiosity, or the heedlessness
of his years, led one of the youthful midshipmen near them; but a stern
rebuke from his captain sent the boy, abashed and cowering, to hide
his mortification among his fellows. This reprimand was received by the
elder officers as an intimation that the consultation which they beheld
was to be strictly inviolate; and, though it by no means suppressed the
repeated expressions of their impatience, it effectually prevented an
interruption to the communications, which all, however, thought were
unreasonably protracted for the occasion.

“This is no time to be talking over bearings and distances,” observed
the officer next in rank to Griffith; “but we should call the hands up,
and try to kedge her off while the sea will suffer a boat to live.”

“'Twould be a tedious and bootless job to attempt warping a ship for
miles against a head-beating sea,” returned the first lieutenant; “but
the land-breeze yet flutters aloft, and if our light sails would draw,
with the aid of this ebb tide we might be able to shove her from the
shore.”

“Hail the tops, Griffith,” said the other, “and ask if they feel the air
above; 'twill be a hint at least to set the old man and that lubberly
pilot in motion.”

Griffith laughed as he complied with the request, and when he received
the customary reply to his call, he demanded in a loud voice:

“Which way have you the wind, aloft?”

“We feel a light catspaw, now and then, from the land, sir,” returned
the sturdy captain of the top; “but our topsail hangs in the clewlines,
sir, without winking.”

Captain Munson and his companion suspended their discourse while this
question and answer were exchanged, and then resumed their dialogue as
earnestly as if it had received no interruption.

“If it did wink, the hint would be lost on our betters,” said the
officer of the marines, whose ignorance of seamanship added greatly to
his perception of the danger, but who, from pure idleness, made more
jokes than any other man in the ship. “That pilot would not receive a
delicate intimation through his ears, Mr. Griffith; suppose you try him
by the nose.”

“Faith, there was a flash of gunpowder between us in the barge,”
 returned the first lieutenant, “and he does not seem a man to stomach
such hints as you advise. Although he looks so meek and quiet, I doubt
whether he has paid much attention to the book of Job.”

“Why should he?” exclaimed the chaplain, whose apprehensions at least
equaled those of the marine, and with a much more disheartening effect;
“I am sure it would have been a great waste of time: there are so many
charts of the coast, and books on the navigation of these seas, for him
to study, that I sincerely hope he has been much better employed.”

A loud laugh was created at this speech among the listeners, and it
apparently produced the effect that was so long anxiously desired, by
putting an end to the mysterious conference between their captain and
the pilot. As the former came forward towards his expecting crew, he
said, is the composed, steady manner that formed the principal trait in
his character:

“Get the anchor, Mr. Griffith, and make sail on the ship; the hour has
arrived when we must be moving.”

The cheerful “Ay! ay! sir!” of the young lieutenant was hardly uttered,
before the cries of half a dozen midshipmen were heard summoning the
boatswain and his mates to their duty.

There was a general movement in the living masses that clustered around
the mainmast, on the booms, and in the gangways, though their habits of
discipline held the crew a moment longer in suspense. The silence was
first broken by the sound of the boatswain's whistle, followed by the
hoarse cry of “All hands, up anchor, ahoy!”--the former rising on the
night air, from its first low mellow notes to a piercing shrillness
that gradually died away on the waters; and the latter bellowing through
every cranny of the ship, like the hollow murmurs of distant thunder.

The change produced by the customary summons was magical. Human
beings sprang out from between the guns, rushed up the hatches, threw
themselves with careless activity from the booms, and gathered from
every quarter so rapidly, that in an instant the deck of the frigate
was alive with men. The profound silence, that had hitherto been only
interrupted by the low dialogue of the officers, was now changed for the
stern orders of the lieutenants, mingled with the shriller cries of the
midshipmen, and the hoarse bawling of the boatswain's crew, rising above
the tumult of preparation and general bustle.

The captain and the pilot alone remained passive, in this scene of
general exertion; for apprehension had even stimulated that class of
officers which is called “idlers” to unusual activity, though frequently
reminded by their more experienced messmates that, instead of aiding,
they retarded the duty of the vessel. The bustle, however, gradually
ceased, and in a few minutes the same silence pervaded the ship as
before.

“We are brought-to, sir,” said Griffith, who stood overlooking the
scene, holding in one hand a short speaking, trumpet, and grasping
with the other one of the shrouds of the ship, to steady himself in the
position he had taken on a gun.

“Heave round, sir,” was the calm reply.

“Heave round!” repeated Griffith, aloud.

“Heave round!” echoed a dozen eager voices at once, and the lively
strains of a fife struck up a brisk air, to enliven the labor. The
capstan was instantly set in motion, and the measured tread of the
seamen was heard, as they stamped the deck in the circle of their march.
For a few minutes no other sounds were heard, if we except the voice
of an officer, occasionally cheering the sailors, when it was announced
that they “were short;” or, in other words, that the ship was nearly
over her anchor.

“Heave and pull,” cried Griffith; when the quivering notes of the
whistle were again succeeded by a general stillness in the vessel.

“What is to be done now, sir?” continued the lieutenant; “shall we trip
the anchor? There seems not a breath of air; and as the tide runs slack,
I doubt whether the sea do not heave the ship ashore.”

There was so much obvious truth in this conjecture, that all eyes turned
from the light and animation afforded by the decks of the frigate, to
look abroad on the waters, in a vain desire to pierce the darkness, as
if to read the fate of their apparently devoted ship from the aspect of
nature.

“I leave all to the pilot,” said the captain, after he had stood a short
time by the side of Griffith, anxiously studying the heavens and the
ocean. “What say you, Mr. Gray?”

The man who was thus first addressed by name was leaning over the
bulwarks, with his eyes bent in the same direction as the others; but as
he answered he turned his face towards the speaker, and the light from
the deck fell full upon his quiet features, which exhibited a
calmness bordering on the supernatural, considering his station and
responsibility.

“There is much to fear from this heavy ground-swell,” he said, in the
same unmoved tones as before; “but there is certain destruction to us,
if the gale that is brewing in the east finds us waiting its fury in
this wild anchorage. All the hemp that ever was spun into cordage would
not hold a ship an hour, chafing on these rocks, with a northeaster
pouring its fury on her. If the powers of man can compass it, gentlemen,
we must get an offing, and that speedily.”

“You say no more, sir, than the youngest boy in the ship can see for
himself,” said Griffith--“ha! here comes the schooner!”

The dashing of the long sweeps in the water was now plainly audible, and
the little Ariel was seen through the gloom, moving heavily under their
feeble impulse. As she passed slowly under the stern of the frigate, the
cheerful voice of Barnstable was first heard, opening the communications
between them.

“Here's a night for spectacles, Captain Munson!” he cried; “but I
thought I heard your fife, sir. I trust in God, you do not mean to ride
it out here till morning?”

“I like the berth as little as yourself, Mr. Barnstable,” returned
the veteran seaman, in his calm manner, in which anxiety was, however,
beginning to grow evident. “We are short; but are afraid to let go our
hold of the bottom, lest the sea cast us ashore. How make you out the
wind?”

“Wind!” echoed the other; “there is not enough to blow a lady's curl
aside. If you wait, sir, till the land-breeze fills your sails, you will
wait another moon. I believe I've got my eggshell out of that nest
of gray-caps; but how it has been done in the dark, a better man than
myself must explain.”

“Take your directions from the pilot, Mr. Barnstable,” returned his
commanding officer, “and follow them strictly and to the letter.”

A deathlike silence, in both vessels, succeeded this order; for all
seemed to listen eagerly to catch the words that fell from the man on
whom, even the boys now felt, depended their only hopes for safety. A
short time was suffered to elapse, before his voice was heard, in the
same low but distinct tones as before:

“Your sweeps will soon be of no service to you,” he said, “against the
sea that begins to heave in; but your light sails will help them to get
you out. So long as you can head east-and-by-north, you are doing
well, and you can stand on till you open the light from that northern
headland, when you can heave to and fire a gun; but if, as I dread, you
are struck aback before you open the light, you may trust to your lead
on the larboard tack; but beware, with your head to the southward, for
no lead will serve you there.”

“I can walk over the same ground on one tack as on the other,” said
Barnstable, “and make both legs of a length.”

“It will not do,” returned the pilot. “If you fall off a point to
starboard from east-and-by-north, in going large, you will find both
rocks and points of shoals to bring you up; and beware, as I tell you,
of the starboard tack.”

“And how shall I find my way? you will let me trust to neither time,
lead, nor log.”

“You must trust to a quick eye and a ready hand. The breakers only will
show you the dangers, when you are not able to make out the bearings of
the land. Tack in season, sir, and don't spare the lead when you head to
port.”

“Ay, ay,” returned Barnstable, in a low muttering voice. “This is a sort
of blind navigation with a vengeance, and all for no purpose that I can
see--see! damme, eyesight is of about as much use now as a man's nose
would be in reading the Bible.”

“Softly, softly, Mr. Barnstable,” interrupted his commander--for such
was the anxious stillness in both vessels that even the rattling of
the schooner's rigging was heard, as she rolled in the trough of the
sea--“the duty on which Congress has sent us must be performed, at the
hazard of our lives.”

“I don't mind my life, Captain Munson,” said Barnstable, “but there is
a great want of conscience in trusting a vessel in such a place as
this. However, it is a time to do, and not to talk. But if there be such
danger to an easy draught of water, what will become of the frigate? had
I not better play jackal, and try and feel the way for you?”

“I thank you,” said the pilot; “the offer is generous, but would avail
us nothing. I have the advantage of knowing the ground well, and must
trust to my memory and God's good favor. Make sail, make sail, sir, and
if you succeed, we will venture to break ground.”

The order was promptly obeyed, and in a very short time the Ariel was
covered with canvas. Though no air was perceptible on the decks of the
frigate, the little schooner was so light that she succeeded in stemming
her way over the rising waves, aided a little by the tide; and in a few
minutes her low hull was just discernible in the streak of light along
the horizon, with the dark outline of her sails rising above the sea,
until their fanciful summits were lost in the shadows of the clouds.

Griffith had listened to the foregoing dialogue, like the rest of the
junior officers, in profound silence; but when the Ariel began to grow
indistinct to the eye, he jumped lightly from the gun to the deck, and
cried:

“She slips off, like a vessel from the stocks! Shall I trip the anchor,
sir, and follow?”

“We have no choice,” replied his captain. “You hear the question, Mr.
Gray? shall we let go the bottom?”

“It must be done, Captain Munson; we may want more drift than the rest
of this tide to get us to a place of safety,” said the pilot “I would
give five years from a life that I know will be short, if the ship lay
one mile further seaward.”

This remark was unheard by all, except the commander of the frigate, who
again walked aside with the pilot, where they resumed their mysterious
communications. The words of assent were no sooner uttered, however,
than Griffith gave forth from his trumpet the command to “heave away!”
 Again the strains of the fife were followed by the tread of the men at
the capstan. At the same time that the anchor was heaving up, the
sails were loosened from the yards, and opened to invite the breeze. In
effecting this duty, orders were thundered through the trumpet of the
first lieutenant, and executed with the rapidity of thought. Men were
to be seen, like spots in the dim light from the heavens, lying on every
yard or hanging as in air, while strange cries were heard issuing
from every part of the rigging and each spar of the vessel. “Ready the
foreroyal,” cried a shrill voice, as if from the clouds; “ready the
foreyard,” uttered the hoarser tones of a seaman beneath him; “all ready
aft, sir,” cried a third, from another quarter; and in a few moments the
order was given to “let fall.”

The little light which fell from the sky was now excluded by the falling
canvas, and a deeper gloom was cast athwart the decks of the ship, that
served to render the brilliancy of the lanterns even vivid, while it
gave to objects outboard a more appalling and dreary appearance than
before.

Every individual, excepting the commander and his associate, was now
earnestly engaged in getting the ship under way. The sounds of “we're
away” were repeated by a burst from fifty voices, and the rapid
evolutions of the capstan announced that nothing but the weight of the
anchor was to be lifted. The hauling of cordage, the rattling of blocks,
blended with the shrill calls of the boatswain and his mates, succeeded;
and though to a landsman all would have appeared confusion and hurry,
long practice and strict discipline enabled the crew to exhibit their
ship under a cloud of canvas, from her deck to the trucks, in less time
than we have consumed in relating it.

For a few minutes, the officers were not disappointed by the result; for
though the heavy sails flapped lazily against the masts, the light duck
on the loftier spars swelled outwardly, and the ship began sensibly to
yield to their influence.

“She travels! she travels!” exclaimed Griffith joyously; “ah! the hussy!
she has as much antipathy to the land as any fish that swims: it blows a
little gale aloft yet!”

“We feel its dying breath,” said the pilot, in low, soothing tones, but
in a manner so sudden as to startle Griffith, at whose elbow they were
unexpectedly uttered. “Let us forget, young man, everything but the
number of lives that depend, this night, on your exertions and my
knowledge.”

“If you be but half as able to exhibit the one as I am willing to make
the other, we shall do well,” returned the lieutenant, in the same tone.
“Remember, whatever may be your feelings, that _we_ are on an enemy's
coast, and love it not enough to wish to lay our bones there.”

With this brief explanation they separated, the vessel requiring the
constant and close attention of the officer to her movements.

The exultation produced in the crew by the progress of their ship
through the water was of short duration; for the breeze that had seemed
to await their motions, after forcing the vessel for a quarter of a
mile, fluttered for a few minutes amid their light canvas, and then left
them entirely. The quartermaster, whose duty it was to superintend the
helm, soon announced that he was losing the command of the vessel, as
she was no longer obedient to her rudder. This ungrateful intelligence
was promptly communicated to his commander by Griffith, who suggested
the propriety of again dropping an anchor.

“I refer you to Mr. Gray,” returned the captain; “he is the pilot, sir,
and with him rests the safety of the vessel.”

“Pilots sometimes lose ships as well as save them,” said Griffith:
“know you the man well, Captain Munson, who holds all our lives in his
keeping, and so coolly as if he cared but little for the venture?”

