The pilot a tale of the sea |
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| 15. | CHAPTER XV. |
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 | CHAPTER XV. The pilot |  |
15. CHAPTER XV.
“Sir And. I have no exquisite reason for't, but I've reason good enough.”
Twelfth Night.
The countenance of Captain Borroughcliffe,
when the sentinel admitted him to the apartment
that he had selected, was in that state of doubtful
illumination, when looks of peculiar cunning
blend so nicely with the stare of vacancy, that
the human face is rendered not unlike an April
day, now smiling and inviting, and at the next
moment clouded and dreary. It was quite apparent
that the soldier had an object for his unexpected
visit, by the importance of his air, and
the solemnity of the manner with which he entered
on the business. He waved his hand for the
sentinel to retire, with lofty dignity, and continued
balancing his body, during the closing of
the door, and while a sound continued audible to
his confused faculties, with his eyes fixed in the
direction of the noise, with that certain sort of
wise look, that in many men supplies the place
of something better. When the captain felt himself
secure from interruption, he moved round
with quick military precision, in order to face the
sleeping, though uneasily, and with watchfulness;
and the pilot was calmly waiting a visit which it
seems he had anticipated; but their associate, who
was no other than Captain Manual, of the marines,
was discovered in a very different condition.
Though the weather was cool, and the
night tempestuous, he had thrown aside his peajacket,
and much of his disguise, and was sitting
ruefully on his blanket, wiping, with one hand,
the large drops of sweat from his forehead, and
occasionally grasping his throat with the other,
with a kind of convulsed, mechanical movement.
He stared wildly at his visiter, though his entrance
produced no other alteration in these pursuits,
than a more diligent application of his
handkerchief, and a more frequent grasping of his
naked neck, as if he were willing to ascertain by
actual experiment, what degree of pressure the
part was able to sustain, without exceeding a
given quantity of inconvenience.
“Comrade, I greet ye!” said Borroughcliffe,
staggering to the side of his prisoner, where he
seated himself with an entire absence of ceremony;
“Comrade, I greet ye! Is the kingdom in
danger, that gentlemen traverse the island in the
uniform of the regiment of incognitus, incognitii,
'torum—dammee, how I forget my Latin!
Say, my fine fellow, are you one of these 'torums?”
Manual breathed a little hard, which, considering
the manner he had been using his throat, was
a thing to be expected; but, swallowing his apprehensions,
he answered with more spirit than
his situation rendered prudent, or the occasion
demanded.
“Say what you will of me, and treat me as
truth.”
“You are no 'torum! Well, then, the war office
has got up a new dress! Your regiment must
have earned their facings in storming some water
battery, or perhaps it has done duty as marines.
Am I right?”
“I'll not deny it,” said Manual, more stoutly;
“I have served as a marine for two years, though
taken from the line of”—
“The army,” said Borroughcliffe, interrupting
a most damning confession of which “state
line” the other had belonged to. “I kept a dog
watch myself, once, on board the fleet of my
Lord Howe; but it is a service that I do not envy
any man. Our afternoon parades were dreadfully
unsteady, for it's a time, you know, when a
man wants solid ground to stand on. However,
I purchased my company with some prize money
that fell in my way, and I always remember
the marine service with gratitude. But this is
dry work. I have put a bottle of sparkling Madeira
in my pocket, with a couple of glasses,
which we will discuss, while we talk over more
important matters. Thrust your hand into my
right pocket; I have been used to dress to the
front so long, that it comes mighty awkward to
me to make this backward motion, as if it were
into a cartridge box.”
Manual, who knew not how to construe the
manner or language of the other, perceived at
once a good deal of plain English in this request,
and he dislodged one of Colonel Howard's dusty
looking bottles, with a dexterity that denoted the
earnestness of his purpose. Borroughcliffe had
made a suitable provision of glasses, and extracting
the cork in a certain scientific manner, he
tendered to his companion a bumper of the liquor,
the expectants. The gentlemen concluded their
draughts with a couple of smacks, that sounded
not unlike the pistols of two practised duellists,
though certainly a much less alarming noise; when
the entertainer renewed the discourse.
