 | CHAPTER II. The water-witch, or, The skimmer of the seas |  |
2. CHAPTER II.
From rascals worse than they.”
Coriolanus.
Day dawned on the Atlantic, with its pearly light,
succeeded by the usual flushing of the skies, and the
stately rising of the sun from out the water. The
instant the vigilant officer, who commanded the
morning watch, caught the first glimpses of the returning
brightness, Ludlow was awakened. A finger
laid on his arm, was sufficient to arouse one who
slept with the responsibility of his station ever present
to his mind. A minute did not pass, before the
young man was on the quarter-deck, closely examining
the heavens and the horizon. His first question
was to ask if nothing had been seen during the
watch. The answer was in the negative.
“I like this opening in the north-west,” observed
the captain, after his eye had thoroughly scanned
the whole of the still dusky and limited view.
“Wind will come out of it. Give us a cap-full, and
we shall try the speed of this boasted Water-Witch!
—Do I not see a sail, on our weather-beam?—or is
it the crest of a wave?”
“The sea is getting irregular, and I have often
been thus deceived, since the light appeared.”
“Get more sail on the ship. Here is wind, inshore
of us; we will be ready for it. See every
thing clear, to show all our canvas.”
The lieutenant received these orders with the customary
deference, and communicated them to his inferiors
again, with the promptitude that distinguishes
sea discipline. The Coquette, at the moment, was
lying under her three topsails, one of which was
thrown against its mast, in a manner to hold the
vessel as nearly stationary as her drift and the wash
of the waves would allow. So soon, however, as the
officer of the watch summoned the people to exertion,
the massive yards were swung; several light
sails, that served to balance the fabric as well as to
urge it ahead, were hoisted or opened; and the ship
immediately began to move through the water.
While the men of the watch were thus employed,
the flapping of the canvas announced the approach
of a new breeze.
The coast of North America is liable to sudden
and dangerous transitions, in the currents of the air.
It is a circumstance of no unusual occurrence, for a
gale to alter its direction with so little warning, as
greatly to jeopard the safety of a ship, or even to
overwhelm her. It has been often said, that the
celebrated Ville de Paris was lost through one of
these violent changes, her captain having inadvertently
hove-to the vessel under too much after-sail,
a mistake by which he lost the command of his ship
during the pressing emergency that ensued. Whatever
may have been the fact as regards that ill-fated
prize, it is certain that Ludlow was perfectly aware
of the hazards that sometimes accompany the first
blasts of a north-west wind on his native coast, and
that he never forgot to be prepared for the danger.
When the wind from the land struck the Coquette,
the streak of light, which announced the appearance
of the sun, had been visible several minutes. As the
broad sheets of vapor, that had veiled the heavens
during the prevalence of the south-easterly breeze,
were rolled up into dense masses of clouds, like some
scene, the water, no less than the sky, became instantly
visible, in every quarter. It is scarcely necessary
to say, how eagerly the gaze of our young
seaman ran over the horizon, in order to observe the
objects which might come within its range. At first
disappointment was plainly painted in his countenance,
and then succeeded the animated eye and
flushed cheek of success.
“I had thought her gone!” he said to his immediate
subordinate in authority. “But here she is,
to leeward, just within the edge of that driving mist,
and as dead under our lee as a kind fortune could
place her. Keep the ship away, Sir, and cover her
with canvas, from her trucks down. Call the people
from their hammocks, and show yon insolent what
Her Majesty's sloop can do, at need!”
This command was the commencement of a general
and hasty movement, in which every seaman in
the ship exerted his powers to the utmost. All hands
were no sooner called, than the depths of the vessel
gave up their tenants, who, joining their force to
that of the watch on deck, quickly covered the
spars of the Coquette with a snow-white cloud. Not
content to catch the breeze on such surfaces as the
ordinary yards could distend, long booms were thrust
out over the water, and sail was set beyond sail,
until the bending masts would bear no more. The low
hull, which supported this towering and complicated
mass of ropes, spars, and sails, yielded to the powerful
impulse, and the fabric, which, in addition to its crowd
of human beings, sustained so heavy a load of artillery,
with all its burthen of stores and ammunition, began to
divide the waves, with the steady and imposing force
of a vast momentum. The seas curled and broke
against her sides, like water washing the rocks, the
steady ship feeling, as yet, no impression from their
feeble efforts. As the wind increased, however, and
the ocean gradually grew more agitated, until the
highlands, which lay over the villa of the Lust in
Rust, finally sunk into the sea; when the top-gallant-royals
of the ship were seen describing wide segments
of circles against the heavens, and her dark
sides occasionally rose, from a long and deep roll,
glittering with the element that sustained her.