“Mr. Griffith, I do know him; he is, in my opinion, both competent and
faithful. Thus much I tell you, to relieve your anxiety; more you must
not ask;--but is there not a shift of wind?”

“God forbid!” exclaimed his lieutenant; “if that northeaster catches us
within the shoals, our case will be desperate indeed!”

The heavy rolling of the vessel caused an occasional expansion, and as
sudden a reaction, in their sails, which left the oldest seaman in the
ship in doubt which way the currents of air were passing, or whether
there existed any that were not created by the flapping of their own
canvas. The head of the ship, however, began to fall off from the sea,
and notwithstanding the darkness, it soon became apparent that she was
driving in, bodily, towards the shore.

During these few minutes of gloomy doubt, Griffith, by one of those
sudden revulsions of the mind that connect the opposite extremes of
feeling, lost his animated anxiety, and elapsed into the listless apathy
that so often came over him, even in the most critical moments of trial
and danger. He was standing with one elbow resting on his capstan,
shading his eyes from the light of the battle-lantern that stood near
him with one hand, when he felt a gentle pressure of the other,
that recalled his recollection. Looking affectionately, though still
recklessly, at the boy who stood at his side, he said:

“Dull music, Mr. Merry.”

“So dull, sir, that I can't dance to it,” returned the midshipman. “Nor
do I believe there is a man in the ship who would not rather hear 'The
girl I left behind me,' than those execrable sounds.”

“What sounds, boy? The ship is as quiet as the Quaker meeting in the
Jerseys, before your good old grandfather used to break the charm of
silence with his sonorous voice.”

“Ah! laugh at my peaceable blood, if thou wilt, Mr. Griffith,” said the
arch youngster, “but remember, there is a mixture of it in all sorts of
veins. I wish I could hear one of the old gentleman's chants now, sir; I
could always sleep to them, like a gull in the surf. But he that sleeps
to-night, with that lullaby, will make a nap of it.”

“Sounds! I hear no sounds, boy, but the flapping aloft; even that pilot,
who struts the quarter-deck like an admiral, has nothing to say.”

“Is not that a sound to open a seaman's ear?”

“It is in truth a heavy roll of the surf, lad, but the night air
carries it heavily to our ears. Know you not the sounds of the surf yet,
younker?”

“I know it too well, Mr. Griffith, and do not wish to know it better.
How fast are we tumbling in towards that surf, sir?”

“I think we hold our own,” said Griffith, rousing again; “though we had
better anchor. Luff, fellow, luff--you are broadside to the sea!”

The man at the wheel repeated his former intelligence, adding a
suggestion, that he thought the ship “was gathering stern way.”

“Haul up your courses, Mr. Griffith,” said Captain Munson, “and let us
feel the wind.”

The rattling of the blocks was soon heard, and the enormous sheets of
canvas that hung from the lower yards were instantly suspended “in the
brails.” When this change was effected, all on board stood silent and
breathless, as if expecting to learn their fate by the result. Several
contradictory opinions were, at length, hazarded among the officers,
when Griffith seized the candle from the lantern, and springing on one
of the guns, held it on high, exposed to the action of the air. The
little flame waved, with uncertain glimmering, for a moment, and then
burned steadily, in a line with the masts. Griffith was about to lower
his extended arm, when, feeling a slight sensation of coolness on his
hand, he paused, and the light turned slowly toward the land, flared,
flickered, and finally deserted the wick.

“Lose not a moment, Mr. Griffith,” cried the pilot aloud; “clew up and
furl everything but your three topsails, and let them be double-reefed.
Now is the time to fulfill your promise.”

The young man paused one moment, in astonishment, as the clear, distinct
tones of the stranger struck his ears so unexpectedly; but turning his
eyes to seaward, he sprang on the deck, and proceeded to obey the order,
as if life and death depended on his dispatch.




CHAPTER V.

  “She rights! she rights, boys! ware off shore!”
   _Song._


The extraordinary activity of Griffith, which communicated itself with
promptitude to the crew, was produced by a sudden alteration in the
weather. In place of the well-defined streak along the horizon, that has
been already described, an immense body of misty light appeared to be
moving in, with rapidity, from the ocean, while a distinct but distant
roaring announced the sure approach of the tempest that had so long
troubled the waters. Even Griffith, while thundering his orders through
the trumpet, and urging the men, by his cries, to expedition, would
pause, for instants, to cast anxious glances in the direction of the
coming storm; and the faces of the sailors who lay on the yards were
turned, instinctively, towards the same quarter of the heavens, while
they knotted the reef-points, or passed the gaskets that were to confine
the unruly canvas to the prescribed limits.

The pilot alone, in that confused and busy throng, where voice rose
above voice, and cry echoed cry, in quick succession, appeared as if he
held no interest in the important stake. With his eye steadily fixed
on the approaching mist, and his arms folded together in composure, he
stood calmly waiting the result.

The ship had fallen off, with her broadside to the sea, and was
become unmanageable, and the sails were already brought into the folds
necessary to her security, when the quick and heavy fluttering of canvas
was thrown across the water, with all the gloomy and chilling sensations
that such sounds produce, where darkness and danger unite to appall the
seaman.

“The schooner has it!” cried Griffith: “Barnstable has held on, like
himself, to the last moment.--God send that the squall leave him cloth
enough to keep him from the shore!”

“His sails are easily handled,” the commander observed, “and she must be
over the principal danger. We are falling off before it, Mr. Gray; shall
we try a cast of the lead?”

The pilot turned from his contemplative posture, and moved slowly across
the deck before he returned any reply to this question--like a man who
not only felt that everything depended on himself, but that he was equal
to the emergency.

“'Tis unnecessary,” he at length said; “'twould be certain destruction
to be taken aback; and it is difficult to say, within several points,
how the wind may strike us.”

“'Tis difficult no longer,” cried Griffith; “for here it comes, and in
right earnest!”

The rushing sounds of the wind were now, indeed, heard at hand; and
the words were hardly past the lips of the young lieutenant, before the
vessel bowed down heavily to one side, and then, as she began to move
through the water, rose again majestically to her upright position, as
if saluting, like a courteous champion, the powerful antagonist with
which she was about to contend. Not another minute elapsed, before
the ship was throwing the waters aside, with a lively progress, and,
obedient to her helm, was brought as near to the desired course as the
direction of the wind would allow. The hurry and bustle on the yards
gradually subsided, and the men slowly descended to the deck, all
straining their eyes to pierce the gloom in which they were enveloped,
and some shaking their heads, in melancholy doubt, afraid to express the
apprehensions they really entertained. All on board anxiously waited for
the fury of the gale; for there were none so ignorant or inexperienced
in that gallant frigate, as not to know that as yet they only felt the
infant effects of the wind. Each moment, however, it increased in power,
though so gradual was the alteration, that the relieved mariners began
to believe that all their gloomy forebodings were not to be realized.
During this short interval of uncertainty, no other sounds were heard
than the whistling of the breeze, as it passed quickly through the mass
of rigging that belonged to the vessel, and the dashing of the spray
that began to fly from her bows, like the foam of a cataract.

“It blows fresh,” cried Griffith, who was the first to speak in that
moment of doubt and anxiety; “but it is no more than a capful of wind
after all. Give us elbow-room, and the right canvas, Mr. Pilot, and I'll
handle the ship like a gentleman's yacht, in this breeze.”

“Will she stay, think ye, under this sail?” said the low voice of the
stranger.

“She will do all that man, in reason, can ask of wood and iron,”
 returned the lieutenant; “but the vessel don't float the ocean that will
tack under double-reefed topsails alone, against a heavy sea. Help
her with her courses, pilot, and you shall see her come round like a
dancing-master.”

“Let us feel the strength of the gale first,” returned the man who was
called Mr. Gray, moving from the side of Griffith to the weather gangway
of the vessel, where he stood in silence, looking ahead of the ship,
with an air of singular coolness and abstraction.

All the lanterns had been extinguished on the deck of the frigate, when
her anchor was secured, and as the first mist of the gale had passed
over, it was succeeded by a faint light that was a good deal aided by
the glittering foam of the waters, which now broke in white curls around
the vessel in every direction. The land could be faintly discerned,
rising like a heavy bank of black fog above the margin of the waters,
and was only distinguishable from the heavens by its deeper gloom and
obscurity. The last rope was coiled, and deposited in its proper place,
by the seamen, and for several minutes the stillness of death pervaded
the crowded decks. It was evident to every one, that their ship
was dashing at a prodigious rate through the waves; and as she was
approaching, with such velocity, the quarter of the bay where the shoals
and dangers were known to be situated, nothing but the habits of the
most exact discipline could suppress the uneasiness of the officers and
men within their own bosoms. At length the voice of Captain Munson was
heard, calling to the pilot:

“Shall I send a hand into the chains, Mr. Gray,” he said, “and try our
water?”

Although this question was asked aloud, and the interest it excited drew
many of the officers and men around him, in eager impatience for his
answer, it was unheeded by the man to whom it was addressed. His head
rested on his hand, as he leaned over the hammock-cloths of the vessel,
and his whole air was that of one whose thoughts wandered from the
pressing necessity of their situation. Griffith was among those who had
approached the pilot; and after waiting a moment, from respect, to hear
the answer to his commander's question, he presumed on his own rank, and
leaving the circle that stood at a little distance, stepped to the side
of the mysterious guardian of their lives.

“Captain Munson desires to know whether you wish a cast of the lead?”
 said the young officer, with a little impatience of manner. No immediate
answer was made to this repetition of the question, and Griffith laid
his hand unceremoniously on the shoulder of the other, with an intent
to rouse him before he made another application for a reply, but the
convulsive start of the pilot held him silent in amazement.

“Fall back there,” said the lieutenant, sternly; to the men, who were
closing around them in compact circle; “away with you to your stations,
and see all clear for stays.” The dense mass of heads dissolved, at this
order, like the water of one of the waves commingling with the ocean,
and the lieutenant and his companions were left by themselves.

“This is not a time for musing, Mr. Gray,” continued Griffith; “remember
our compact, and look to your charge--is it not time to put the vessel
in stays? of what are you dreaming?”

The pilot laid his hand on the extended arm of the lieutenant, and
grasped it with a convulsive pressure, as he answered:

“'Tis a dream of reality. You are young, Mr. Griffith, nor am I past the
noon of life; but should you live fifty years longer, you never can
see and experience what I have encountered in my little period of
three-and-thirty years!”

A good deal astonished at this burst of feeling, so singular at such a
moment, the young sailor was at a loss for a reply; but as his duty
was uppermost in his thoughts, he still dwelt on the theme that most
interested him.

“I hope much of your experience has been on this coast, for the ship
travels lively,” he said, “and the daylight showed us so much to dread,
that we do not feel over-valiant in the dark. How much longer shall we
stand on, upon this tack?”

The pilot turned slowly from the side of the vessel, and walked towards
the commander of the frigate, as he replied, in a tone that seemed
deeply agitated by his melancholy reflections:

“You have your wish, then; much, very much of my early life was passed
on this dreaded coast. What to you is all darkness and gloom, to me is
as light as if a noon-day sun shone upon it. But tack your ship, sir,
tack your ship; I would see how she works before we reach the point
where she _must_ behave well, or we perish.”

Griffith gazed after him in wonder, while the pilot slowly paced the
quarter-deck, and then, rousing from his trance, gave forth the cheering
order that called each man to his station, to perform the desired
evolution. The confident assurances which the young officer had given to
the pilot respecting the qualities of his vessel and his own ability to
manage her, were fully realized by the result. The helm was no sooner
put a-lee, than the huge ship bore up gallantly against the wind, and,
dashing directly through the waves, threw the foam high into the air,
as she looked boldly into the very eye of the wind; and then, yielding
gracefully to its power, she fell off on the other tack, with her head
pointed from those dangerous shoals that she had so recently approached
with such terrifying velocity. The heavy yards swung round, as if they
had been vanes to indicate the currents of the air; and in a few moments
the frigate again moved, with stately progress, through the water,
leaving the rocks and shoals behind her on one side of the bay, but
advancing towards those that offered equal danger on the other.

During this time the sea was becoming more agitated, and the violence
of the wind was gradually increasing. The latter no longer whistled amid
the cordage of the vessel, but it seemed to howl, surlily, as it passed
the complicated machinery that the frigate obtruded on its path. An
endless succession of white surges rose above the heavy billows, and
the very air was glittering with the light that was disengaged from the
ocean. The ship yielded, each moment, more and more before the storm,
and in less than half an hour from the time that she had lifted her
anchor, she was driven along with tremendous fury by the full power of a
gale of wind. Still the hardy and experienced mariners who directed
her movements held her to the course that was necessary to their
preservation, and still Griffith gave forth, when directed by their
unknown pilot, those orders that turned her in the narrow channel where
alone safety was to be found.

So far, the performance of his duty appeared easy to the stranger, and
he gave the required directions in those still, calm tones, that formed
so remarkable a contrast to the responsibility of his situation. But
when the land was becoming dim, in distance as well as darkness, and the
agitated sea alone was to be discovered as it swept by them in foam, he
broke in upon the monotonous roaring of the tempest with the sounds of
his voice, seeming to shake off his apathy, and rouse himself to the
occasion.

“Now is the time to watch her closely, Mr. Griffith,” he cried; “here we
get the true tide and the real danger. Place the best quartermaster of
your ship in those chains, and let an officer stand by him, and see that
he gives us the right water.”

“I will take that office on myself,” said the captain; “pass a light
into the weather main-chains.”

“Stand by your braces!” exclaimed the pilot, with startling quickness.
“Heave away that lead!”

These preparations taught the crew to expect the crisis, and every
officer and man stood in fearful silence, at his assigned station,
awaiting the issue of the trial. Even the quartermaster at the cun gave
out his orders to the men at the wheel, in deeper and hoarser tones than
usual, as if anxious not to disturb the quiet and order of the vessel.

While this deep expectation pervaded the frigate, the piercing cry of
the leadsman, as he called “By the mark seven,” rose above the tempest,
crossed over the decks, and appeared to pass away to leeward, borne on
the blast like the warnings of some water-spirit.

