University of Virginia Library

16. CHAPTER XVI.

On the following morning, the windows of the
Lust in Rust denoted the presence of its owner.
There was an air of melancholy, and yet of happiness,
in the faces of many who were seen about the
buildings and the grounds, as if a great good had
been accompanied by some grave and qualifying
circumstances of sorrow. The negroes wore an air
of that love of the extraordinary which is the concomitant
of ignorance, while those of the more fortunate
class resembled men who retained a recollection
of serious evils that were past.

In the private apartment of the burgher, however,
an interview took place which was characterized by
an air of deep concern. The parties were only the
free-trader and the Alderman. But it was apparent,
in the look of each, that they met like men who
had interesting and serious matters to discuss. Still,
one accustomed to the expressions of the human
countenance might have seen, that while the former
was about to introduce topics in which his feelings
were powerfully enlisted, the other looked only to
the grosser interests of his commerce.

“My minutes are counted;” said the mariner,
stepping into the centre of the room, and facing his

companion. “That which is to be said, must be said
briefly. The inlet can only be passed on the rising
water, and it will ill consult your opinions of prudence,
were I to tarry, till the hue and cry, that
will follow the intelligence of that which has lately
happened in the offing, shall be heard in the
Province.”

“Spoken with a rover's discretion! This reserve
will perpetuate friendship, which is nought weakened
by your activity in our late uncomfortable voyage
on the yards and masts of Queen Anne's late cruiser.
Well! I wish no ill-luck to any loyal gentleman in
Her Majesty's service; but it is a thousand pities
that thou wert not ready, now the coast is clear,
with a good heavy inward cargo! The last was altogether
an affair of secret drawers, and rich laces;
valuable in itself, and profitable in the exchange:
but the colony is sadly in want of certain articles
that can only be landed at leisure.”

“I come on other matters. There have been
transactions between us, Alderman Van Beverout,
that you little understand.”

“You speak of a small mistake in the last invoice?—'Tis
all explained, Master Skimmer, on a
second examination; and thy accuracy is as well
established as that of the bank of England.”

“Established or not, let him who doubts cease to
deal.—I have no other motto than `confidence,' nor
any other rule but `justice.”'

“You overrun my meaning, friend of mine. I
intimate no suspicions; but accuracy is the soul of
commerce, as profit is its object. Clear accounts,
with reasonable balances, are the surest cements of
business intimacies. A little frankness operates, in a
secret trade, like equity in the courts; which reestablishes
the justice that the law has destroyed.—
What is thy purpose?”

“It is now many years, Alderman Van Beverout,

since this secret trade was commenced between you
and my predecessor,—he, whom you have thought
my father, but who only claimed that revered appellation
by protecting the helplessness and infancy of
the orphan child of a friend.”

“The latter circumstance is new to me;” returned
the burgher, slowly bowing his head. “It may
explain certain levities which have not been without
their embarrassment. 'Tis five-and-twenty years,
come August, Master Skimmer, and twelve of them
have been under thy auspices. I will not say that
the adventures might not have been better managed;
as it is, they are tolerable. I am getting old, and
think of closing the risks and hazards of life—two
or three, or, at the most, four or five, lucky voyages,
must, I think, bring a final settlement between us.”

“'T will be made sooner. I believe the history of
my predecessor was no secret to you. The manner
in which he was driven from the marine of the
Stuarts, on account of his opposition to tyranny; his
refuge with an only daughter, in the colonies; and
his final recourse to the free-trade for a livelihood,
have often been alluded to between us.”

“Hum—I have a good memory for business, Master
Skimmer, but I am as forgetful as a new-made
lord of his pedigree, on all matters that should be
overlooked. I dare say, however, it was as you have
stated.”

“You know, that when my protector and predecessor
abandoned the land, he took his all with him
upon the water.”