When Ludlow first descried the object which he
believed to be the chase, it seemed a motionless speck
on the margin of the sea. It had now grown into all
the magnitude and symmetry of the well-known
brigantine. Her slight and attenuated spars were
plainly to be seen, rolling, easily but wide, with the
constant movement of the hull, and with no sail
spread, but that which was necessary to keep the
vessel in command on the billows. But when the
Coquette was just within the range of a cannon, the
canvas began to unfold; and it was soon apparent
that the `Skimmer of the Seas' was preparing for
flight.
The first manœuvre of the Water-witch was an
attempt to gain the wind of her pursuer. A short
experiment appeared to satisfy those who governed
the brigantine that the effort was vain, while the
wind was so fresh and the water so rough. She wore,
and crowded sail on the opposite tack, in order to
try her speed with the cruiser; nor was it until the
result sufficiently showed the danger of permitting
the other to get any nigher, that she finally put her
helm aweather, and ran off, like a sea-fowl resting
on its wing, with the wind over her taffrail.
The two vessels now presented the spectacle of a
stern chase. The brigantine also opened the folds
of all her sails, and there arose a pyramid of canvas,
over the nearly imperceptible hull, that resembled a
fantastic cloud driving above the sea, with a velocity
that seemed to rival the passage of the vapor that
movements of the two vessels, and the same breeze
pressed upon their sails, it was long before there was
any perceptible difference in their progress. Hour
passed after hour, and were it not for the sheets of
white foam that were dashed from the bows of the
Coquette, and the manner in which she even out-stripped
the caps of the combing waves, her commander
might have fancied his vessel ever in the
same spot. While the ocean presented, on every
side, the same monotonous and rolling picture, there
lay the chase, seemingly neither a foot nearer, nor
a foot farther, than when the trial of speed began.
A dark line would rise on the crest of a wave, and
then, sinking again, leave nothing visible, but the
yielding and waving cloud of canvas, that danced
along the sea.
“I had hoped for better things of the ship, Master
Trysail!” said Ludlow, who had long been seated on
a night-head, attentively watching the progress of the
chase. “We are buried to the bob-stays; and yet,
there yon fellow lies, nothing plainer than when he
first showed his studding-sails!”
“And there he will lie, Captain Ludlow, while the
light lasts. I have chased the rover in the narrow
seas, till the cliffs of England melted away like the
cap of a wave; and we had raised the sand-banks of
Holland high as the sprit-sail-yard, and yet what
good came of it? The rogue played with us, as your
sportsman trifles with the entangled trout; and when
we thought we had him, he would shoot without the
range of our guns, with as little exertion as a ship
slides into the water, after the spur shoars are knocked
from under her bows.”
“Ay, but the Druid had a little of the rust of antiquity
about her. The Coquette has never got a
chase under her lee, that she did not speak.”
“I disparage no ship, Sir, for character is character,
and, least of all, of any thing which follows the
sea. I allow the Coquette to be a lively boat on a
wind, and a real scudder going large; but one should
know the wright that fashioned yonder brigantine,
before he ventures to say that any vessel in Her
Majesty's fleet can hold way with her, when she is
driven hard.”
“These opinions, Trysail, are fitter for the tales of
a top, than for the mouth of one who walks the quarter-deck.”
“I should have lived to little purpose, Captain
Ludlow, not to know that what was philosophy in my
young days, is not philosophy now. They say the
world is round, which is my own opinion—first, because
the glorious Sir Francis Drake, and divers
other Englishmen, have gone in, as it were, at one
end, and out at the other; no less than several seamen
of other nations, to say nothing of one Magellan,
who pretends to have been the first man to make the
passage, which I take to be neither more nor less
than a Portuguee lie, it being altogether unreasonable
to suppose that a Portuguee should do what an
Englishman had not yet thought of doing;—secondly,
if the world were not round, or some such shape, why
should we see the small sails of a ship before her
courses, or why should her truck heave up into the
horizon before the hull? They say, moreover, that
the world turns round, which is no doubt true; and
it is just as true that its opinions turn round with it,
which brings me to the object of my remark—yon
fellow shows more of his broadside, Sir, than common!