“'Tis well,” returned the pilot, calmly; “try it again.”

The short pause was succeeded by another cry, “And a half-five!”

“She shoals! she shoals!” exclaimed Griffith: “keep her a good full.”

“Ay! you must hold the vessel in command, now,” said the pilot, with
those cool tones that are most appalling in critical moments because
they seem to denote most preparation and care.

The third call, “By the deep four,” was followed by a prompt direction
from the stranger to tack.

Griffith seemed to emulate the coolness of the pilot, in issuing the
necessary orders to execute this manoeuvre.

The vessel rose slowly from the inclined position into which she had
been forced by the tempest, and the sails were shaking violently, as if
to release themselves from their confinement, while the ship stemmed
the billows, when the well-known voice of the sailing-master was heard
shouting from the forecastle:

“Breakers! breakers, dead ahead!”

This appalling sound seemed yet to be lingering about the ship, when a
second voice cried:

“Breakers on our lee bow!”

“We are in a bite of the shoals, Mr. Gray,” cried the commander. “She
loses her way; perhaps an anchor might hold her.”

“Clear away that best bower!” shouted Griffith through his trumpet.

“Hold on!” cried the pilot, in a voice that reached the very hearts of
all who heard him; “hold on everything.”

The young man turned fiercely to the daring stranger who thus defied the
discipline of his vessel, and at once demanded:

“Who is it that dares to countermand my orders? Is it not enough that
you run the ship into danger, but you must interfere to keep her there?
If another word----”

“Peace, Mr. Griffith,” interrupted the captain, bending from the
rigging, his gray locks blowing about in the wind and adding a look
of wildness to the haggard care that he exhibited by the light of his
lantern; “yield the trumpet to Mr. Gray; he alone can save us.”

Griffith threw his speaking-trumpet on the deck, and as he walked
proudly away, muttered in bitterness of feeling:

“Then all is lost, indeed! and among the rest the foolish hopes with
which I visited this coast.”

There was, however, no time for reply; the ship had been rapidly running
into the wind, and as the efforts of the crew were paralyzed by the
contradictory orders they had heard, she gradually lost her way, and in
a few seconds all her sails were taken aback.

Before the crew understood their situation the pilot had applied the
trumpet to his mouth, and in a voice that rose above the tempest, he
thundered forth his orders. Each command was given distinctly, and with
a precision that showed him to be master of his profession. The helm
was kept fast, the head-yards swung up heavily against the wind, and the
vessel was soon whirling round on her heel, with a retrograde movement.

Griffith was too much of a seaman not to perceive that the pilot
had seized, with a perception almost intuitive, the only method that
promised to extricate the vessel from her situation. He was young,
impetuous, and proud--but he was also generous. Forgetting his
resentment and his mortification, he rushed forward among the men, and,
by his presence and example, added certainty to the experiment. The
ship fell off slowly before the gale, and bowed her yards nearly to the
water, as she felt the blast pouring its fury on her broadside, while
the surly waves beat violently against her stern, as if in reproach at
departing from her usual manner of moving.

The voice of the pilot, however, was still heard, steady and calm, and
yet so clear and high as to reach every ear; and the obedient seamen
whirled the yards at his bidding in despite of the tempest, as if they
handled the toys of their childhood. When the ship had fallen off dead
before the wind, her head-sails were shaken, her after-yards trimmed,
and her helm shifted, before she had time to run upon the danger that
had threatened, as well to leeward as to windward. The beautiful fabric,
obedient to her government, threw her bows up gracefully towards the
wind again; and, as her sails were trimmed, moved out from among the
dangerous shoals, in which she had been embayed, as steadily and swiftly
as she had approached them.

A moment of breathless astonishment succeeded the accomplishment of
this nice manoeuvre, but there was no time for the usual expressions of
surprise. The stranger still held the trumpet, and continued to lift
his voice amid the howlings of the blast, whenever prudence or skill
required any change in the management of the ship. For an hour longer
there was a fearful struggle for their preservation, the channel
becoming at each step more complicated, and the shoals thickening around
the mariners on every side. The lead was cast rapidly, and the quick
eye of the pilot seemed to pierce the darkness with a keenness of vision
that exceeded human power. It was apparent to all in the vessel that
they were under the guidance of one who understood the navigation
thoroughly, and their exertions kept pace with their reviving
confidence. Again and again the frigate appeared to be rushing blindly
on shoals where the sea was covered with foam, and where destruction
would have been as sudden as it was certain, when the clear voice of
the stranger was heard warning them of the danger, and inciting them
to their duty. The vessel was implicitly yielded to his government;
and during those anxious moments when she was dashing the waters aside,
throwing the spray over her enormous yards, each ear would listen
eagerly for those sounds that had obtained a command over the crew that
can only be acquired, under such circumstances, by great steadiness and
consummate skill. The ship was recovering from the inaction of changing
her course, in one of those critical tacks that she had made so often,
when the pilot, for the first time, addressed the commander of the
frigate, who still continued to superintend the all-important duty of
the leadsman.

“Now is the pinch,” he said, “and if the ship behaves well, we are
safe--but if otherwise, all we have yet done will be useless.”

The veteran seaman whom he addressed left the chains at this portentous
notice, and calling to his first lieutenant, required of the stranger an
explanation of his warning.

“See you yon light on the southern headland?” returned the pilot; “you
may know it from the star near it?--by its sinking, at times, in the
ocean. Now observe the hummock, a little north of it, looking like a
shadow in the horizon--'tis a hill far inland. If we keep that light
open from the hill, we shall do well--but if not, we surely go to
pieces.”

“Let us tack again,” exclaimed the lieutenant.

The pilot shook his head, as he replied:

“There is no more tacking or box-hauling to be done tonight. We have
barely room to pass out of the shoals on this course; and if we can
weather the 'Devil's Grip,' we clear their outermost point--but if not,
as I said before, there is but an alternative.”

“If we had beaten out the way we entered,” exclaimed Griffith, “we
should have done well.”

“Say, also, if the tide would have let us do so,” returned the pilot,
calmly. “Gentlemen, we must be prompt; we have but a mile to go, and the
ship appears to fly. That topsail is not enough to keep her up to the
wind; we want both jib and mainsail.”

“'Tis a perilous thing to loosen canvas in such a tempest!” observed the
doubtful captain.

“It must be done,” returned the collected stranger; “we perish without
it--see the light already touches the edge of the hummock; the sea casts
us to leeward.”

“It shall be done,” cried Griffith, seizing the trumpet from the hand of
the pilot.

The orders of the lieutenant were executed almost as soon as issued;
and, everything being ready, the enormous folds of the mainsail were
trusted loose to the blast. There was an instant when the result was
doubtful; the tremendous threshing of the heavy sail seemed to bid
defiance to all restraint, shaking the ship to her centre; but art and
strength prevailed, and gradually the canvas was distended, and bellying
as it filled, was drawn down to its usual place by the power of a
hundred men. The vessel yielded to this immense addition of force, and
bowed before it like a reed bending to a breeze. But the success of the
measure was announced by a joyful cry from the stranger, that seemed to
burst from his inmost soul.

“She feels it! she springs her luff! observe,” he said, “the light opens
from the hummock already: if she will only bear her canvas we shall go
clear.”

A report, like that of a cannon, interrupted his exclamation, and
something resembling a white cloud was seen drifting before the wind
from the head of the ship, till it was driven into the gloom far to
leeward.

“'Tis the jib, blown from the bolt-ropes,” said the commander of the
frigate. “This is no time to spread light duck--but the mainsail may
stand it yet.”

“The sail would laugh at a tornado,” returned the lieutenant; “but the
mast springs like a piece of steel.”

“Silence all!” cried the pilot. “Now, gentlemen, we shall soon know our
fate. Let her luff--luff you can!”

This warning effectually closed all discourse, and the hardy mariners,
knowing that they had already done all in the power of man to insure
their safety, stood in breathless anxiety, awaiting the result. At a
short distance ahead of them the whole ocean was white with foam, and
the waves, instead of rolling on in regular succession, appeared to be
tossing about in mad gambols. A single streak of dark billows, not half
a cable's length in width, could be discerned running into this chaos
of water; but it was soon lost to the eye amid the confusion of the
disturbed element. Along this narrow path the vessel moved more heavily
than before, being brought so near the wind as to keep her sails
touching. The pilot silently proceeded to the wheel, and, with his own
hands, he undertook the steerage of the ship. No noise proceeded from
the frigate to interrupt the horrid tumult of the ocean; and she
entered the channel among the breakers, with the silence of a desperate
calmness. Twenty times, as the foam rolled away to leeward, the crew
were on the eve of uttering their joy, as they supposed the vessel past
the danger; but breaker after breaker would still heave up before them,
following each other into the general mass, to check their exultation.
Occasionally, the fluttering of the sails would be heard; and when the
looks of the startled seamen were turned to the wheel, they beheld the
stranger grasping its spokes, with his quick eye glancing from the water
to the canvas. At length the ship reached a point where she appeared
to be rushing directly into the jaws of destruction, when suddenly her
course was changed, and her head receded rapidly from the wind. At the
same instant the voice of the pilot was heard shouting:

“Square away the yards!--in mainsail!”

A general burst from the crew echoed, “Square away the yards!” and,
quick as thought, the frigate was seen gliding along the channel before
the wind. The eye had hardly time to dwell on the foam, which seemed
like clouds driving in the heavens, and directly the gallant vessel
issued from her perils, and rose and fell on the heavy waves of the sea.

The seamen were yet drawing long breaths, and gazing about them like
men recovered from a trance, when Griffith approached the man who had so
successfully conducted them through their perils. The lieutenant grasped
the hand of the other, as he said:

“You have this night proved yourself a faithful pilot, and such a seaman
as the world cannot equal.”

The pressure of the hand was warmly returned by the unknown mariner, who
replied:

“I am no stranger to the seas, and I may yet find my grave in them.
But you, too, have deceived me; you have acted nobly, young man, and
Congress----”

“What of Congress?” asked Griffith, observing him to pause.

“Why, Congress is fortunate if it has many such ships as this,” said the
stranger, coldly, walking away toward the commander.

Griffith gazed after him a moment in surprise; but, as his duty required
his attention, other thoughts soon engaged his mind.

The vessel was pronounced to be in safety. The gale was heavy and
increasing, but there was a clear sea before them; and as she slowly
stretched out into the bosom of the ocean, preparations were made for
her security during its continuance. Before midnight, everything was in
order. A gun from the Ariel soon announced the safety of the schooner
also, which had gone out by another and an easier channel, that the
frigate had not dared to attempt; when the commander directed the usual
watch to be set, and the remainder of the crew to seek their necessary
repose.

The captain withdrew with the mysterious pilot to his own cabin.
Griffith gave his last order; and renewing his charge to the officer
instructed with the care of the vessel, he wished him a pleasant
watch, and sought the refreshment of his own cot. For an hour the young
lieutenant lay musing on the events of the day. The remark of Barnstable
would occur to him, in connection with the singular comment of the boy;
and then his thoughts would recur to the pilot, who, taken from the
hostile shores of Britain, and with her accent on his tongue, had served
them so faithfully and so well. He remembered the anxiety of Captain
Munson to procure this stranger, at the very hazard from which they had
just been relieved, and puzzled himself with conjecturing why a pilot
was to be sought at such a risk. His more private feelings would then
resume their sway, and the recollection of America, his mistress, and
his home, mingled with the confused images of the drowsy youth. The
dashing of the billows against the side of the ship, the creaking of
guns and bulkheads, with the roaring of the tempest, however, became
gradually less and less distinct, until nature yielded to necessity, and
the young man forgot even the romantic images of his love, in the deep
sleep of a seaman.




CHAPTER VI.

    ----“The letter! ay! the letter!
    'Tis there a woman loves to speak her wishes;
    It spares the blushes of the love-sick maiden.
    And every word's a smile, each line a tongue.”
     _Duo._


The slumbers of Griffith continued till late on the following morning,
when he was awakened by the report of a cannon, issuing from the deck
above him. He threw himself, listlessly, from his cot, and perceiving
the officer of marines near him, as his servant opened the door of his
stateroom, he inquired, with some little interest in his manner, if “the
ship was in chase of anything, that a gun was fired?”

“'Tis no more than a hint to the Ariel,” the soldier replied, “that
there is bunting abroad for them to read. It seems as if all hands were
asleep on board her, for we have shown her signal, these ten minutes,
and she takes us for a collier, I believe, by the respect she pays it.”

“Say, rather, that she takes us for an enemy, and is wary,” returned
Griffith. “Brown Dick has played the English so many tricks himself,
that he is tender of his faith.”

“Why, they have shown him a yellow flag over a blue one, with a cornet,
and that spells Ariel, in every signal-book we have; surely he can't
suspect the English of knowing how to read Yankee.”

“I have known Yankees read more difficult English,” said Griffith,
smiling; “but, in truth, I suppose that Barnstable has been, like
myself, keeping a dead reckoning of his time, and his men have profited
by the occasion. She is lying to, I trust.”

“Ay! like a cork in a mill-pond, and I dare say you are right. Give
Barnstable plenty of sea-room, a heavy wind, and but little sail, and
he will send his men below, put that fellow he calls long Tom at the
tiller, and follow himself, and sleep as quietly as I ever could at
church.”

“Ah! yours is a somniferous orthodoxy, Captain Manual,” said the young
sailor, laughing, while he slipped his arms into the sleeves of
a morning round-about, covered with the gilded trappings of his
profession; “sleep appears to come most naturally to all you idlers. But
give me a passage, and I will go up, and call the schooner down to us in
the turning of an hour-glass.”

The indolent soldier raised himself from the leaning posture he had
taken against the door of the stateroom, and Griffith proceeded through
the dark wardroom, up the narrow stairs that led him to the principal
battery of the ship, and thence, by another and broader flight of steps
to the open deck.