“He took a wholesome and good-going schooner,
Master Skimmer, with an assorted freight of chosen
tobacco, well ballasted with stones from off the seashore.
He was no foolish admirer of sea-green
women, and flaunting brigantines. Often did the
royal cruisers mistake the worthy dealer for an in
dustrious fisherman!”

“He had his humors, and I have mine. But you
forget a part of the freight he carried;—a part that
was not the least valuable.”

“There might have been a bale of marten's furs—
for the trade was just getting brisk in that article.”

“There was a beautiful, an innocent, and an affectionate
girl—”

The Alderman made an involuntary movement,
which nearly hid his countenance from his companion.

“There was, indeed, a beautiful, and, as you say,
a most warm-hearted girl, in the concern!” he uttered,
in a voice that was subdued and hoarse. “She
died, as I have heard from thyself, Master Skimmer,
in the Italian seas. I never saw the father, after the
last visit of his child to this coast.”

“She did die, among the islands of the Mediterranean.
But the void she left in the hearts of all who
knew her, was filled, in time, by her—daughter.”

The Alderman started from his chair, and, looking
the free-trader intently and anxiously in the face,
he slowly repeated the word—

“Daughter!”

“I have said it.—Eudora is the daughter of that
injured woman—need I say, who is the father?”

The burgher groaned, and, covering his face with
his hands, he sunk back into his chair, shivering convulsively.

“What evidence have I of this?” he at length
muttered—“Eudora is thy sister!”

The answer of the free-trader was accompanied
by a melancholy smile.

“You have been deceived. Save the brigantine,
my being is attached to nothing. When my own
brave father fell by the side of him who protected
my youth, none of my blood were left. I loved him
as a father, and he called me son, while Eudora was
passed upon you as the child of a second marriage.
But here is sufficient evidence of her birth.”

The Alderman took a paper, which his companion
put gravely into his hand, and his eyes ran eagerly
over its contents. It was a letter to himself from the
mother of Eudora, written after the birth of the
latter, and with the endearing affection of a woman.
The love between the young merchant and the fair
daughter of his secret correspondent had been less
criminal on his part than most similar connexions.
Nothing but the peculiarity of their situation, and
the real embarrassment of introducing to the world
one whose existence was unknown to his friends, and
their mutual awe of the unfortunate but still proud
parent, had prevented a legal marriage. The simple
forms of the colony were easily satisfied, and there
was even some reason to raise a question whether
they had not been sufficiently consulted to render
the offspring legitimate. As Myndert Van Beverout,
therefore, read the epistle of her whom he had once
so truly loved, and whose loss had, in more senses
than one, been to him an irreparable misfortune,
since his character might have yielded to her gentle
and healthful influence, his limbs trembled, and his
whole frame betrayed the violence of extreme agitation.
The language of the dying woman was kind
and free from reproach, but it was solemn and admonitory.
She communicated the birth of their
child; but she left it to the disposition of her own
father, while she apprized the author of its being of
its existence; and, in the event of its ever being
consigned to his care, she earnestly recommended it
to his love. The close was a leave-taking, in which
the lingering affections of this life were placed in
mournful contrast to the hopes of the future.

“Why has this so long been hidden from me?”
demanded the agitated merchant—“Why, oh reckless
and fearless man! have I been permitted to expose
the frailties of nature to my own child?”

The smile of the free-trader was bitter, and proud.

“Mr. Van Beverout, we are no dealers of the
short voyase. Our trade is the concern of life;—
our world, the Water-Witch. As we have so little
of the interests of the land, our philosophy is above
its weaknesses. The birth of Eudora was concealed
from you, at the will of her grandfather. It might
have been resentment;—it might have been pride.—
Had it been affection, the girl has that to justify the
fraud.”

“And Eudora, herself?—Does she—or has she
long known the truth?”

“But lately. Since the death of our common
friend, the girl has been solely dependent on me for
counsel and protection. It is now a year since she
first learned she was not my sister. Until then, like
you, she supposed us equally derived from one who
was the parent of neither. Necessity has compelled
me, of late, to keep her much in the brigantine.”