He is edging in for the land, which must lie,
hereaway, on our larboard beam, in order to get into
smoother water. This tumbling about is not favorable
to your light craft, let who will build them.”
“I had hoped to drive him off the coast. Could
we get him fairly into the Gulf Stream, he would be
the short seas. We must force him into blue water,
though our upper spars crack in the struggle! Go
aft, Mr. Hopper, and tell the officer of the watch to
bring the ship's head up, a point and a half, to the
northward, and to give a slight pull on the braces.”
“What a mainsail the rogue carries! It is as
broad as the instructions of a roving commission, with
a hoist like the promotion of an admiral's son! How
every thing pulls aboard him! A thorough-bred sails
that brigantine, let him come whence he may!”
“I think we near him! The rough water is helping
us, and we are closing. Steer small, fellow; steer
small! You see the color of his mouldings begins to
show, when he lifts on the seas.”
“The sun touches his side—and yet, Captain Ludlow,
you may be right—for here is a man in his foretop,
plainly enough to be seen. A shot, or two, among
his spars and sails, might now do service.”
Ludlow affected not to hear; but the first-lieutenant
having come on the forecastle, seconded this
opinion, by remarking that their position would indeed
enable them to use the chase-gun, without losing
any distance. As Trysail sustained his former assertion
by truths that were too obvious to be refuted,
the commander of the cruiser reluctantly issued an
order to clear away the forward gun, and to shift it
into the bridle-port. The interested and attentive
seamen were not long in performing this service; and
a report was quickly made to the captain, that the
piece was ready.
Ludlow then descended from his post on the night-head,
and pointed the cannon himself.
“Knock away the quoin, entirely;” he said to the
captain of the gun, when he had got the range;
“now mind her when she lifts, forward; keep the
ship steady, Sir—fire!”
Those gentleman `who live at home at ease,' are
powder, and hundreds and even thousands of shot,
are expended, with so little loss of human life; while
a struggle on the land, of less duration, and seemingly
of less obstinacy, shall sweep away a multitude. The
secret of the difference lies in the uncertainty of
aim, on an element as restless as the sea. The largest
ship is rarely quite motionless, when on the open
ocean; and it is not necessary to tell the reader,
that the smallest variation in the direction of a gun
at its muzzle, becomes magnified to many yards at
the distance of a few hundred feet. Marine gunnery
has no little resemblance to the skill of the fowler;
since a calculating for a change in the position of the
object must commonly be made in both cases, with
the additional embarrassment on the part of the seaman,
of an allowance for a complicated movement
in the piece itself.
How far the gun of the Coquette was subject
to the influence of these causes, or how far the desire
of her captain to protect those whom he believed to
be on board the brigantine, had an effect on the direction
taken by its shot, will probably never be
known. It is certain, however, that when the stream
of fire, followed by its curling cloud, had gushed out
upon the water, fifty eyes sought in vain to trace
the course of the iron messenger among the sails
and rigging of the Water-Witch. The symmetry of
her beautiful rig was undisturbed, and the unconscious
fabric still glided over the waves, with its customary
ease and velocity. Ludlow had a reputation, among
his crew, for some skill in the direction of a gun.
The failure, therefore, in no degree aided in changing
the opinions of the common men concerning the character
of the chase. Many shook their heads, and
more than one veteran tar, as he paced his narrow
limits with both hands thrust into the bosom of his
jacket, was heard to utter his belief of the inefficacy
was necessary, however to repeat the experiment,
for the sake of appearances. The gun was several
times discharged, and always with the same want
of success.
“There is little use in wasting our powder, at this
distance, and with so heavy a sea,” said Ludlow,
quitting the cannon, after a fifth and fruitless essay.
“I shall fire no more. Look at your sails, gentlemen,
and see that every thing draws. We must conquer
with our heels, and let the artillery rest.—Secure
the gun.”
“The piece is ready, Sir;” observed its captain,
presuming on his known favor with the commander,
though he qualified the boldness by taking off his
hat, in a sufficiently respectful manner—“'Tis a pity
to balk it!”