The gale still blew strong, but steadily; the blue water of the ocean
was rising in mimic mountains, that were crowned with white foam, which
the wind, at times, lifted from its kindred element, to propel in mist,
through the air, from summit to summit. But the ship rode on these
agitated billows with an easy and regular movement that denoted the
skill with which her mechanical powers were directed.

The day was bright and clear, and the lazy sun, who seemed unwilling
to meet the toil of ascending to the meridian, was crossing the heavens
with a southern inclination, that hardly allowed him to temper the
moist air of the ocean with his genial heat. At the distance of a mile,
directly in the wind's eye, the Ariel was seen obeying the signal which
had caused the dialogue we have related. Her low black hull was barely
discernible, at moments, when she rose to the crest of a larger wave
than common; but the spot of canvas that she exposed to the wind was to
be seen, seeming to touch the water on either hand, as the little vessel
rolled amid the seas. At times she was entirely hid from view, when the
faint lines of her raking masts would again be discovered, issuing, as
it were, from the ocean, and continuing to ascend, until the hull itself
would appear, thrusting its bows into the air, surrounded by foam, and
apparently ready to take its flight into another element.

After dwelling a moment on the beautiful sight we have attempted to
describe, Griffith cast his eyes upward to examine, with the keenness of
a seaman, the disposition of things aloft, and then turned his attention
to those who were on the deck of the frigate.

His commander stood, in his composed manner, patiently awaiting the
execution of his order by the Ariel, and at his side was placed the
stranger who had so recently acted such a conspicuous part in the
management of the ship. Griffith availed himself of daylight and his
situation to examine the appearance of this singular being more closely
than the darkness and confusion of the preceding night had allowed. He
was a trifle below the middle size in stature, but his form was muscular
and athletic, exhibiting the finest proportions of manly beauty. His
face appeared rather characterized by melancholy and thought, than by
that determined decision which he had so powerfully displayed in the
moments of their most extreme danger; but Griffith well knew that it
could also exhibit looks of the fiercest impatience. At present, it
appeared, to the curious youth, when compared to the glimpses he
had caught by the lights of their lanterns, like the ocean at rest,
contrasted with the waters around him. The eyes of the pilot rested
on the deck, or, when they did wander, it was with uneasy and rapid
glances. The large pea-jacket, that concealed most of his other attire,
was as roughly made, and of materials as coarse, as that worn by the
meanest seaman in the vessel; and yet it did not escape the inquisitive
gaze of the young lieutenant, that it was worn with an air of neatness
and care that was altogether unusual in men of his profession. The
examination of Griffith ended here, for the near approach of the
Ariel attracted the attention of all on the deck of the frigate to the
conversation that was about to pass between their respective commanders.

As the little schooner rolled along under their stern, Captain Munson
directed his subordinate to leave his vessel and repair on board the
ship. As soon as the order was received, the Ariel rounded to, and
drawing ahead into the smooth water occasioned by the huge fabric that
protected her from the gale, the whale-boat was again launched from her
decks, and manned by the same crew that had landed on those shores which
were now faintly discerned far to leeward, looking like blue clouds on
the skirts of the ocean.

When Barnstable had entered his boat, a few strokes of the oars sent it,
dancing over the waves, to the side of the ship. The little vessel was
then veered off to a distance, where it rode in safety under the care
of a boat-keeper, and the officer and his men ascended the side of the
lofty frigate.

The usual ceremonials of reception were rigidly observed by Griffith and
his juniors, when Barnstable touched the deck; and though every hand was
ready to be extended toward the reckless seaman, none presumed to exceed
the salutations of official decorum, until a short and private dialogue
had taken place between him and their captain.

In the mean time, the crew of the whale-boat passed forward, and mingled
with the seamen of the frigate, with the exception of the cockswain, who
established himself in one of the gangways, where he stood in the
utmost composure, fixing his eyes aloft, and shaking his head in evident
dissatisfaction, as he studied the complicated mass of rigging above
him. This spectacle soon attracted to his side some half-dozen youths,
with Mr. Merry at their head, who endeavored to entertain their guest in
a manner that should most conduce to the indulgence of their own waggish
propensities.

The conversation between Barnstable and his superior soon ended; when
the former, beckoning to Griffith, passed the wondering group who had
collected around the capstan, awaiting his leisure to greet him more
cordially, and led the way to the wardroom, with the freedom of one who
felt himself no stranger. As this unsocial manner formed no part of the
natural temper or ordinary deportment of the man, the remainder of the
officers suffered their first lieutenant to follow him alone, believing
that duty required that their interview should be private. Barnstable
was determined that it should be so, at all events; for he seized the
lamp from the mess-table, and entered the stateroom of his friend,
closing the door behind them and turning the key. When they were
both within its narrow limits--pointing to the only chair the little
apartment contained, with a sort of instinctive deference to his
companion's rank--the commander of the schooner threw himself carelessly
on a sea-chest; and, placing the lamp on the table, he opened the
discourse as follows:

“What a night we had of it! Twenty times I thought I could see the sea
breaking over you; and I had given you over as drowned men, or, what
is worse, as men driven ashore, to be led to the prison-ships of these
islanders, when I saw your lights in answer to my gun. Had you hoisted
the conscience of a murderer, you wouldn't have relieved him more than
you did me, by showing that bit of tallow and cotton, tipped with flint
and steel. But, Griffith, I have a tale to tell of a different kind----”

“Of how you slept when you found yourself in deep water, and how your
crew strove to outdo their commander, and how all succeeded so well
that there was a gray-head on board here, that began to shake with
displeasure,” interrupted Griffith; “truly, Dick, you will get into
lubberly habits on board that bubble in which you float about, where all
hands go to sleep as regularly as the inhabitants of a poultry-yard go
to roost.”

“Not so bad, not half so bad, Ned,” returned the other, laughing; “I
keep as sharp a discipline as if we wore a flag. To be sure, forty men
can't make as much parade as three or four hundred; but as for making or
taking in sail, I am your better any day.”

“Ay, because a pocket-handkerchief is sooner opened and shut than a
table-cloth. But I hold it to be un-seamanlike to leave any vessel
without human eyes, and those open, to watch whether she goes east or
west, north or south.”

“And who is guilty of such a dead man's watch?”

“Why, they say aboard here, that when it blows hard, you seat the man
you call long Tom by the side of the tiller, tell him to keep her head
to sea, and then pipe all hands to their night-caps, where you all
remain, comfortably stowed in your hammocks, until you are awakened by
the snoring of your helmsman.”

“'Tis a damned scandalous insinuation,” cried Barnstable, with an
indignation that he in vain attempted to conceal. “Who gives currency to
such a libel, Mr. Griffith?”

“I had it of the marine,” said his friend, losing the archness that had
instigated him to worry his companion, in the vacant air of one who was
careless of everything; “but I don't believe half of it myself--I have
no doubt you all had your eyes open last night, whatever you might have
been about this morning.”

“Ah! this morning! there was an oversight, indeed! But I was studying a
new signal-book, Griffith, that has a thousand times more interest for
me than all the bunting you can show, from the head to the heel of your
masts.”

“What! have you found out the Englishman's private talk?”

“No, no,” said the other, stretching forth his hand, and grasping the
arm of his friend. “I met last night one on those cliffs, who has proved
herself what I always believed her to be, and loved her for, a girl of
quick thought and bold spirit.”

“Of whom do you speak?”

“Of Katherine----”

Griffith started from his chair involuntarily at the sound of this name,
and the blood passed quickly through the shades of his countenance,
leaving it now pale as death, and then burning as if oppressed by a
torrent from his heart. Struggling to overcome an emotion, which he
appeared ashamed to betray even to the friend he most loved, the young
man soon recovered himself so far as to resume his seat, when he asked,
gloomily:

“Was she alone?”

“She was; but she left with me this paper and this invaluable book,
which is worth a library of all other works.”

The eye of Griffith rested vacantly on the treasure that the other
valued so highly, but his hand seized eagerly the open letter which was
laid on the table for his perusal. The reader will at once understand
that it was in the handwriting of a female, and that it was the
communication Barnstable had received from his betrothed on the cliffs.
Its contents were as follows:

“Believing that Providence may conduct me where we shall meet, or whence
I may be able to transmit to you this account, I have prepared a short
statement of the situation of Cecila Howard and myself; not, however, to
urge you and Griffith to any rash or foolish hazards, but that you may
both sit down, and, after due consultation, determine what is proper for
our relief.

“By this time, you must understand the character of Colonel Howard too
well to expect he will ever consent to give his niece to a rebel. He
has already sacrificed to his loyalty, as he calls it (but I whisper to
Cecilia, 'tis his treason), not only his native country, but no small
part of his fortune also. In the frankness of my disposition (you know
my frankness, Barnstable, but too well!), I confessed to him, after
the defeat of the mad attempt Griffith made to carry off Cecilia, in
Carolina, that I had been foolish enough to enter into some weak promise
to the brother officer who had accompanied the young sailor in his
traitorous visits to the plantation. Heigho! I sometimes think it would
have been better for us all, if your ship had never been chased into the
river, or, after she was there, if Griffith had made no attempt to renew
his acquaintance with my cousin. The colonel received the intelligence
as such a guardian would hear that his ward was about to throw away
thirty thousand dollars and herself on a traitor to his king and
country. I defended you stoutly: said that you had no king, as the tie
was dissolved; that America was your country, and that your profession
was honorable; but it would not all do. He called you rebel; that I was
used to. He said you were a traitor; that, in his vocabulary, amounts to
the same thing. He even hinted that you were a coward; and that I
knew to be false, and did not hesitate to tell him so. He used fifty
opprobrious terms that I cannot remember; but among others were the
beautiful epithets of 'disorganizer,' 'leveller, 'democrat,' and
'jacobin' (I hope he did not mean a monk!). In short, he acted Colonel
Howard in a rage. But as his dominion does not, like that of his
favorite kings, continue from generation to generation, and one short
year will release me from his power, and leave me mistress of my own
actions--that is, if your fine promises are to be believed--I bore it
all very well, being resolved to suffer anything but martyrdom, rather
than abandon Cecilia. She, dear girl, has much more to distress her than
I can have; she is not only the ward of Colonel Howard, but his niece
and his sole heir. I am persuaded this last circumstance makes no
difference in either her conduct or her feelings; but he appears to
think it gives him a right to tyrannize over her on all occasions. After
all, Colonel Howard is a gentleman when you do not put him in a passion,
and, I believe, a thoroughly honest man; and Cecilia even loves him.
But a man who is driven from his country, in his sixtieth year, with the
loss of near half his fortune, is not apt to canonize those who compel
the change.

“It seems that when the Howards lived on this island, a hundred years
ago, they dwelt in the county of Northumberland. Hither, then, he
brought us, when political events, and his dread of becoming the uncle
to a rebel, induced him to abandon America, as he says, forever. We have
been here now three months, and for two-thirds of that time we lived in
tolerable comfort; but latterly, the papers have announced the arrival
of the ship and your schooner in France; and from that moment as strict
a watch has been kept over us as if we had meditated a renewal of
the Carolina flight. The colonel, on his arrival here, hired an old
building, that is, part house, part abbey, part castle, and all prison;
because it is said to have once belonged to an ancestor of his. In this
delightful dwelling there are many cages that will secure more uneasy
birds than we are. About a fortnight ago an alarm was given in a
neighboring village which is situated on the shore, that two American
vessels, answering your description, had been seen hovering along the
coast; and, as people in this quarter dream of nothing but that terrible
fellow, Paul Jones, it was said that he was on board one of them. But
I believe that Colonel Howard suspects who you really are. He was very
minute in his inquiries, I hear; and since then has established a sort
of garrison in the house, under the pretence of defending it against
marauders, like those who are said to have laid my Lady Selkirk under
contribution.

“Now, understand me, Barnstable; on no account would I have you risk
yourself on shore; neither must there be blood spilt, if you love me;
but that you may know what sort of a place we are confined in, and by
whom surrounded, I will describe both our prison and the garrison. The
whole building is of stone, and not to be attempted with slight means.
It has windings and turnings, both internally and externally, that would
require more skill than I possess to make intelligible; but the rooms we
inhabit are in the upper or third floor of a wing, that you may call a
tower, if you are in a romantic mood, but which, in truth, is nothing
but a wing. Would to God I could fly with it! If any accident should
bring you in sight of the dwelling, you will know our rooms by the
three smoky vanes that whiffle about its pointed roof, and also, by the
windows in that story being occasionally open. Opposite to our windows,
at the distance of half a mile, is a retired unfrequented ruin,
concealed, in a great measure, from observation by a wood, and affording
none of the best accommodations, it is true, but shelter in some of its
vaults or apartments. I have prepared, according to the explanations
you once gave me on this subject, a set of small signals, of differently
colored silks, and a little dictionary of all the phrases that I could
imagine as useful to refer to, properly numbered to correspond with the
key and the flags, all of which I shall send you with this letter. You
must prepare your own flags, and of course I retain mine, as well as a
copy of the key and book. If opportunity should ever offer, we can have,
at least, a pleasant discourse together; you from the top of the old
tower in the ruins, and I from the east window of my dressing-room! But
now for the garrison. In addition to the commandant, Colonel Howard, who
retains all the fierceness of his former military profession, there
is, as his second in authority, that bane of Cecilia's happiness, Kit
Dillon, with his long Savannah face, scornful eyes of black, and skin of
the same color. This gentleman, you know, is a distant relative of the
Howards, and wishes to be more nearly allied. He is poor, it is true,
but then, as the colonel daily remarks, he is a good and loyal subject,
and no rebel. When I asked why he was not in arms in these stirring
times, contending for the prince he loves so much, the colonel answers
that it is not his profession, that he has been educated for the law,
and was destined to fill one of the highest judicial stations in the
colonies, and that he hoped he should yet live to see him sentence
certain nameless gentlemen to condign punishment. This was consoling, to
be sure; but I bore it. However, he left Carolina with us, and here he
is, and here he is likely to continue, unless you can catch him, and
anticipate his judgment on himself. The colonel has long desired to see
this gentleman the husband of Cecilia, and since the news of your being
on the coast, the siege has nearly amounted to a storm. The consequences
are, that my cousin at first kept her room, and then the colonel kept
her there, and even now she is precluded from leaving the wing we
inhabit. In addition to these two principal jailers, we have four
men-servants, two black and two white; and an officer and twenty
soldiers from the neighboring town are billeted on us, by particular
desire, until the coast is declared free from pirates! yes, that is the
musical name they give you--and when their own people land, and plunder,
and rob, and murder the men and insult the women, they are called
heroes! It's a fine thing to be able to invent names and make
dictionaries--and it must be your fault, if mine has been framed for no
purpose. I declare, when I recollect all the insulting and cruel things
I hear in this country of my own and her people, it makes me lose
my temper and forget my sex; but do not let my ill humor urge you to
anything rash; remember your life, remember their prisons, remember your
reputation, but do not, do not forget your

“KATHERINE PLOWDEN.