“I like one of your musty-looking bottles,
that is covered with dust and cobwebs, with a
good southern tan on it,” he said. “Such liquor
does not abide in the stomach, but it gets into the
heart at once, and becomes blood in the beating
of a pulse. But how soon I knew you! That
sort of knowledge is the freemasonry of our
craft. I knew you to be the man you are, the
moment I laid eyes on you in what we call our
guard-room; but I thought I would humour the
old soldier who lives here, by letting him have
the formula of an examination, as a sort of deference
to his age and former rank. But I knew
you the instant I saw you. I have seen you before!”
The theory of Borroughcliffe, in relation to
the incorporation of wine with the blood, might
have been true in the case of the marine, whose
whole frame appeared to undergo a kind of magical
change by the experiment of drinking, which,
the reader will understand, was diligently persevered
in, while a drop remained in the bottle.
The perspiration no longer rolled from his brow,
neither did his throat manifest that uneasiness
which had rendered such constant external applications
necessary; but he settled down into an
air of cool and collected curiosity and interest,
which, in some measure, was the necessary concomitant
of his situation.
“We may have met before, as I have been
much in service, and yet I know not where you
ever a prisoner of war?”
“Hum! not exactly such an unfortunate devil;
but a sort of conventional non-combatant. I
shared the hardships, the glory, the equivocal
victories, (where we killed and drove countless
numbers of rebels—who were not,) and, wo is
me! the capitulation of Burgoyne. But let that
pass—which was more than the Yankees would
allow us to do. You know not where I could
have seen you? I have seen you on parade, in
the field, in battle and out of battle, in camp,
in barracks, in short, every where but in a drawing-room.
No, no; I have never seen you before
this night in a drawing-room!”
Manual stared in a good deal of wonder, and
some uneasiness, at these confident assertions,
which promised to put his life in no little jeopardy;
and it is to be supposed that the peculiar
sensation about the throat was revived, as he made
a heavy draught before he said—
“You will swear to this—Can you call me by
name?”
“I will swear to it in any court in Christendom,”
said the dogmatical soldier; “and your
name is—is—Fugleman.”
“If it is, I'll be damn'd!” exclaimed the other,
with exulting precipitation.
“Swear not!” said Borroughcliffe, with a solemn
air; “for what mattereth an empty name!
Call thyself by what appellation thou wilt, I know
thee. Soldier is written on thy martial front;
thy knee bendeth not; nay, I even doubt if the
rebellious member bow in prayer.”—
“Come, sir,” interrupted Manual, a little sternly;
“no more of this trifling, but declare your
will at once. Rebellious member, indeed! These
heavens shortly!”
“I like thy spirit, lad,” returned the undisturbed
Borroughcliffe; “it sits as gracefully on
a soldier, as his sash and gorget; but it is lost on
an old campaigner. I marvel, however, that thou
takest such umbrage at my slight attack on thy
orthodoxy. I fear the fortress must be weak,
where the outworks are defended with such a
waste of unnecessary courage.”
“I know not why or wherefore you have paid
me this visit, Captain Borroughcliffe,” said Manual,
with a laudable discretion, which prompted
him to reconnoitre the other's views a little, before
he laid himself more open; “if captain be your
rank, and Borroughcliffe be your name. But this
I do know, that if it be only to mock me in my
present situation, it is neither soldier-like nor
manly; and it is what, in other circumstances,
might be attended by some hazard.”
“Hum!” said the other, with his immovable
coolness; “I see you set the wine down as nothing,
though the king drinks not as good; for the
plain reason that the sun of England cannot find
its way through the walls of Windsor Castle, as
easily as the sun of Carolina can warm a garret
covered with cedar shingles. But I like your
spirit more and more. So draw yourself up in
battle array, and let us have another charge at
this black bottle, when I shall lay before your
military eyes a plan of the whole campaign.”
Manual first bestowed an inquiring glance at
his companion, when, discovering no other expression
than foolish cunning, which was fast
yielding before the encroaching footsteps of stupid
inebriety, he quietly placed himself in the desired
position. The wine was drunk, when Borroughcliffe
unreservedly.