“Fire it, yourself, then, and return the piece to
its port;” carelessly returned the captain, willing to
show that others could be as unlucky as himself.
The men quartered at the gun, left alone, busied
themselves in executing the order.
“Run in the quoin, and, blast the brig, give her
a point-blanker!” said the gruff old seaman, who
was intrusted with a local authority over that particular
piece. “None of your geometry calculations,
for me!”
The crew obeyed, and the match was instantly
applied. A rising sea, however, aided the object of
the directly-minded old tar, or our narration of the
exploits of the piece would end with the discharge,
since its shot would otherwise have inevitably plunged
into a wave, within a few yards of its muzzle. The
bows of the ship rose with the appearance of the
smoke, the usual brief expectation followed, and then
fragments of wood were seen flying above the top-mast-studding-sail-boom
of the brigantine, which, at
the same time, flew forward, carrying with it, and entirely
on the spar for support.
“So much for plain sailing!” cried the delighted
tar, slapping the breach of the gun, affectionately.
“Witch or no witch, there go two of her jackets at
once; and, by the captain's good-will, we shall shortly
take off some more of her clothes! In spunge—”
“The order is to run the gun aft, and secure it;”
said a merry midshipman, leaping on the heel of the
bowsprit to gaze at the confusion on board the chase.
“The rogue is nimble enough, in saving his canvas!”
There was, in truth, necessity for exertion, on the
part of those who governed the movements of the
brigantine. The two sails that were rendered temporarily
useless, were of great importance, with the
wind over the taffrail. The distance between the
two vessels did not exceed a mile, and the danger of
lessening it was now too obvious to admit of delay.
The ordinary movements of seamen, in critical moments,
are dictated by a quality that resembles instinct,
more than thought. The constant hazards of
a dangerous and delicate profession, in which delay
may prove fatal, and in which life, character, and
property are so often dependent on the self-possession
and resources of him who commands, beget, in time,
so keen a knowledge of the necessary expedients, as
to cause it to approach a natural quality.
The studding-sails of the Water-Witch were no
sooner fluttering in the air, than the brigantine
slightly changed her course, like some bird whose
wing has been touched by the fowler; and her head
was seen inclining as much to the south, as the moment
before it had pointed northward. The variation,
trifling as it was, brought the wind on the opposite
quarter, and caused the boom that distended her
mainsail to gybe. At the same instant, the studding-sails,
which had been flapping under the lee of this
and the vessel lost little, if any, of the power which
urged her through the water. Even while this evolution
was so rapidly performed, men were seen aloft,
nimbly employed, as it has been already expressed
by the observant little midshipman, in securing the
crippled sails.
“A rogue has a quick wit,” said Trysail, whose
critical eye suffered no movement of the chase to
escape him; “and he has need of it, sail from what
haven he may! Yon brigantine is prettily handled!
Little have we gained by our fire, but the gunner's
account of ammunition expended; and little has the
free-trader lost, but a studding-sail-boom, which will
work up very well, yet, into top-gallant-yards, and
other light spars, for such a cockle-shell.”
“It is something gained, to force him off the land
into rougher water;” Ludlow mildly answered. “I
think we see his quarter-pieces more plainly, than
before the gun was used.”
“No doubt, Sir, no doubt. I got a glimpse of his
lower dead-eyes, a minute ago; but I have been
near enough to see the saucy look of the hussy under
his bowsprit; yet there goes the brigantine, at
large!”
“I am certain that we are closing;” thoughtfully
returned Ludlow. “Hand me a glass, quarter-master.”
Trysail watched the countenance of his young
commander, as he examined the chase with the aid
of the instrument; and he thought he read strong
discontent in his features, when the other laid it
aside.
“Does he show no signs of coming back to his
allegiance, Sir?—or does the rogue hold out in obstinacy?”
“The figure on his poop is the bold man who ventured
on board the Coquette, and who now seems
effrontery here!”
“There is a look of deep water about that rogue;
and I thought Her Majesty had gained a prize, when
he first put foot on our decks. You are right enough,
Sir, in calling him a bold one! The fellow's impudence
would unsettle the discipline of a whole ship's
company, though every other man were an officer,
and all the rest priests. He took up as much room
in walking the quarter-deck, as a ninety in waring;
and the truck is not driven on the head of that top-gallant-mast,
half as hard as the hat is riveted to
his head. The fellow has no reverence for a pennant!