“P.S. I had almost forgotten to tell you, that in the signal-book you
will find a more particular description of our prison, where it stands,
and a drawing of the grounds, etc.”

When Griffith concluded this epistle, he returned it to the man to
whom it was addressed, and fell back in his chair, in an attitude that
denoted deep reflection.

“I knew she was here, or I should have accepted the command offered to
me by our commissioners in Paris,” he at length uttered; “and I thought
that some lucky chance might throw her in my way; but this is bringing
us close, indeed! This intelligence must be acted on, and that promptly.
Poor girl, what does she not suffer in such a situation!”

“What a beautiful hand she writes!” exclaimed Barnstable; “'tis as
clear, and as pretty, and as small, as her own delicate fingers. Griff,
what a log-book she would keep!”

“Cecilia Howard touch the coarse leaves of a log-book!” cried the other
in amazement; but perceiving Barnstable to be poring over the contents
of his mistress' letter, he smiled at their mutual folly, and continued
silent. After a short time spent in cool reflection, Griffith inquired
of his friend the nature and circumstances of his interview with
Katherine Plowden. Barnstable related it, briefly, as it occurred, in
the manner already known to the reader.

“Then,” said Griffith, “Merry is the only one, besides ourselves, who
knows of this meeting, and he will be too chary of the reputation of his
kinswoman to mention it.”

“Her reputation needs no shield, Mr. Griffith,” cried her lover; “'tis
as spotless as the canvas above your head, and----”

“Peace, dear Richard; I entreat your pardon; my words may have conveyed
more than I intended; but it is important that our measures should be
secret, as well as prudently concerted.”

“We must get them both off,” returned Barnstable, forgetting his
displeasure the moment it was exhibited, “and that, too, before the old
man takes it into his wise head to leave the coast. Did you ever get a
sight of his instructions, or does he keep silent?”

“As the grave. This is the first time we have left port, that he has not
conversed freely with me on the nature of the cruise; but not a syllable
has been exchanged between us on the subject, since we sailed from
Brest.”

“Ah! that is your Jersey bashfulness,” said Barnstable; “wait till I
come alongside him, with my eastern curiosity, and I pledge myself to
get it out of him in an hour.”

“'Twill be diamond cut diamond, I doubt,” said Griffith, laughing;
“you will find him as acute at evasion, as you can possibly be at a
cross-examination.”

“At any rate, he gives me a chance to-day; you know, I suppose, that
he sent for me to attend a consultation of his officers on important
matters.”

“I did not,” returned Griffith, fixing his eyes intently on the speaker;
“what has he to offer?”

“Nay, that you must ask your pilot; for while talking to me, the old man
would turn and look at the stranger, every minute, as if watching for
signals how to steer.”

“There is a mystery about that man, and our connection with him, that I
cannot fathom,” said Griffith. “But I hear the voice of Manual calling
for me; we are wanted in the cabin. Remember, you do not leave the ship
without seeing me again.”

“No, no, my dear fellow; from the public we must retire to another
private consultation.”

The young men arose, and Griffith, throwing off the roundabout in which
he had appeared on deck, drew on a coat of more formal appearance, and
taking a sword carelessly in his hand, they proceeded together along the
passage already described, to the gun-deck, where they entered, with the
proper ceremonials, into the principal cabin of the frigate.




CHAPTER VII

  “Sempronius, speak.”
   _Cato._


The arrangements for the consultation were brief and simple. The veteran
commander of the frigate received his officers with punctilious respect;
and pointing to the chairs that were placed around the table, which was
a fixture in the centre of his cabin, he silently seated himself, and
his example was followed by all without further ceremony. In taking
their stations, however, a quiet but rigid observance was paid to the
rights of seniority and rank. On the right of the captain was placed
Griffith, as next in authority; and opposite to him was seated the
commander of the schooner. The officer of marines, who was included in
the number, held the next situation in point of precedence, the same
order being observed to the bottom of the table, which was occupied by
a hard-featured, square-built, athletic man, who held the office of
sailing-master. When order was restored, after the short interruption
of taking their places, the officer who had required the advice of his
inferiors opened the business on which he demanded their opinions.

“My instructions direct me, gentlemen,” he said, “after making the coast
of England, to run the land down----”

The hand of Griffith was elevated respectfully for silence, and
the veteran paused, with a look that inquired the reason of his
interruption.

“We are not alone,” said the lieutenant, glancing his eye toward the
part of the cabin where the pilot stood, leaning on one of the guns, in
an attitude of easy indulgence.

The stranger moved not at this direct hint; neither did his eye change
from its close survey of a chart that lay near him on the deck. The
captain dropped his voice to tones of cautious respect, as he replied:

“'Tis only Mr. Gray. His services will be necessary on the occasion, and
therefore nothing need be concealed from him.”

Glances of surprise were exchanged among the young men; but Griffith
bowing his silent acquiescence in the decision of his superior, the
latter proceeded:

“I was ordered to watch for certain signals from the headlands that we
made, and was furnished with the best of charts, and such directions
as enabled us to stand into the bay we entered last night. We have now
obtained a pilot, and one who has proved himself a skilful man; such
a one, gentlemen, as no officer need hesitate to rely on, in any
emergency, either on account of his integrity or his knowledge.”

The veteran paused, and turned his looks on the countenances of the
listeners, as if to collect their sentiments on this important
point. Receiving no other reply than the one conveyed by the silent
inclinations of the heads of his hearers, the commander resumed his
explanations, referring to an open paper in his hand:

“It is known to you all, gentlemen, that the unfortunate question of
retaliation has been much agitated between the two governments, our
own and that of the enemy. For this reason, and for certain political
purposes, it has become an object of solicitude with our commissioners
in Paris to obtain a few individuals of character from the enemy, who
may be held as a check on their proceedings, while at the same time it
brings the evils of war, from our own shores, home to those who have
caused it. An opportunity now offers to put this plan in execution, and
I have collected you, in order to consult on the means.”

A profound silence succeeded this unexpected communication of the object
of their cruise. After a short pause, their captain added, addressing
himself to the sailing-master:

“What course would you advise me to pursue, Mr. Boltrope?”

The weather beaten seaman who was thus called on to break through the
difficulties of a knotty point with his opinion, laid one of his short,
bony hands on the table, and began to twirl an inkstand with great
industry, while with the other he conveyed a pen to his mouth, which was
apparently masticated with all the relish that he could possibly have
felt had it been a leaf from the famous Virginian weed. But perceiving
that he was expected to answer, after looking first to his right hand
and then to his left, he spoke as follows, in a hoarse, thick voice,
in which the fogs of the ocean seemed to have united with sea-damps and
colds to destroy everything like melody:

“If this matter is ordered, it is to be done, I suppose,” he said; “for
the old rule runs, 'obey orders, if you break owners'; though the maxim
which says, 'one hand for the owner, and t'other for yourself,' is quite
as good, and has saved many a hearty fellow from a fall that would have
balanced the purser's books. Not that I mean a purser's books are not as
good as any other man's; but that when a man is dead, his account must
be closed, or there will be a false muster. Well, if the thing is to be
done, the next question is, how is it to be done? There is many a man
that knows there is too much canvas on a ship, who can't tell how to
shorten sail. Well, then, if the thing is really to be done, we must
either land a gang to seize them, or we must show false lights and sham
colors, to lead them off to the ship. As for landing, Captain Munson, I
can only speak for one man, and that is myself; which is to say, that
if you run the ship with her jib-boom into the king of England's
parlor-windows, why, I'm consenting, nor do I care how much of his
crockery is cracked in so doing; but as to putting the print of my foot
on one of his sandy beaches, if I do, that is always speaking for only
one man, and saving your presence, may I hope to be d--d.”

The young men smiled as the tough old seaman uttered his sentiments so
frankly, rising with his subject, to that which with him was the climax
of all discussion; but his commander, who was but a more improved
scholar from the same rough school, appeared to understand his arguments
entirely, and without altering a muscle of his rigid countenance, he
required the opinion of the junior lieutenant.

The young man spoke firmly, but modestly, though the amount of what he
said was not much more distinct than that uttered by the master, and was
very much to the same purpose, with the exception that he appeared to
entertain no personal reluctance to trusting himself on dry ground.

The opinions of the others grew gradually more explicit and clear, as
they ascended in the scale of rank, until it came to the turn of
the captain of marines to speak. There was a trifling exhibition of
professional pride about the soldier, in delivering his sentiments on a
subject that embraced a good deal more of his peculiar sort of duty than
ordinarily occurred in the usual operations of the frigate.

“It appears to me, sir, that the success of this expedition depends
altogether upon the manner in which it is conducted.” After this lucid
opening, the soldier hesitated a moment, as if to collect his ideas
for a charge that should look down all opposition, and proceeded. “The
landing, of course, will be effected on a fair beach, under cover of the
frigate's guns, and could it be possibly done, the schooner should be
anchored in such a manner as to throw in a flanking fire on the point
of debarkation. The arrangements for the order of march must a good
deal depend on the distance to go over; though I should think, sir, an
advanced party of seamen, to act as pioneers for the column of marines,
should be pushed a short distance in front, while the baggage and
baggage-guard might rest upon the frigate, until the enemy was driven
into the interior, when it could advance without danger. There should
be flank-guards, under the orders of two of the oldest midshipmen; and
a light corps might be formed of the topmen to co-operate with the
marines. Of course, sir, Mr. Griffith will lead, in person, the
musket-men and boarders, armed with their long pikes, whom I presume
he will hold in reserve, as I trust my military claims and experience
entitle me to the command of the main body.”

“Well done, field-marshal!” cried Barnstable, with a glee that seldom
regarded time or place; “you should never let salt-water mould your
buttons; but in Washington's camp, ay! and in Washington's tent, you
should swing your hammock in future. Why, sir, do you think we are about
to invade England?”

“I know that every military movement should be executed with precision,
Captain Barnstable,” returned the marine. “I am too much accustomed to
hear the sneers of the sea-officers, to regard what I know proceeds from
ignorance. If Captain Munson is disposed to employ me and my command
in this expedition, I trust he will discover that marines are good
for something more than to mount guard and pay salutes.” Then, turning
haughtily from his antagonist, he continued to address himself to their
common superior, as if disdaining further intercourse with one who, from
the nature of the case, must be unable to comprehend the force of what
he said. “It will be prudent, Captain Munson, to send out a party to
reconnoitre, before we march; and as it may be necessary to defend
ourselves in case of a repulse, I would beg leave to recommend that a
corps be provided with entrenching tools, to accompany the expedition.
They would be extremely useful, sir, in assisting to throw up
field-works; though, I doubt not, tools might be found in abundance in
this country, and laborers impressed for the service, on an emergency.”

This was too much for the risibility of Barnstable, who broke forth in
a fit of scornful laughter, which no one saw proper to interrupt; though
Griffith, on turning his head to conceal the smile that was gathering on
his own face, perceived the fierce glance which the pilot threw at the
merry seaman, and wondered at its significance and impatience. When
Captain Munson thought that the mirth of the lieutenant was concluded,
he mildly desired his reasons for amusing himself so exceedingly with
the plans of the marine.

“'Tis a chart for a campaign!” cried Barnstable, “and should be sent off
express to Congress, before the Frenchmen are brought into the field!”

“Have you any better plan to propose, Mr. Barnstable?” inquired the
patient commander.

“Better! ay, one that will take no time, and cause no trouble, to
execute it,” cried the other; “'tis a seaman's job, sir, and must be
done with a seaman's means.”

“Pardon me, Captain Barnstable,” interrupted the marine, whose jocular
vein was entirely absorbed in his military pride; “if there be service
to be done on shore, I claim it as my right to be employed.”

“Claim what you will, soldier; but how will you carry on the war with
a parcel of fellows who don't know one end of a boat from the other?”
 returned the reckless sailor. “Do you think that a barge or a cutter
is to be beached in the same manner you ground firelock, by word of
command? No, no, Captain Manual--I honor your courage, for I have seen
it tried, but d--e if----”

“You forget, we wait for your project, Mr. Barnstable,” said the
veteran.

“I crave your patience, sir; but no project is necessary. Point out
the bearings and distance of the place where the men you want are to
be found, and I will take the heel of the gale, and run into the
land, always speaking for good water and no rocks. Mr. Pilot, you will
accompany me, for you carry as true a map of the bottom of these seas
in your head as ever was made of dry ground. I will look out for good
anchorage; or if the wind should blow off shore, let the schooner stand
off and on, till we should be ready to take the broad sea again. I would
land, out of my whaleboat, with long Tom and a boat's crew, and finding
out the place you will describe, we shall go up, and take the men you
want, and bring them aboard. It's all plain sailing; though, as it is
a well-peopled country, it may be necessary to do our shore work in the
dark.”

“Mr. Griffith, we only wait for your sentiments,” proceeded the captain,
“when, by comparing opinions, we may decide on the most prudent course.”

The first lieutenant had been much absorbed in thought during the
discussion of the subject, and might have been, on that account, better
prepared to give his opinion with effect. Pointing to the man who yet
stood behind him, leaning on a gun, he commenced by asking:

“Is it your intention that man shall accompany the party?”

“It is.”

“And from him you expect the necessary information, sir, to guide our
movements?”