“You are a soldier, and I am a soldier. That
you are a soldier, my orderly could tell; for the
dog has both seen a campaign, and smelt villanous
salt-petre, when compounded according to
a wicked invention; but it required the officer to
detect the officer. Privates do not wear such
linen as this, which seemeth to me an unreasonably
cool attire for the season; nor velvet stocks,
with silver buckles; nor is there often the odorous
flavour of sweet-scented pomatum to be discovered
around their greasy locks. In short, thou
art both soldier and officer.”
“I confess it,” said Manual; “I hold the rank
of captain, and shall expect the treatment of
one.”
“I think I have furnished you with wine fit for
a general,” returned Borroughcliffe; “but have
your way. Now, it would be apparent to men,
whose faculties had not been rendered clear by
such cordials as this dwelling aboundeth with,
that when you officers journey through the island,
clad in the uniform incognitorum, which, in your
case, means the marine corps, that something is
in the wind of more than usual moment. Soldiers
owe their allegiance to their prince, and
next to him, to war, women, and wine. Of war,
there is none in the realm; of women, plenty;
but wine, I regret to say, that is, good wine,
grows both scarce and dear. Do I speak to the
purpose, comrade?”
“Proceed,” said Manual, whose eyes were not
less attentive than his ears, in a hope to discover
whether his true character were understood.
“En avant! in plain English, forward march!
Well then, the difficulty lies between women and
wine; which, when the former are pretty, and
That it is not wine of which you are
in quest, I must believe, my comrade captain, or
you would not go on the adventure in such shabby
attire. You will excuse me, but who would think
of putting any thing better than their port before
a man in a pair of tarred trowsers. No! no!
Hollands, green-and-yellow Hollands, is a potation
good enough to set before one of thy present
bearing.”
“And yet I have met with him who has treated
me to the choicest of the south-side Madeira?”
“Know you the very side from which the precious
fluid comes! That looks more in favour of
the wine. But, after all, woman, dear, capricious
woman, who one moment fancies she
sees a hero in regimentals, and the next, a saint
in a cassock; and who always sees something admirable
in a suitor, whether he be clad in tow or
velvet—woman is at the bottom of this mysterious
masquerading. Am I right, comrade?”
By this time, Manual had discovered that he
was safe, and he returned to the conversation with
a revival of all his ready wits, which had been
strangely paralyzed by his previous disorder in the
region of the throat. First bestowing a wicked
wink on his companion, and a look that would
have outdone the wisest aspect of Solomon, he
replied—
“Ah! woman has much to answer for!”
“I knew it,” exclaimed Borroughcliffe; “and
this confession only confirms me in the good
opinion I have always entertained of myself. If
his majesty has any particular wish to close this
American business, let him have a certain convention
burnt, and a nameless person promoted,
and we shall see! But, answer as you love
truth; is it a business of holy matrimony, or a
mere dalliance with the sweets of Cupid?”
“Of honest wedlock,” said Manual, with an
air as serious as if Hymen already held him in
his fetters.
“'Tis honest! Is there money?”
“Is there money?” repeated Manual, with a
sort of contemptuous echo. “Would a soldier
part with his liberty, but with his life, unless the
chains were made of gold?”
“That's the true military doctrine!” cried the
other; “faith, you have some discretion in your
amphibious corps, I find! But why this disguise,
are the `seniors grave,' as well as `potent and
reverend?' Why this disguise, I again ask?”
“Why this disguise!” repeated Manual, coolly;
“Is there any such thing as love in your regiment
without disguise? With us it is a regular
symptom of the disease.”
“A most just and discreet description of the
passion, my amphibious comrade!” said the
English officer; “and yet the symptoms in your
case are attended by some very malignant tokens.
Does your mistress love tar?”
“No; but she loveth me; and, of course,
whatever attire I choose to appear in.”
“Still discreet and sagacious! and yet only a
most palpable feint to avoid my direct attack.