I managed, in shifting pennants at sunset, to
make the fly of the one that came down flap in his
impudent countenance, by way of hint; and he took
it as a Dutchman minds a signal—that is, as a question
to be answered in the next watch. A little
polish got on the quarter-deck of a man-of-war,
would make a philosopher of the rogue, and fit him
for any company, short of heaven!”
“There goes a new boom, aloft!” cried Ludlow,
interrupting the discursive discourse of the master.
“He is bent on getting in with the shore.”
“If these puffs come much heavier,” returned the
master, whose opinions of the chase vacillated with
his professional feelings, “we shall have him at our
own play, and try the qualities of his brigantine
The sea has a green spot to windward, and there
are strong symptoms of a squall on the water. One
can almost see into the upper world, with an air
clear as this. Your northers sweep the mists off
America, and leave both sea and land bright as a
school-boy's face, before the tears have dimmed it,
after the first flogging. You have sailed in the
southern seas, Captain Ludlow, I know; for we
were shipmates among the islands, years that are
past: but I never heard whether you have run the
among the Italy mountains?”
“I made a cruise against the Barbary states,
when a lad; and we had business that took us to
the northern shore.”
“Ay! 'Tis your northern shore, I mean! There
is not a foot of it all, from the rock at the entrance,
to the Fare of Messina, that eye of mine hath not
seen. No want of look-outs and land-marks in that
quarter! Here we are close aboard of America,
which lies some eight or ten leagues there-away to
the northward of us, and some forty astern; and yet,
if it were not for our departure, with the color of
the water, and a knowledge of the soundings, one
might believe himself in the middle of the Atlantic.
Many a good ship plumps upon America before she
knows where she is going; while in yon sea, you
may run for a mountain, with its side in full view,
four-and-twenty hours on a stretch, before you see
the town at its foot.”
“Nature has compensated for the difference, in
defending the approach to this coast, by the Gulf
Stream, with its floating weeds and different temperature;
while the lead may feel its way in the darkest
night, for no roof of a house is more gradual than
the ascent of this shore, from a hundred fathoms to
a sandy beach.”
“I said many a good ship, Captain Ludlow, and
not good navigator.—No—no—your thorough-bred
knows the difference between green water and blue,
as well as between a hand-lead and the deep-sea.
But I remember to have missed an observation, once,
when running for Genoa, before a mistrail. There
was a likelihood of making our land-fall in the night,
and the greater the need of knowing the ship's position.
I have often thought, Sir, that the ocean was
like human life,—a blind track for all that is ahead,
and none of the clearest as respects that which has
own destruction, and many a ship steers for a reef
under a press of canvas. To-morrow is a fog, into
which none of us can see; and even the present time
is little better than thick weather, into which we
look without getting much information. Well, as I
was observing, here lay our course, with the wind as
near aft as need be, blowing much as at present; for
your French mistrail has a family likeness to the
American norther. We had the main-top-gallant-sail
set, without studding-sails, for we began to think of
the deep bight in which Genoa is stowed, and the
sun had dipped more than an hour. As our good
fortune would have it, clouds and mistrails do not
agree long, and we got a clear horizon. Here lay a
mountain of snow, northerly, a little west, and there
lay another, southerly with easting. The best ship
in Queen Anne's navy could not have fetched either
in a day's run, and yet there we saw them, as plainly
as if anchored under their lee! A look at the chart
soon gave us an insight into our situation. The first
were the Alps, as they call them, being as I suppose
the French for apes, of which there are no doubt
plenty in those regions; and the other were the highlands
of Corsica, both being as white, in midsummer,
as the hair of a man of fourscore. You see, Sir, we
had only to set the two, by compass, to know, within
a league or two, where we were. So we ran till
midnight, and hove-to; and in the morning we took
the light to feel for our haven—”
“The brigantine is gybing, again!” cried Ludlow.
“He is determined to shoal his water!”
The master glanced an eye around the horizon,
and then pointed steadily towards the north. Ludlow
observed the gesture, and, turning his head, he
was at no loss to read its meaning.
| CHAPTER II. The water-witch, or, The skimmer of the seas | |