“You are altogether right.”

“If, sir, he has but a moiety of the skill on the land that he possesses
on the water, I will answer for his success,” returned the lieutenant,
bowing slightly to the stranger, who received the compliment by a cold
inclination of his head. “I must desire the indulgence of both Mr.
Barnstable and Captain Manual,” he continued, “and claim the command as
of right belonging to my rank.”

“It belongs naturally to the schooner,” exclaimed the impatient
Barnstable.

“There may be enough for us all to do,” said Griffith, elevating a
finger to the other, in a manner and with an impressive look that was
instantly comprehended. “I neither agree wholly with the one nor the
other of these gentlemen. 'Tis said that, since our appearance on
the coast, the dwellings of many of the gentry are guarded by small
detachments of soldiers from the neighboring towns.”

“Who says it?” asked the pilot, advancing among them with a suddenness
that caused a general silence.

“I say it, sir,” returned the lieutenant, when the momentary surprise
had passed away.

“Can you vouch for it?”

“I can.”

“Name a house, or an individual, that is thus protected?”

Griffith gazed at the man who thus forgot himself in the midst of
a consultation like the present, and yielding to his native pride,
hesitated to reply. But mindful of the declarations of his captain
and the recent services of the pilot, he at length said, with a little
embarrassment of manner:

“I know it to be the fact, in the dwelling of a Colonel Howard, who
resides but a few leagues to the north of us.”

The stranger started at the name, and then raising his eye keenly to
the face of the young man, appeared to study his thoughts in his varying
countenance. But the action, and the pause that followed, were of
short continuance. His lip slightly curled, whether in scorn or with
a concealed smile, would have been difficult to say, so closely did it
resemble both, and as he dropped quietly back to his place at the gun,
he said:

“'Tis more than probable you are right, sir; and if I might presume to
advise Captain Munson, it would be to lay great weight on your opinion.”

Griffith turned, to see if he could comprehend more meaning in the
manner of the stranger than his words expressed, but his face was again
shaded by his hand, and his eyes were once more fixed on the chart with
the same vacant abstraction as before.

“I have said, sir, that I agree wholly neither with Mr. Barnstable nor
Captain Manual,” continued the lieutenant, after a short pause. “The
command of this party is mine, as the senior officer, and I must beg
leave to claim it. I certainly do not think the preparation that Captain
Manual advises necessary; neither would I undertake the duty with as
little caution as Mr. Barnstable proposes. If there are soldiers to be
encountered, we should have soldiers to oppose them; but as it must be
sudden boat-work, and regular evolutions must give place to a seaman's
bustle, a sea-officer should command. Is my request granted, Captain
Munson?”

The veteran replied, without hesitation:

“It is, sir; it was my intention to offer you the service, and I rejoice
to see you accept it so cheerfully.”

Griffith with difficulty concealed the satisfaction with which he
listened to his commander, and a radiant smile illumined his pale
features, when he observed:

“With me then, sir, let the responsibility rest. I request that Captain
Manual, with twenty men, may be put under my orders, if that gentleman
does not dislike the duty.” The marine bowed, and cast a glance of
triumph at Barnstable. “I will take my own cutter, with her tried crew,
go on board the schooner, and when the wind lulls, we will run in to the
land, and then be governed by circumstances.”

The commander of the schooner threw back the triumphant look of the
marine, and exclaimed, in his joyous manner:

'“Tis a good plan, and done like a seaman, Mr. Griffith. Ay, ay, let the
schooner be employed; and if it be necessary, you shall see her
anchored in one of their duck-ponds, with her broadside to bear on the
parlor-windows of the best house in the island! But twenty marines! they
will cause a jam in my little craft.”

“Not a man less than twenty would be prudent,” returned Griffith. “More
service may offer than that we seek.”

Barnstable well understood his allusion, but still he replied:

“Make it all seamen, and I will give you room for thirty. But these
soldiers never know how to stow away their arms and legs, unless at a
drill. One will take the room of two sailors; they swing their hammocks
athwart-ships, heads to leeward, and then turn out wrong end uppermost
at the call. Why, damn it, sir, the chalk and rottenstone of twenty
soldiers will choke my hatches!”

“Give me the launch, Captain Munson!” exclaimed the indignant marine,
“and we will follow Mr. Griffith in an open boat, rather than put
Captain Barnstable to so much inconvenience.”

“No, no, Manual,” cried the other, extending his muscular arm across the
table, with an open palm, to the soldier; “you would all become so
many Jonahs in uniform, and I doubt whether the fish could digest your
cartridge-boxes and bayonet-belts. You shall go with me, and learn, with
your own eyes, whether we keep the cat's watch aboard the Ariel that you
joke about.”

The laugh was general, at the expense of the soldier, if we except the
pilot and the commander of the frigate. The former was a silent, and
apparently an abstracted, but in reality a deeply interested listener
to the discourse; and there were moments when he bent his looks on the
speakers, as if he sought more in their characters than was exhibited by
the gay trifling of the moment. Captain Munson seldom allowed a muscle
of his wrinkled features to disturb their repose; and if he had not the
real dignity to repress the untimely mirth of his officers, he had
too much good nature to wish to disturb their harmless enjoyments. He
expressed himself satisfied with the proposed arrangements, and beckoned
to his steward to place before them the usual beverage, with which all
their consultations concluded.

The sailing-master appeared to think that the same order was to be
observed in their potations as in council, and helping himself to an
allowance which retained its hue even in its diluted state, he first
raised it to the light, and then observed:

“This ship's water is nearly the color of rum itself; if it only had its
flavor, what a set of hearty dogs we should be! Mr. Griffith, I find you
are willing to haul your land-tacks aboard. Well, it's natural for youth
to love the earth; but there is one man, and he is sailing-master of
this ship, who saw land enough last night, to last him a twelvemonth.
But if you will go, here's a good land-fall, and a better offing to you.
Captain Munson, my respects to you. I say, sir, if we should keep the
ship more to the south'ard, it's my opinion, and that's but one man's,
we should fall in with some of the enemy's homeward bound West-Indiamen,
and find wherewithal to keep the life in us when we see fit to go ashore
ourselves.”

As the tough old sailor made frequent application of the glass to his
mouth with one hand, and kept a firm hold of the decanter with the
other, during this speech, his companions were compelled to listen
to his eloquence, or depart with their thirst unassuaged. Barnstable,
however, quite coolly dispossessed the tar of the bottle, and mixing for
himself a more equal potation, observed, in the act:

“That is the most remarkable glass of grog you have, Boltrope, that I
ever sailed with; it draws as little water as the Ariel, and is as hard
to find the bottom. If your spirit-room enjoys the same sort of engine
to replenish it, as you pump out your rum, Congress will sail this
frigate cheaply.”

The other officers helped themselves with still greater moderation,
Griffith barely moistening his lips, and the pilot rejecting the offered
glass altogether. Captain Munson continued standing, and his officers,
perceiving that their presence was no longer necessary, bowed, and took
their leave. As Griffith was retiring last, he felt a hand laid lightly
on his shoulder, and turning, perceived that he was detained by the
pilot.

“Mr. Griffith,” he said, when they were quite alone with the commander
of the frigate, “the occurrences of the last night should teach us
confidence in each other; without it, we go on a dangerous and fruitless
errand.”

“Is the hazard equal?” returned the youth. “I am known to all to be the
man I seem--am in the service of my country--belong to a family,
and enjoy a name, that is a pledge for my loyalty to the cause of
America--and yet I trust myself on hostile ground, in the midst of
enemies, with a weak arm, and under circumstances where treachery would
prove my ruin. Who and what is the man who thus enjoys your confidence,
Captain Munson? I ask the question less for myself than for the gallant
men who will fearlessly follow wherever I lead.”

A shade of dark displeasure crossed the features of the stranger, at
one part of this speech, and at its close he sank into deep thought. The
commander, however, replied:

“There is a show of reason in your question, Mr. Griffith--and yet you
are not the man to be told that implicit obedience is what I have
a right to expect. I have not your pretensions, sir, by birth or
education, and yet Congress have not seen proper to overlook my years
and services. I command this frigate----”

“Say no more,” interrupted the pilot “There is reason in his doubts, and
they shall be appeased. I like the proud and fearless eye of the young
man, and while he dreads a gibbet from my hands, I will show him how to
repose a noble confidence. Read this, sir, and tell me if you distrust
me now?”

While the stranger spoke, he thrust his hand into the bosom of his
dress, and drew forth a parchment, decorated with ribands, and bearing
a massive seal, which he opened, and laid on the table before the youth.
As he pointed with his finger impressively to different parts of the
writing, his eye kindled with a look of unusual fire, and there was a
faint tinge discernible on his pallid features when he spoke.

“See!” he said, “royalty itself does not hesitate to bear witness in my
favor, and that is not a name to occasion dread to an American.”

Griffith gazed with wonder at the fair signature of the unfortunate
Louis, which graced the bottom of the parchment; but when his eye obeyed
the signal of the stranger, and rested on the body of the instrument, he
started back from the table, and fixing his animated eyes on the pilot,
he cried, while a glow of fiery courage flitted across his countenance:

“Lead on! I'll follow you to death!”

A smile of gratified exultation struggled around the lips of the
stranger, who took the arm of the young man and led him into a
stateroom, leaving the commander of the frigate standing, in his unmoved
and quiet manner, a spectator of, but hardly an actor in, the scene.




CHAPTER VIII.

  “Fierce bounding, forward sprang the ship
  Like a greyhound starting from the slip,
  To seize his flying prey.”
   _Lord of the Isles_.


Although the subject of the consultation remained a secret with those
whose opinions were required, yet enough of the result leaked out among
the subordinate officers, to throw the whole crew into a state of eager
excitement. The rumor spread itself along the decks of the frigate, with
the rapidity of an alarm, that an expedition was to attempt the shore
on some hidden service, dictated by the Congress itself; and conjectures
were made respecting its force and destination, with all that interest
which might be imagined would exist among the men whose lives or
liberties were to abide the issue. A gallant and reckless daring,
mingled with the desire of novelty, however, was the prevailing
sentiment among the crew, who would have received with cheers the
intelligence that their vessel was commanded to force the passage of the
united British fleet. A few of the older and more prudent of the sailors
were exceptions to this thoughtless hardihood, and one or two, among
whom the cockswain of the whale-boat was the most conspicuous, ventured
to speak doubtingly of all sorts of land service, as being of a nature
never to be attempted by seamen.

Captain Manual had his men paraded in the weather-gangway, and after
a short address, calculated to inflame their military ardor and
patriotism, acquainted them that he required twenty volunteers, which
was in truth half their number, for a dangerous service. After a
short pause, the company stepped forward, like one man, and announced
themselves as ready to follow him to the end of the world. The marine
cast a look over his shoulder, at this gratifying declaration, in quest
of Barnstable; but observing that the sailor was occupied with some
papers on a distant part of the quarter-deck, he proceeded to make a
most impartial division among the candidates for glory; taking care at
the same time to cull his company in such a manner as to give himself
the flower of his men, and, consequently, to leave the ship the refuse.

While this arrangement was taking place, and the crew of the frigate
was in this state of excitement, Griffith ascended to the deck, his
countenance flushed with unusual enthusiasm, and his eyes beaming with a
look of animation and gayety that had long been strangers to the face
of the young man. He was giving forth the few necessary orders to the
seamen he was to take with him from the ship, when Barnstable again
motioned him to follow, and led the way once more to the stateroom.

“Let the wind blow its pipe out,” said the commander of the Ariel, when
they were seated; “there will be no landing on the eastern coast of
England till the sea goes down. But this Kate was made for a sailor's
wife! See, Griffith, what a set of signals she has formed, out of her
own cunning head.”

“I hope your opinion may prove true, and that you may be the happy
sailor who is to wed her,” returned the other. “The girl has indeed
discovered surprising art in this business! Where could she have learnt
the method and system so well?”

“Where! why, where she learnt better things; how to prize a
whole-hearted seaman, for instance. Do you think that my tongue was
jammed in my mouth, all the time we used to sit by the side of the river
in Carolina, and that we found nothing to talk about!”

“Did you amuse your mistress with treatises on the art of navigation,
and the science of signals?” said Griffith, smiling.

“I answered her questions, Mr. Griffith, as any civil man would to
a woman he loved. The girl has as much curiosity as one of my own
townswomen who has weathered cape forty without a husband, and her
tongue goes like a dog-vane in a calm, first one way and then another.
But here is her dictionary. Now own, Griff, in spite of your college
learning and sentimentals, that a woman of ingenuity and cleverness is a
very good sort of a helpmate.”

“I never doubted the merits of Miss Plowden,” said the other, with a
droll gravity that often mingled with his deeper feelings, the result
of a sailor's habits, blended with native character. “But this indeed
surpasses all my expectations! Why, she has, in truth, made a most
judicious selection of phrases. 'No. 168. **** indelible;' '169. ****
end only with life;' '170. **** I fear yours misleads me;' '171. ----'”

“Pshaw!” exclaimed Barnstable, snatching the book from before the
laughing eyes of Griffith; “what folly, to throw away our time now on
such nonsense! What think you of this expedition to the land?”

“That it may be the means of rescuing the ladies, though it fail in
making the prisoners we anticipate.”

“But this pilot! you remember that he holds us by our necks, and can run
us all up to the yard-arm of some English ship, whenever he chooses to
open his throat at their threats or bribes.”

“It would have been better that he should have cast the ship ashore,
when he had her entangled in the shoals; it would have been our last
thought to suspect him of treachery then,” returned Griffith, “I follow
him with confidence, and must believe that we are safer with him than we
should be without him.”

“Let him lead to the dwelling of his fox-hunting ministers of state,”
 cried Barnstable, thrusting his book of signals into his bosom: “but
here is a chart that will show us the way to the port we wish to find.
Let my foot once more touch terra firma, and you may write craven
against my name, if that laughing vixen slips her cable before my eyes,
and shoots into the wind's eye again like a flying-fish chased by a
dolphin. Mr. Griffith, we must have the chaplain with us to the shore.”