“The retribution is righteous!” groaned the Alderman.
“I am punished for my pusillanimity, in
the degradation of my own child!”

The step of the free-trader, as he advanced nearer
to his companion, was full of dignity; and his keen
eye glowed with the resentment of an offended man.

“Alderman Van Beverout,” he said, with stern
rebuke in his voice, “you receive your daughter,
stainless as was her unfortunate mother, when necessity
compelled him whose being was wrapped up in
hers, to trust her beneath your roof. We of the contraband
have our own opinions of right and wrong,
and my gratitude, no less than my principles, teaches
me that the descendant of my benefactor is to be
protected, not injured. Had I, in truth, been the
brother of Eudora, language and conduct more innocent
could not have been shown her, than that she
has both heard and witnessed while guarded by my
care.”

“From my soul, I thank thee!” burst from the lips

of the Alderman, “The girl shall be acknowledged;
and with such a dowry as I can give, she may yet
hope for a suitable and honorable marriage.”

“Thou may'st bestow her on thy favorite Patroon;”
returned the Skimmer, with a calm but sad
eye. “She is more than worthy of all he can
return. The man is willing to take her, for he is
not ignorant of her sex and history. That much I
thought due to Eudora herself, when fortune placed
the young man in my power.”

“Thou art only too honest for this wicked world,
Master Skimmer! Let me see the loving pair, and
bestow my blessing, on the instant!”

The free-trader turned slowly away, and, opening
a door, he motioned for those within to enter. Alida
instantly appeared, leading the counterfeit Seadrift,
clad in the proper attire of her sex. Although the
burgher had often seen the supposed sister of the
Skimmer in her female habiliments, she never before
had struck him as a being of so rare beauty as at
that moment. The silken whiskers had been removed,
and in their places were burning cheeks, that
were rather enriched than discolored by the warm
touches of the sun. The dark glossy ringlets, that
were no longer artfully converted to the purposes of
the masquerade, fell naturally in curls about the
temples and brows, shading a countenance which in
general was playfully arch, though at that moment
it was shadowed by reflection and feeling. It is seldom
that two such beings are seen together, as those
who now knelt at the feet of the merchant. In the
breast of the latter, the accustomed and lasting love
of the uncle and protector appeared, for an instant,
to struggle with the new-born affection of a parent.
Nature was too strong for even his blunted and perverted
sentiments; and, calling his child aloud by
name, the selfish and calculating Alderman sunk
upon the neck of Eudora, and wept. It would have

been difficult to trace the emotions of the stern but
observant free-trader, as he watched the progress of
this scene. Distrust, uneasiness, and finally melancholy,
were in his eye. With the latter expression
predominant, he quitted the room, like one who felt
a stranger had no right to witness emotions so sacred.

Two hours later, and the principal personages of
the narrative were assembled on the margin of the
Cove, beneath the shade of an oak that seemed
coeval with the continent. The brigantine was
aweigh; and, under a light show of canvas, she was
making easy stretches in the little basin, resembling,
by the ease and grace of her movements, some beautiful
swan sailing up and down in the enjoyment of
its instinct. A boat had just touched the shore, and
the `Skimmer of the Seas' stood near, stretching out
a hand to aid the boy Zephyr to land.

We subjects of the elements are slaves to superstition;”
he said, when the light foot of the child
touched the ground. “It is the consequence of lives
which ceaselessly present dangers superior to our
powers. For many years have I believed that some
great good, or some greater evil, would accompany
the first visit of this boy to the land. For the first
time, his foot now stands on solid earth. I await the
fulfilment of the augury!”

“It will be happy;” returned Ludlow—“Alida
and Eudora will instruct him in the opinions of this
simple and fortunate country, and he seemeth one
likely to do early credit to his schooling.”