You have heard of such a place as Gretna Green,
a little to the north of this, I dare say, my aquatic
comrade. Am I right?”
“Gretna Green!” said Manual, a little embarrassed
by his ignorance; “some parade
ground, I suppose?”
“Ay, for those who suffer under the fire of
Master Cupid. A parade ground! well, there is
some artful simplicity in that! But all will not
do with an old campaigner. It is a difficult thing
to impose on an old soldier, my marine friend.
Now listen and answer; and you shall see what
You are in love?”
“I deny nothing,” said Manual, comprehending
at once that this was his safest course.
“Your mistress is willing, and the money is
ready, but the old people say, halt!”
“I am still mute.”
“'Tis prudent. You say march—Gretna Green
is the object; and your flight is to be by water?”
“Unless I can make my escape by water, I
shall never make it,” said Manual, with another
sympathetic movement with his hand to his
throat.
“Keep mute; you need tell me nothing. I can
see into a mystery that is as deep as a well, to
night. Your companions are hirelings; perhaps
your shipmates; or men to pilot you on this expedition?”
“One is my shipmate, and the other is our
pilot,” said Manual, with more truth than usual.
“You are well provided. One thing more,
and I shall become mute in my turn. Does she
whom you seek lie in this house?”
“She does not; she lies but a short distance from
this place; and I should be a happy fellow, could
I but once more put—”
“Eyes on her. Now listen, and you shall have
your wish. You possess the ability to march yet,
which, considering the lateness of the hour, is no
trifling privilege; open that window—is it possible
to descend from it?”
Manual eagerly complied, but he turned from
the place in disappointment.
“It would be certain death to attempt the leap.
The devil only could escape from it.”
“So I should think,” returned Borroughcliffe
dryly. “You must be content to pass for that
respectable gentleman for the rest of your days,
hole must you wing your flight on the pinions of
love.”
“But how! The thing is impossible.”
“In imagination only. There is some stir; a
good deal of foolish apprehension; and a great
excess of idle curiosity, among certain of the
tenants of this house on your account. They
fear the rebels, who, we all know, have not soldiers
enough to do their work neatly at home,
and who of course would never think of sending
any here. You wish to be snug—I wish to serve
a brother in distress. Through that window you
must be supposed to fly—no matter how; while
by following me you can pass the sentinel, and
retire peaceably, like any other mortal, on your
own two stout legs.”
This was a result that exceeded all that Manual
had anticipated from their amicable but droll dialogue;
and the hint was hardly given, before he
threw on the garments that agitation had before
rendered such encumbrances, and in less time
than we have taken to relate it, the marine was
completely equipped for his departure. In the
mean time, Captain Borroughcliffe raised himself
to an extremely erect posture, which he maintained,
with the inflexibility of a rigid martinet.
When he found himself established on his feet,
the soldier intimated to his prisoner that he was
ready to proceed. The door was instantly opened
by Manual, and together they entered the gallery.
“Who comes there?” cried the sentinel, with
a vigilance and vigour that he intended should
compensate for his previous neglect of duty.
“Walk straight, that he may see you,” said
Borroughcliffe, with much philosophy.
“Who goes there!” repeated the sentinel,
sound that echoed along the naked walls.
“Walk crooked,” added Borroughcliffe, “that
if he fire he may miss.”
“We shall be shot at, with this folly,” muttered
Manual. “We are friends, and your officer is
one of us.”
“Stand friends—advance officer and give the
countersign,” cried the sentinel.
“That is much easier said than done,” returned
his captain; “forward! Mr. Amphibious, you can
walk like a postman—move to the front, and proclaim
the magical word, `loyalty;' 'tis a standing
countersign, ready furnished to my hands by
mine host, the colonel; your road is then clear
before you—but hark—”
Manual made an eager step forward, when, recollecting
himself, he turned, and added—
“My assistants, the seamen! I can do nothing
without them.”
“Lo! the keys are in the doors, ready for my
admission,” said the Englishman; “turn them
and bring out your forces.”