“The madness of love is driving you into the errors of the soldier.
Would you lie by to hear sermons, with a flying party like ours?”

“Nay, nay, we must lay to for nothing that is not unavoidable; but there
are so many tacks in such a chase, when one has time to breathe, that
we might as well spend our leisure in getting that fellow to splice us
together. He has a handy way with a prayer book, and could do the job as
well as a bishop; and I should like to be able to say, that this is the
last time these two saucy names, which are written at the bottom of this
letter, should ever be seen sailing in the company of each other.”

“It will not do,” said his friend, shaking his head, and endeavoring to
force a smile which his feelings suppressed; “it will not do, Richard;
we must yield our own inclinations to the service of our country; nor is
this pilot a man who will consent to be led from his purpose.”

“Then let him follow his purpose alone,” cried Barnstable. “There is no
human power, always saving my superior officer, that shall keep me from
throwing abroad these tiny signals, and having a private talk with my
dark-eyed Kate. But for a paltry pilot! he may luff and bear away as
he pleases, while I shall steer as true as a magnet for that old ruin,
where I can bring my eyes to bear on that romantic wing and three
smoky vanes. Not that I'll forget my duty? no, I'll help you catch the
Englishman; but when that is done, hey! for Katherine Plowden and my
true love!”

“Hush, madcap! the wardroom holds long ears, and our bulkheads grow thin
by wear. I must keep you and myself to our duty. This is no children's
game that we play; it seems the commissioners at Paris have thought
proper to employ a frigate in the sport.”

Barnstable's gayety was a little repressed by the grave manner of his
companion; but after reflecting a moment, he started on his feet, and
made the usual movements for departure.

“Whither?” asked Griffith, gently detaining his impatient friend.

“To old Moderate; I have a proposal to make that may remove every
difficulty.”

“Name it to me, then; I am in his council, and may save you the trouble
and mortification of a refusal.”

“How many of those gentry does he wish to line his cabin with?”

“The pilot has named no less than six, all men of rank and consideration
with the enemy. Two of them are peers, two more belong to the commons'
house of parliament, one is a general, and the sixth, like ourselves, is
a sailor, and holds the rank of captain. They muster at a hunting-seat
near the coast, and, believe me, the scheme is not without its
plausibility.”

“Well, then, there are two apiece for us. You follow the pilot, if you
will; but let me sheer off for this dwelling of Colonel Howard, with
my cockswain and boat's crew. I will surprise his house, release the
ladies, and on my way back, lay my hands on two of the first lords I
fall in with. I suppose, for our business, one is as good as another.”

Griffith could not repress a faint laugh, while he replied:

“Though they are said to be each other's peers, there is, I believe,
some difference even in the quality of lords. England might thank us
for ridding her of some among them. Neither are they to be found like
beggars, under every hedge. No, no, the men we seek must have something
better than their nobility to recommend them to our favor. But let us
examine more closely into this plan and map of Miss Plowden; something
may occur that shall yet bring the place within our circuit, like a
contingent duty of the cruise.”

Barnstable reluctantly relinquished his own wild plan to the more sober
judgment of his friend, and they passed an hour together, inquiring into
the practicability, and consulting on the means, of making their public
duty subserve the purpose of their private feelings.

The gale continued to blow heavily during the whole of that morning;
but toward noon the usual indications of better weather became apparent.
During these few hours of inaction in the frigate, the marines, who were
drafted for service on the land, moved through the vessel with a busy
and stirring air, as if they were about to participate in the glory and
danger of the campaign their officer had planned, while the few seamen
who were to accompany the expedition steadily paced the deck, with their
hands thrust into the bosoms of their neat blue jackets, or occasionally
stretched toward the horizon, as their fingers traced, for their less
experienced shipmates, the signs of an abatement in the gale among the
driving clouds. The last lagger among the soldiers had appeared, with
his knapsack on his back, in the lee gangway, where his comrades were
collected, armed and accoutered for the strife, when Captain Munson
ascended to the quarter-deck, accompanied by the stranger and his
first lieutenant. A word was spoken by the latter in a low voice to a
midshipman, who skipped gayly along the deck, and presently the shrill
call of the boatswain was beard, preceding the hoarse cry of:

“Away there, you Tigers, away!”

A smart roll of the drum followed, and the marines paraded, while the
six seamen who belonged to the cutter that owned so fierce a name made
their preparations for lowering their little bark from the quarter of
the frigate into the troubled sea. Everything was conducted in the most
exact order, and with a coolness and skill that bade defiance to the
turbulence of the angry elements. The marines were safely transported
from the ship to the schooner, under the favoring shelter of the former,
though the boat appeared, at times, to be seeking the cavities of the
ocean, and again to be riding in the clouds, as she passed from one
vessel to the other.

At length it was announced that the cutter was ready to receive
the officers of the party. The pilot walked aside and held private
discourse, for a few moments, with the commander, who listened to his
sentences with marked and singular attention. When their conference was
ended, the veteran bared his gray head to the blasts, and offered his
hand to the other, with a seaman's frankness, mingled with the deference
of an inferior. The compliment was courteously returned by the stranger,
who turned quickly on his heel, and directed the attention of those who
awaited his movements, by a significant gesture, to the gangway.

“Come, gentlemen, let us go,” said Griffith, starting from a reverie,
and bowing his hasty compliments to his brethren in arms.

When it appeared that his superiors were ready to enter the boat, the
boy, who, by nautical courtesy, was styled Mr. Merry, and who had been
ordered to be in readiness, sprang over the side of the frigate, and
glided into the cutter, with the activity of a squirrel. But the captain
of marines paused, and cast a meaning glance at the pilot, whose place
it was to precede him. The stranger, as he lingered on the deck, was
examining the aspect of the heavens, and seemed unconscious of the
expectations of the soldier, who gave vent to his impatience, after a
moment's detention, by saying:

“We wait for you, Mr. Gray.”

Aroused by the sound of his name, the pilot glanced his quick eye on the
speaker, but instead of advancing, he gently bent his body, as he again
signed toward the gangway with his hand. To the astonishment not only
of the soldier, but of all who witnessed this breach of naval etiquette,
Griffith bowed low, and entered the boat with the same promptitude as if
he were preceding an admiral. Whether the stranger became conscious of
his want of courtesy, or was too indifferent to surrounding objects to
note occurrences, he immediately followed himself, leaving to the marine
the post of honor. The latter, who was distinguished for his skill in
all matters of naval or military etiquette, thought proper to apologize,
at a fitting time, to the first lieutenant for suffering his senior
officer to precede him into a boat, but never failed to show a becoming
exultation, when he recounted the circumstance, by dwelling on the
manner in which he had brought down the pride of the haughty pilot.

Barnstable had been several hours on board his little vessel, which was
every way prepared for their reception; and as soon as the heavy cutter
of the frigate was hoisted on her deck, he announced that the schooner
was ready to sail. It has been already intimated that the Ariel belonged
to the smallest class of sea-vessels; and as the symmetry of her
construction reduced even that size in appearance, she was peculiarly
well adapted to the sort of service in which she was about to be
employed. Notwithstanding her lightness rendered her nearly as buoyant
as a cork, and at times she actually seemed to ride on the foam, her low
decks were perpetually washed by the heavy seas that dashed against her
frail sides, and she tossed and rolled in the hollows of the waves, In
a manner that compelled even the practised seamen who trod her decks to
move with guarded steps. Still she was trimmed and cleared with an air
of nautical neatness and attention that afforded the utmost possible
room for her dimensions; and, though in miniature, she wore the
trappings of war as proudly as if the metal she bore was of a more fatal
and dangerous character. The murderous gun, which, since the period of
which we are writing, has been universally adopted in all vessels of
inferior size, was then in the infancy of its invention, and was known
to the American mariner only by reputation, under the appalling name
of a “smasher.” Of a vast calibre, though short and easily managed, its
advantages were even in that early day beginning to be appreciated, and
the largest ships were thought to be unusually well provided with
the means of offence, when they carried two or three cannon of this
formidable invention among their armament. At a later day, this weapon
has been improved and altered, until its use has become general in
vessels of a certain size, taking its appellation from the Carron,
on the banks of which river it was first moulded. In place of these
carronades, six light brass cannon were firmly lashed to the bulwarks
of the Ariel, their brazen throats blackened by the sea-water, which so
often broke harmlessly over these engines of destruction. In the centre
of the vessel, between her two masts, a gun of the same metal, but of
nearly twice the length of the other, was mounted on a carriage of a
new and singular construction, which admitted of its being turned in any
direction, so as to be of service in most of the emergencies that occur
in naval warfare.

The eye of the pilot examined this armament closely and then turned
to the well-ordered decks, the neat and compact rigging, and the hardy
faces of the fine young crew, with manifest satisfaction. Contrary to
what had been his practice during the short time he had been with them,
he uttered his gratification freely and aloud.

“You have a tight boat, Mr. Barnstable,” he said, “and a gallant-looking
crew. You promise good service, sir, in time of need, and that hour may
not be far distant.”

“The sooner the better,” returned the reckless sailor; “I have not had
an opportunity of scaling my guns since we quitted Brest, though we
passed several of the enemy's cutters coming up channel, with whom our
bulldogs longed for a conversation. Mr. Griffith will tell you, pilot,
that my little sixes can speak, on occasion, with a voice nearly as loud
as the frigate's eighteens.”

“But not to as much purpose,” observed Griffith; “'vox et praeterea
nihil,' as we said at school.”

“I know nothing of your Greek and Latin, Mr. Griffith,” retorted
the commander of the Ariel; “but if you mean that those seven brass
playthings won't throw a round-shot as far as any gun of their size and
height above the water, or won't scatter grape and canister with any
blunderbuss in your ship, you may possibly find an opportunity that will
convince you to the contrary, before we part company.”

“They promise well,” said the pilot, who was evidently, ignorant of the
good understanding that existed between the two officers, and wished to
conciliate all under his directions; “and I doubt not they will argue
the leading points of a combat with good discretion. I see that you have
christened them--I suppose for their respective merits. They are indeed
expressive names!”

“'Tis the freak of an idle moment,” said Barnstable, laughing, as he
glanced his eye to the cannon, above which were painted the
several quaint names of “boxer,” “plumper,” “grinder,” “scatterer,”
 “exterminator” and nail-driver.”

“Why have you thrown the midship gun without the pale of your baptism?”
 asked the pilot; “or do you know it by the usual title of the 'old
woman'?”

“No, no, I have no such petticoat terms on board me,” cried the other;
“but move more to starboard, and you will see its style painted on the
cheeks of the carriage; it's a name that need not cause them to blush
either.”

“'Tis a singular epithet, though not without some meaning!”

“It has more than you, perhaps, dream of, sir. That worthy seaman whom
you see leaning against the foremast, and who would serve, on occasion,
for a spare spar himself, is the captain of that gun, and more than once
has decided some warm disputes with John Bull, by the manner in which
he has wielded it. No marine can trail his musket more easily than my
cockswain can train his nine-pounder on an object; and thus from their
connection, and some resemblance there is between them in length, it has
got the name which you perceive it carries--that of 'long Tom.'”

The pilot smiled as he listened, but turning away from the speaker, the
deep reflection that crossed his brow but too plainly showed that
he trifled only from momentary indulgence; and Griffith intimated to
Barnstable, that as the gale was sensibly abating they would pursue the
object of their destination.

Thus recalled to his duty, the commander of the schooner forgot the
delightful theme of expatiating on the merits of his vessel, and issued
the necessary orders to direct their movements. The little schooner
slowly obeyed the impulse of her helm, and fell off before the wind,
when the folds of her square-sail, though limited by a prudent reef,
were opened to the blasts, and she shot away from her consort, like a
meteor dancing across the waves. The black mass of the frigate's hull
soon sunk in distance; and long before the sun had fallen below the
hills of England, her tall masts were barely distinguishable by the
small cloud of sail that held the vessel to her station. As the ship
disappeared, the land seemed to issue out of the bosom of the deep;
and so rapid was their progress, that the dwellings of the gentry, the
humbler cottages, and even the dim lines of the hedges, became gradually
more distinct to the eyes of the bold mariners, until they were beset
with the gloom of evening, when the whole scene faded from their view
in the darkness of the hour, leaving only the faint outline of the land
visible in the tract before them, and the sullen billows of the ocean
raging with appalling violence in their rear.

Still the little Ariel held on her way, skimming the ocean like a
water-fowl seeking its place of nightly rest, and shooting in towards
the land as fearlessly as if the dangers of the preceding night were
already forgotten. No shoals or rocks appeared to arrest her course, and
we must leave her gliding into the dark streak that was thrown from the
high and rocky cliffs, that lined a basin of bold entrance, where the
mariners often sought and found a refuge from the dangers of the German
Ocean.




CHAPTER IX.

  “Sirrah! how dare you leave your barley-broth
  To come in armor thus, against your king?”
   _Drama_.


The large irregular building inhabited by Colonel Howard well
deserved the name it had received from the pen of Katherine Plowden.
Notwithstanding the confusion in its orders, owing to the different
ages in which its several parts had been erected, the interior was
not wanting in that appearance of comfort which forms the great
characteristic of English domestic life. Its dark and intricate mazes
of halls, galleries, and apartments were all well provided with good
and substantial furniture; and whatever might have been the purposes of
their original construction, they were now peacefully appropriated to
the service of a quiet and well-ordered family.

There were divers portentous traditions of cruel separations and
blighted loves, which always linger, like cobwebs, around the walls of
old houses, to be heard here also, and which, doubtless, in abler hands,
might easily have been wrought up into scenes of high interest and
delectable pathos. But our humbler efforts must be limited by an attempt
to describe man as God has made him, vulgar and unseemly as he may
appear to sublimated faculties, to the possessors of which enviable
qualifications we desire to say, at once, that we are determined to
eschew all things supernaturally refined, as we would the devil. To
all those, then, who are tired of the company of their species we would
bluntly insinuate, that the sooner they throw aside our pages, and seize
upon those of some more highly gifted bard, the sooner will they be in
the way of quitting earth, if not of attaining heaven. Our business is
solely to treat of man, and this fair scene on which he acts, and that
not in his subtleties, and metaphysical contradictions, but in his
palpable nature, that all may understand our meaning as well as
ourselves--whereby we may manifestly reject the prodigious advantage of
being thought a genius, by perhaps foolishly refusing the mighty aid of
incomprehensibility to establish such a character.