“I fear the boy will regret the lessons of the sea-green
lady!—Captain Ludlow, there is yet a duty to
perform, which, as a man of more feeling than you
may be disposed to acknowledge, I cannot neglect.
I have understood that you are accepted by la belle
Barbérie?”

“Such is my happiness.”

“Sir, in dispensing with explanation of the past,

you have shown a noble confidence, that merits a
return. When I came upon this coast, it was with
a determination of establishing the claims of Eudora
to the protection and fortune of her father. If I distrusted
the influence and hostility of one so placed,
and so gifted to persuade, as this lady, you will remember
it was before acquaintance had enabled me
to estimate more than her beauty. She was seized
in her pavilion by my agency, and transported as a
captive to the brigantine.”

“I had believed her acquainted with the history
of her cousin, and willing to aid in some fantasy
which was to lead to the present happy restoration
of the latter to her natural friends.”

“You did her disinterestedness no more than justice.
As some atonement for the personal wrong, and
as the speediest and surest means of appeasing her
alarm, I made my captive acquainted with the facts.
Eudora then heard, also for the first time, the history
of her origin. The evidence was irresistible, and
we found a generous and devoted friend where we
had expected a rival.”

“I knew that Alida could not prove less generous!”
cried the admiring Ludlow, raising the hand
of the blushing girl to his lips. “The loss of fortune
is a gain, by showing her true character!”

“Hist—hist—”interrupted the Alderman—“there
is little need to proclaim a loss of any kind. What
must be done in the way of natural justice, will
doubtless be submitted to; but why let all in the
colony know how much, or how little, is given with
a bride?”

“The loss of fortune will be amply met;” returned
the free-trader. “These bags contain gold. The
dowry of my charge is ready at a moment's warning,
whenever she shall make known her choice.”

“Success and prudence!” exclaimed the burgher.
“There is no less than a most commendable forethought

in thy provision, Master Skimmer; and whatever
may be the opinion of the Exchequer Judges
of thy punctuality and credit, it is mine that there
are less responsible men about the bank of England
itself!—This money is, no doubt, that which the
girl can lawfully claim in right of her late grandfather!”

“It is.”

“I take this to be a favorable moment to speak
plainly on a subject which is very near my heart,
and which may as well be broached under such favorable
auspices as under any other. I understand,
Mr. Van Staats, that, on a further examination of
your sentiments towards an old friend, you are of
opinion that a closer alliance than the one we had
contemplated will most conduce to your happiness?”

“I will acknowledge that the coldness of la belle
Barbérie has damped my own warmth;” returned
the Patroon of Kinderhook, who rarely delivered
himself of more, at a time, than the occasion required.

“And, furthermore, I have been told, Sir, that an
intimacy of a fortnight has given you reason to fix
your affections on my daughter, whose beauty is hereditary,
and whose fortune is not likely to be diminished
by this act of justice on the part of that upright
and gallant mariner.”

“To be received into the favor of your family,
Mr. Van Beverout, would leave me little to desire in
this life.”

“And as for the other world, I never heard of a
Patroon of Kinderhook who did not leave us with
comfortable hopes for the future; as in reason they
should, since few families in the colony have done
more for the support of religion than they. They
gave largely to the Dutch churches in Manhattan;
have actually built, with their own means, three
very pretty brick edifices on the Manor, each having

its Flemish steeple and suitable weather-cocks,
besides having done something handsome towards the
venerable structure in Albany. Eudora, my child;
this gentleman is a particular friend, and as such I
can presume to recommend him to thy favor. You
are not absolutely strangers; but, in order that you
may have every occasion to decide impartially, you
will remain here together for a month longer, which
will enable you to choose without distraction and
confusion. More than this, for the present, it is unnecessary
to say; for it is my practice to leave all
matters of this magnitude entirely to Providence.”

The daughter, on whose speaking face the color
went and came like lights changing in an Italian sky,
continued silent.