Quick as thought, Manual was in the room of
Griffith, to whom he briefly communicated the
situation of things, when he re-appeared in the
passage, and then proceeded on a similar errand
to the room of the pilot.
“Follow, and behave as usual,” he whispered;
“say not a word, but trust all to me.”
The pilot arose, and obeyed these instructions
without asking a question, with the most admirable
coolness.
“I am now ready to proceed,” said Manual,
when they had joined Borroughcliffe.
During the short time occupied in these arrangements,
the sentinel and his captain had stood
looking at each other, with great military exactitude.
watchfulness; the latter awaiting the return of
the marine. The captain now beckoned to Manual
to advance and give the countersign.
“Loyalty,” whispered Manual, when he approached
the sentinel. But the soldier had been
allowed time to reflect; and as he well understood
the situation of his officer, he hesitated to allow
the prisoner to pass. After a moment's pause, he
said—
“Advance friends.” At this summons, the
whole party moved to the point of his bayonet;
when the man continued, “The prisoners have
the countersign, Captain Borroughcliffe, but I
dare not let them pass.”
“Why not?” asked the captain; “am I not
here, sirrah; do you not know me?”
“Yes, sir, I know your honour, and respect
your honour; but I was posted here by my sergeant,
and ordered not to let these men pass out
on any account.”
“That's what I call good discipline,” said
Borroughcliffe, with an exulting laugh; “I knew
the lad would not mind me any more than that he
would obey the orders of that lamp. Here are
no slaves of the lamp, my amphibious comrade;
drill ye your marines in this consummate style to
niceties?”
“What means this trifling?” said the pilot,
sternly.
“Ah! I thought I should turn the laugh on
you,” cried Manual, affecting to join in the mirth;
“we know all these things well, and we practise
them in our corps; but though the sentinel cannot
know you, the sergeant will; so let him be
called, and orders be given through him to the
man on post, that we may pass out.”
“Your throat grows uneasy, I see,” said Borroughcliffe;
generous fluid. Well, it shall be done. Sentinel,
you can throw up yon window, and give a call
to the sergeant.”
“The outcry will ruin us,” said the pilot, in a
whisper to Griffith.
“Follow me,” said the young sailor. The
sentinel was turning to execute the orders of his
captain, as Griffith spoke; when springing forward,
in an instant he wrenched the musket from
his hands; a heavy blow with its butt, felled the
astonished soldier to the floor; then, poising his
weapon, Griffith exclaimed—
“Forward! we can clear our own way now!”
“On!” said the pilot, leaping lightly over the
prostrate soldier, a dagger gleaming in one hand,
and a pistol presented in the other.
Manual was by his side in an instant, armed in
a similar manner; and the three rushed together
from the building, without meeting any one to oppose
their flight.
Borroughcliffe was utterly unable to follow;
and so astounded was he by this sudden violence,
that several minutes passed before he was restored
to the use of his speech, a faculty which seldom
deserted him. The man had recovered his senses
and his feet, however; and the two stood gazing
at each other in mute condolence. At length the
sentinel broke the silence—
“Shall I give the alarm, your honour?”
“I rather think not, Peters. I wonder if there
be any such thing as gratitude or good breeding
in the marine corps!”
“I hope your honour will remember that I did
my duty, and that I was disarmed while executing
your orders.”
“I can remember nothing about it, Peters, except
that it is rascally treatment, and such as I
answer for. But, lock the door—look as if
nothing had happened, and—”
“Ah! your honour, that is not so easily done
as your honour may please to think. I have not
any doubt but there is the print of the breech of
a musket stamped on my back and shoulders, as
plainly to be seen as that light.”
“Then look as you please; but hold your
peace, sirrah. Here is a crown to buy a plaster.
I heard the dog throw away your musket on the
stairs—go seek it, and return to your post; and
when you are relieved, act as if nothing had happened.
I take the responsibility on myself.”
The man obeyed, and when he was once more
armed, Borroughcliffe, a good deal sobered by
the surprise, made the best of his way to his own
apartment, muttering threats and execrations
against the “corps of marines, and the whole
race,” as he called them, “of aquatic amphibii.”
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