Leaving the gloomy shadows of the cliffs, under which the little Ariel
had been seen to steer, and the sullen roaring of the surf along the
margin of the ocean, we shall endeavor to transport the reader to the
dining parlor of St. Ruth's Abbey, taking the evening of the same day as
the time for introducing another collection of those personages, whose
acts and characters it has become our duty to describe.

The room was not of very large dimensions, and every part was glittering
with the collected light of half a dozen Candles, aided by the fierce
rays that glanced from the grate, which held a most cheerful fire of
sea-coal. The mouldings of the dark oak wainscoting threw back upon the
massive table of mahogany streaks of strong light, which played among
the rich fluids that were sparkling on the board in mimic haloes. The
outline of this picture of comfort was formed by damask curtains of
a deep red, and enormous oak chairs with leathern backs and cushioned
seats, as if the apartment were hermetically sealed against the world
and its chilling cares.

Around the table, which still stood in the centre of the floor, were
seated three gentlemen, in the easy enjoyment of their daily repast. The
cloth had been drawn, and the bottle was slowly passing among them, as
if those who partook of its bounty well knew that neither the time nor
the opportunity would be wanting for their deliberate indulgence in its
pleasures.

At one end of the table an elderly man was seated, who performed
whatever little acts of courtesy the duties of a host would appear to
render necessary, in a company where all seemed to be equally at their
ease and at home. This gentleman was in the decline of life, though his
erect carriage, quick movements, and steady hand, equally denoted that
it was an old age free from the usual infirmities. In his dress, he
belonged to that class whose members always follow the fashions of the
age anterior to the one in which they live, whether from disinclination
to sudden changes of any kind, or from the recollections of a period
which, with them, has been hallowed by scenes and feelings that the
chilling evening of life can neither revive nor equal. Age might
possibly have thrown its blighting frosts on his thin locks, but art had
labored to conceal the ravages with the nicest care. An accurate outline
of powder covered not only the parts where the hair actually remained,
but wherever nature had prescribed that hair should grow. His
countenance was strongly marked in features, if not in expression,
exhibiting, on the whole, a look of noble integrity and high honor,
which was a good deal aided in its effect by the lofty receding
forehead, that rose like a monument above the whole, to record the
character of the aged veteran. A few streaks of branching red mingled
with a swarthiness of complexion, that was rendered more conspicuous by
the outline of unsullied white, which nearly surrounded his prominent
features.

Opposite to the host, who it will at once be understood was Colonel
Howard, was the thin yellow visage of Mr. Christopher Dillon, that bane
to the happiness of her cousin, already mentioned by Miss Plowden.

Between these two gentlemen was a middle-aged hard-featured man, attired
in the livery of King George, whose countenance emulated the scarlet
of his coat, and whose principal employment, at the moment, appeared to
consist in doing honor to the cheer of his entertainer.

Occasionally, a servant entered or left the room in silence, giving
admission, however, through the opened door, to the rushing sounds of
the gale, as the wind murmured amid the angles and high chimneys of the
edifice.

A man, in the dress of a rustic, was standing near the chair of Colonel
Howard, between whom and the master of the mansion a dialogue had been
maintained which closed as follows. The colonel was the first to speak,
after the curtain is drawn from between the eyes of the reader and the
scene:

“Said you, farmer, that the Scotchman beheld the vessels with his own
eyes?”

The answer was a simple negative.

“Well, well,” continued the colonel, “you can withdraw.”

The man made a rude attempt at a bow, which being returned by the old
soldier with formal grace, he left the room. The host turning to his
companions, resumed the subject.

“If those rash boys have really persuaded the silly dotard who commands
the frigate, to trust himself within the shoals on the eve of such
a gale as this, their case must have been hopeless indeed! Thus may
rebellion and disaffection ever meet with the just indignation of
Providence! It would not surprise me, gentleman, to hear that my native
land had been engulfed by earthquakes, or swallowed by the ocean, so
awful and inexcusable has been the weight of her transgressions! And yet
it was a proud and daring boy who held the second station in that ship!
I knew his father well, and a gallant gentleman he was, who, like my
own brother, the parent of Cecilia, preferred to serve his master on the
ocean rather than on the land. His son inherited the bravery of his high
spirit, without its loyalty. One would not wish to have such a youth
drowned, either.”

This speech, which partook much of the nature of a soliloquy, especially
toward its close, called for no immediate reply; but the soldier, having
held his glass to the candle, to admire the rosy hue of its contents,
and then sipped of the fluid so often that nothing but a clear light
remained to gaze at, quietly replaced the empty vessel on the table,
and, as he extended an arm toward the blushing bottle, he spoke, in the
careless tones of one whose thoughts were dwelling on another theme:

“Ay, true enough, sir; good men are scarce, and, as you say, one cannot
but mourn his fate, though his death be glorious; quite a loss to his
majesty's service, I dare say, it will prove.”

“A loss to the service of his majesty!” echoed the host--“his death
glorious! no, Captain Borroughcliffe, the death of no rebel can be
glorious; and how he can be a loss to his majesty's service, I myself am
quite at a loss to understand.”

The soldier, whose ideas were in that happy state of confusion that
renders it difficult to command the one most needed, but who still, from
long discipline, had them under a wonderful control for the disorder of
his brain, answered, with great promptitude:

“I mean the loss of his example, sir. It would have been so appalling to
others to have seen the young man executed instead of shot in battle.”

“He is drowned, sir.”

“Ah! that is the next thing to being hanged; that circumstance had
escaped me.”

“It is by no means certain, sir, that the ship and schooner that the
drover saw are the vessels you take them to have been,” said Mr. Dillon,
in a harsh, drawling tone of voice. “I should doubt their daring to
venture so openly on the coast, and in the direct track of our vessels
of war.”

“These people are our countrymen, Christopher, though they are rebels,”
 exclaimed the colonel. “They are a hardy and brave nation. When I had
the honor of serving his majesty, some twenty years since, it was my
fortune to face the enemies of my king in a few small affairs, Captain
Borroughcliffe; such as the siege of Quebec, and the battle before
its gates, a trifling occasion at Ticonderoga, and that unfortunate
catastrophe of General Braddock--with a few others. I must say, sir, in
favor of the colonists that they played a manful game on the latter day;
and this gentleman who now heads the rebels sustained a gallant name
among us for his conduct in that disastrous business. He was a discreet,
well-behaved young man, and quite a gentleman. I have never denied that
Mr. Washington was very much of a gentleman.”

“Yes!” said the soldier, yawning, “he was educated among his majesty's
troops, and he could hardly be other wise. But I am quite melancholy
about this unfortunate drowning, Colonel Howard. Here will be an end of
my vocation, I suppose; and I am far from denying that your hospitality
has made these quarters most agreeable to me.”

“Then, sir, the obligation is only mutual,” returned the host, with a
polite inclination of his head: “but gentlemen who, like ourselves, have
been made free of the camp, need not bandy idle compliments about such
trifles. If it were my kinsman Dillon, now, whose thoughts ran more on
Coke upon Littleton than on the gayeties of a mess-table and a soldier's
life, he might think such formalities as necessary as his hard words are
to a deed. Come, Borroughcliffe, my dear fellow, I believe we have given
an honest glass to each of the royal family (God bless them all!), let
us swallow a bumper to the memory of the immortal Wolfe.”

“An honest proposal, my gallant host, and such a one as a soldier
will never decline,” returned the captain, who roused himself with the
occasion. “God bless them all! say I, in echo; and if this gracious
queen of ours ends as famously as she has begun, 'twill be such a family
of princes as no other army of Europe can brag of around a mess-table.”

“Ay, ay, there is some consolation in that thought, in the midst of this
dire rebellion of my countrymen. But I'll vex myself no more with the
unpleasant recollections; the arms of my sovereign will soon purge that
wicked land of the foul stain.”

“Of that there can be no doubt,” said Borroughcliffe, whose thoughts
still continued a little obscured by the sparkling Madeira that had
long lain ripening under a Carolinian sun; “these Yankees fly before his
majesty's regulars, like so many dirty clowns in a London mob before a
charge of the horse-guards.”

“Pardon me, Captain Borroughcliffe,” said his host, elevating his
person to more than its usually erect attitude; “they may be misguided,
deluded, and betrayed, but the comparison is unjust. Give them arms and
give them discipline, and he who gets an inch of their land from them,
plentiful as it is, will find a bloody day on which to take possession.”

“The veriest coward in Christendom would fight in country where wine
brews itself into such a cordial as this,” returned the cool soldier.
“I am a living proof that you mistook my meaning; for had not those
loose-flapped gentlemen they call Vermontese and Hampshire-granters (God
grant them his blessing for the deed) finished two-thirds of my company,
I should not have been at this day under your roof, a recruiting
instead of a marching officer; neither should I have been bound up in a
covenant, like the law of Moses, could Burgoyne have made head against
their long-legged marchings and countermarchings. Sir, I drink their
healths, with all my heart; and with such a bottle of golden sunshine
before me, rather than displease so good a friend, I will go through
Gates' whole army, regiment by regiment, company by company, or, if you
insist on the same, even man by man, in a bumper.”

“On no account would I tax your politeness so far,” returned the
colonel, abundantly mollified by this ample concession; “I stand too
much your debtor, Captain Borroughcliffe, for so freely volunteering
to defend my house against the attacks of my piratical, rebellious, and
misguided countrymen, to think of requiring such a concession.”

“Harder duty might be performed, and no favors asked, my respectable
host,” returned the soldier. “Country quarters are apt to be dull, and
the liquor is commonly execrable; but in such a dwelling as this, a man
can rock himself in the very cradle of contentment. And yet there is one
subject of complaint, that I should disgrace my regiment did I not speak
of--for it is incumbent on me, both as a man and a soldier, to be no
longer silent.”

“Name it, sir, freely, and its cause shall be as freely redressed,” said
the host in some amazement.

“Here we three sit, from morning to night,” continued the soldier;
“bachelors all, well provisioned and better liquored, I grant you, but
like so many well-fed anchorites, while two of the loveliest damsels in
the island pine in solitude within a hundred feet of us, without tasting
the homage of our sighs. This, I will maintain, is a reproach both to
your character, Colonel Howard, as an old soldier and to mine as a young
one. As to our old friend, Coke on top of Littleton here, I leave him to
the quiddities of the law to plead his own cause.”

The brow of the host contracted for a moment, and the sallow cheek of
Dillon, who had sat during the dialogue in a sullen silence, appeared to
grow even livid; but gradually the open brow of the veteran resumed its
frank expression, and the lips of the other relaxed into a Jesuitical
sort of a smile, that was totally disregarded by the captain, who amused
himself with sipping his wine while he waited for an answer, as if he
analyzed each drop that crossed his palate.

After an embarrassing pause of a moment, Colonel Howard broke the
silence:

“There is reason in Borroughcliffe's hint, for such I take it to be----”

“I meant it for a plain, matter-of-fact complaint,” interrupted the
soldier.

“And you have cause for it,” continued the colonel. “It is unreasonable,
Christopher, that the ladies should allow their dread of these piratical
countrymen of ours to exclude us from their society, though prudence
may require that they remain secluded in their apartments. We owe the
respect to Captain Borroughcliffe, that at least we admit him to the
sight of the coffee-urn in an evening.”

“That is precisely my meaning,” said the captain: “as for dining with
them, why, I am well provided for here; but there is no one knows how
to set hot water a hissing in so professional a manner as a woman. So
forward, my dear and honored colonel, and lay your injunctions on them,
that they command your humble servant and Mr. Coke unto Littleton to
advance and give the countersign of gallantry.”

Dillon contracted his disagreeable features into something that was
intended for a satirical smile, before he spoke as follows:

“Both the veteran Colonel Howard and the gallant Captain Borroughcliffe
may find it easier to overcome the enemies of his majesty in the field
than to shake a woman's caprice. Not a day has passed these three weeks,
that I have not sent my inquiries to the door of Miss Howard as became
her father's kinsman, with a wish to appease her apprehensions of the
pirates; but little has she deigned me In reply, more than such thanks
as her sex and breeding could not well dispense with.”

“Well, you have been, as fortunate as myself, and why you should be
more so, I see no reason,” cried the soldier, throwing a glance of cool
contempt at the other: “fear whitens the cheek, and ladies best love to
be seen when the roses flourish rather than the lilies.”

“A woman is never so interesting, Captain Borroughcliffe,” said the
gallant host, “as when she appears to lean on man for support; and he
who does not feel himself honored by the trust is a disgrace to his
species.”

“Bravo! my honored sir, a worthy sentiment, and spoken like a true
soldier; but I have heard much of the loveliness of the ladies of the
abbey since I have been in my present quarters, and I feel a strong
desire to witness beauty encircled by such loyalty as could induce them
to flee their native country, rather than to devote their charms to the
rude keeping of the rebels.”

The colonel looked grave, and for a moment fierce, but the expression of
his displeasure soon passed away in a smile of forced gayety, and, as he
cheerfully rose from his seat, he cried:

“You shall be admitted this very night, and this instant, Captain
Borroughcliffe, We owe it, sir, to your services here, as well as in the
field, and those forward girls shall be humored no longer. Nay, it is
nearly two weeks since I have seen my ward myself; nor have I laid my
eyes on my niece but twice in all that time, Christopher, I leave
the captain under your good care while I go seek admission into the
cloisters, we call that part of, the building the cloisters, because it
holds our nuns, sir! You will pardon my early absence from the table,
Captain Borroughcliffe.”

“I beg it may not be mentioned; you leave an excellent representative
behind you, sir,” cried the soldier, taking in the lank figure of Mr.
Dillon in a sweeping glance, tha

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