“You have happily put aside the curtain which
concealed a mystery that no longer gave me uneasiness;”
interrupted Ludlow, addressing the free-trader.
“Can you do more, and say whence came this latter?”

The dark eye of Eudora instantly lighted. She
looked at the `Skimmer of the Seas,' and laughed.

“'Twas another of those womanly artifices which
have been practised in my brigantine. It was thought
that a young commander of a royal cruiser would be
less apt to watch our movements, were his mind
bent on the discovery of such a correspondent.”

“And the trick has been practised before?”

“I confess it.—But I can linger no longer. In a
few minutes, the tide will turn, and the inlet become
impassable. Eudora, we must decide on the fortunes of
this child. Shall he to the ocean again?—or shall he
remain, to vary his life with a landsman's chances?”

“Who and what is the boy?” gravely demanded
the Alderman.

“One dear to both,” rejoined the free-trader.
“His father was my nearest friend, and his mother
long watched the youth of Eudora. Until this moment,

he has been our mutual care;—he must now
choose between us.”

“He will not quit me!” hastily interrupted the
alarmed Eudora—“Thou art my adopted son, and
none can guide thy young mind like me. Thou hast
need of woman's tenderness, Zephyr, and wilt not
quit me?”

“Let the child be the arbiter of his own fate. I
am credulous on the point of fortune, which is, at
least, a happy belief for the contraband.”

“Then let him speak. Wilt remain here, amid
these smiling fields, to ramble among yonder gay and
sweetly-scented flowers?—or wilt thou back to the
water, where all is vacant and without change?”

The boy looked wistfully into her anxious eye,
and then he bent his own hesitating glance on the
calm features of the free-trader.

“We can put to sea,” he said; “and when we
make the homeward passage again, there will be
many curious things for thee, Eudora!”

“But this may be the last opportunity to know
the land of thy ancestors. Remember how terrible
is the ocean in its anger, and how often the brigantine
has been in danger of shipwreck!”

“Nay, that is womanish!—I have been on the
royal-yard in the squalls, and it never seemed to me
that there was danger.”

“Thou hast the unconsciousness and reliance of a
ship-boy! But those who are older, know that the
life of a sailor is one of constant and imminent
hazard.—Thou hast been among the islands in the
hurricane, and hast seen the power of the elements!”

“I was in the hurricane, and so was the brigantine;
and there you see how taut and neat she is
aloft, as if nothing had happened!”

“And you saw us yesterday floating on the open
sea, while a few ill-fastened spars kept us from going
into its depths!”

“The spars floated, and you were not drowned;
else, I should have wept bitterly, Eudora.”

“But thou wilt go deeper into the country, and
see more of its beauties—its rivers, and its mountains
—its caverns, and its woods. Here all is change,
while the water is ever the same.”

“Surely, Eudora, you forget strangely!—Here it
is all America. This mountain is America; yonder
land across the bay is America, and the anchorage
of yesterday was America. When we shall run off
the coast, the next land-fall will be England, or Holland,
or Africa; and with a good wind, we may run
down the shores of two or three countries in a day.”

“And on them, too, thoughtless boy! If you lose
this occasion, thy life will be wedded to hazard!”

“Farewell, Eudora!” said the urchin, raising his
mouth to give and receive the parting kiss.

“Eudora, adieu!” added a deep and melancholy
voice, at her elbow. “I can delay no longer, for my
people show symptoms of impatience. Should this
be the last of my voyages to the coast, thou wilt not
forget those with whom thou hast so long shared
good and evil!”

“Not yet—not yet—you will not quit us yet!
Leave me the boy—leave me some other memorial
of the past, besides this pain!”

“My hour has come. The wind is freshening,
and I trifle with its favor. 'Twill be better for thy
happiness that none know the history of the brigantine;
and a few hours will draw a hundred curious
eyes, from the town, upon us.”

“What care I for their opinions?—thou wilt not
—cannot—leave me, yet!”

“Gladly would I stay, Eudora, but a seaman's
home is his ship. Too much precious time is already
wasted. Once more, adieu!”

The dark eye of the girl glanced wildly about
her. It seemed, as if in that one quick and hurried

look, it drank in all that belonged to the land and its
enjoyments.

“Whither go you?” she asked, scarce suffering
her voice to rise above a whisper. “Whither do
you sail, and when do you return?”

“I follow fortune. My return may be distant—
never!—Adieu then, Eudora—be happy with the
friends that Providence hath given thee!”

The wandering eyes of the girl of the sea became
still more unsettled. She grasped the offered hand
of the free-trader in both her own, and wrung it in
an impassioned and unconscious manner. Then releasing
her hold, she opened wide her arms, and
cast them convulsively about his unmoved and unyielding
form.

“We will go together!—I am thine, and thine
only!”

“Thou knowest not what thou sayest, Eudora!”
gasped the Skimmer—“Thou hast a father—friend
—husband—”

“Away, away!” cried the frantic girl, waving
her hand wildly towards Alida and the Patroon, who
advanced as if hurrying to rescue her from a precipice—“Thine,
and thine only!”

The smuggler released himself from her frenzied
grasp, and, with the strength of a giant, he held the
struggling girl at the length of his arm, while he endeavored
to control the tempest of passion that
struggled within him.

“Think, for one moment, think!” he said. “Thou
wouldst follow an outcast—an outlaw—one hunted
and condemned of men!”

“Thine, and thine only!”

“With a ship for a dwelling—the tempestuous
ocean for a world!—”

“Thy world is my world!—thy home, my home!
—thy danger, mine!”

The shout which burst out of the chest of the
`Skimmer of the Seas' was one of uncontrollable
exultation.

“Thou art mine!” he cried. “Before a tie like
this, the claim of such a father is forgotten! Burgher,
adieu!—I will deal by thy daughter more honestly
than thou didst deal by my benefactor's child!”

Eudora was lifted from the ground as if her weight
had been that of a feather; and, spite of a sudden
and impetuous movement of Ludlow and the Patroon,
she was borne to the boat. In a moment, the
bark was afloat, with the gallant boy tossing his sea-cap
upward in triumph. The brigantine, as if conscious
of what had passed, wore round like a whirling
chariot; and, ere the spectators had recovered
from their confusion and wonder, the boat was
hanging at the tackles. The free-trader was seen
on the poop, with an arm cast about the form of
Eudora, waving a hand to the motionless group on
the shore, while the still half-unconscious girl of the
ocean signed her faint adieus to Alida and her father.
The vessel glided through the inlet, and was immediately
rocking on the billows of the surf. Then,
taking the full weight of the southern breeze, the
fine and attenuated spars bent to its force, and the
progress of the swift-moving craft was apparent by
the bubbling line of its wake.

The day had begun to decline, before Alida and
Ludlow quitted the lawn of the Lust in Rust. For
the first hour, the dark hull of the brigantine was
seen supporting the moving cloud of canvas. Then
the low structure vanished, and sail after sail settled
into the water, until nothing was visible but a speck
of glittering white. It lingered for a minute, and
was swallowed in the void.

The nuptials of Ludlow and Alida were touched
with a shade of melancholy. Natural affection in

one, and professional sympathy in the other, had
given them a deep and lasting interest in the fate of
the adventurers.

Years passed away, and months were spent at the
villa, in which a thousand anxious looks were cast
upon the ocean. Each morning, during the early
months of summer, did Alida hasten to the windows
of her pavilion, in the hope of seeing the vessel of
the contraband anchored in the Cove:—but always
without success. It never returned;—and though
the rebuked and disappointed Alderman caused
many secret inquiries to be made along the whole
extent of the American coast, he never again heard
of the renowned `Skimmer of the Seas,' or of his
matchless Water-Witch.