 | CHAPTER XIII. The pilot |  |
13. CHAPTER XIII.
He raised his vengeful arm against his country.
Thomson.
Alice Dunscombe remained on the sands,
watching the dark spot that was soon hid amid the
waves, in the obscurity of night, and listening,
with melancholy interest, to the regulated sounds
of the oars, which were audible long after the boat
had been blended with the gloomy outline of the
eastern horizon. When all traces of her departed
friends were to be found only in her own recollections,
she slowly turned from the sea, and hastening
to quit the bustling throng, that were preparing
for the embarkation of the rest of the party, she
ascended the path that conducted her once more
to the summit of those cliffs, along which she had
so often roved, gazing at the boundless element
that washed their base, with sensations that might
have been peculiar to her own situation.
The soldiers of Borroughcliffe, who were stationed
at the head of the pass, respectfully made
way; nor did any of the sentinels of Manual
heed her retiring figure, until she approached
the rear guard of the marines, who were commanded
by their vigilant captain in person.
“Who goes there!” cried Manual, advancing
without the dusky group of soldiers, as she approached
them.
“One who possesses neither the power nor the
inclination to do ye harm,” answered the solitary
female; “'tis Alice Dunscombe, returning, by permission
of your leader, to the place of her birth.”
“Ay,” muttered Manual, “this is one of Griffith's
unmilitary exhibitions of his politeness! does
the man think that there was ever a woman who
had no tongue! Have you the countersign,
madam, that I may know you bear a sufficient
warrant to pass?”
“I have no other warrant besides my sex and
weakness, unless Mr. Griffith's knowledge that I
have left him, can be so construed.”
“The two former are enough,” said a voice,
that proceeded from a figure which had hitherto
stood unseen, shaded by the trunk of an oak, that
spread its wide, but naked arms nearly over the
spot where the guard was paraded.
“Who have we here!” Manual again cried;
“come in; yield or you will be fired at.”
“What, will the gallant Capt. Manual fire on
his own rescuer!” said the Pilot, with cool disdain,
as he advanced from the shadow of the tree.
“He had better reserve his bullets for his enemies,
than waste them on his friends.”
“You have done a dangerous deed, sir, in approaching,
clandestinely, a guard of marines! I
wonder that a man who has discovered already,
to-night, that he has some knowledge of tactics, by
so ably conducting a surprise, should betray so
much ignorance in the forms of approaching a
picquet!”
“'Tis now of no moment,” returned the Pilot;
“my knowledge and my ignorance are
alike immaterial, as the command of the party
hands. But I would talk to this lady alone, sir;
she is an acquaintance of my youth, and I will see
her part of the way back to the Abbey.”
“The step would be unmilitary, Mr. Pilot, and
you will excuse me if I do not consent to any of
our expedition straggling without the sentries. If
you choose to remain here to hold your discourse,
I will march the picquet out of hearing; though I
must acknowledge I see no ground so favourable
as this we are on, to keep you within the range of
our eyes. You perceive that I have a ravine to retreat
into, in case of surprise, with this line of wall
on my left flank, and the trunk of that tree to cover
my right. A very pretty stand might be made here,
on emergency; for even the oldest troops fight
the best when their flanks are properly covered,
and a way to make a regular retreat is open in
their rear.”
“Say no more, sir; I would not break up such
a position on any account,” returned the Pilot;
“Miss Dunscombe will consent to retrace her path
for a short distance.”
Alice followed his steps, in compliance with this
request, until he had led her to a place, at some
little distance from the marines, where a tree had
been prostrated by the late gale. She seated herself
quietly on its trunk, and appeared to await
with patience his own time for the explanation
of his motives, in seeking this interview. The
Pilot paced, for several minutes, back and forth,
in front of the place where she was seated, in profound
silence, as if communing with himself, when,
suddenly throwing off his air of absence, he came
to her side, and assumed a position similar to that
which she herself had taken.
“The hour is at hand, Alice, when we must
whether it shall be for ever.”
“Let it then be for ever, John,” she returned,
with a slight tremor in her voice.
“That word would have been less appalling,
had this accidental meeting never occurred. And
yet your choice may have been determined by
prudence—for what is there in my fate that can
tempt a woman to wish that she might share it!”
“If ye mean your lot is that of one who can
find but few, or even none, to partake of his joys,
or to share in his sorrows, whose life is a continual
scene of dangers and calamities, of disappointments
and mishaps, then do ye know but little of
the heart of woman, if ye doubt of either her
ability or her willingness, to meet them with the
man of her choice.”
“Say you thus, Alice! then have I misunderstood
your meaning, or misinterpreted your acts.
My lot is not altogether that of a neglected man,
unless the favour of princes, and the smiles of
queens, can be thus termed! My life is, however,
one of many and fearful dangers; and yet it is
not filled altogether with calamities and mishaps;
is it, Alice?” He paused a moment, but in vain, for
her answer. “Nay, then, I have been deceived
in the estimation that the world has affixed to my
combats and enterprises! I am not, Alice, the
man I would be, or even the man I had deemed myself.”
“You have gained a name, John, among the
warriors of the age,” she answered, in a subdued
voice; “and it is a name that may be said to be
written in blood!”
“The blood of my enemies, Alice!”
“The blood of the subjects of your natural
prince! The blood of those who breathe the air
holy lessons of instruction that you were first
taught; but which, I fear, you have too soon forgotten!”
“The blood of the slaves of despotism!” he
sternly interrupted her; “the blood of the enemies
of freedom! you have dwelt so long in this
dull retirement, and you have cherished so blindly
the prejudices of your youth, that the promise of
those noble sentiments I once thought I could see
budding in Alice Dunscombe, has not been fulfilled.”
“I have lived and thought only as a woman, as
become my sex and station,” Alice meekly replied;
“and when it shall be necessary for me to
live and think otherwise, I should wish to die.”
“Ay, there lie the first seeds of slavery! A dependant
woman is sure to make the mother of
craven and abject wretches, who dishonour the
name of man!”
“I shall never be the mother of children good
or bad”—said Alice, with that resignation in her
tones that showed she had abandoned the natural
hopes of her sex.—“Singly and unsupported have
I lived; alone and unlamented must I be carried
to my grave.”
The exquisite pathos of her voice, as she uttered
this placid speech, blended as it was with the
sweet and calm dignity of virgin pride, touched
the heart of her listener, and he continued silent
many moments, as if in reverence of her determination.
Her sentiments awakened in his own
breast those feelings of generosity and disinterestedness,
which had nearly been smothered in restless
ambition and the pride of success. He resumed
the discourse, therefore, more mildly, and with a
of passion, in his manner.
“I know not, Alice, that I ought, situated as I
am, and contented, if not happy, as you are, even
to attempt to revive in your bosom those sentiments
which I was once led to think existed there.
It cannot, after all, be a desirable fate, to share the
lot of a rover like myself; one who may be termed
a Quixotte in the behalf of liberal principles,
and who may be hourly called to seal the truth of
those principles with his life.”
“There never existed any sentiment in my
breast, in which you are concerned, that does not
exist there still, and unchanged,” returned Alice,
with her single-hearted sincerity.
“Do I hear you aright! or have I misconceived
your resolution to abide in England! or have
I not rather mistaken your early feelings?”
“You have fallen into no error now nor then.
The weakness may still exist, John, but the
strength to struggle with it, has, by the goodness
of God, grown with my years. It is not, however,
of myself, but of you, that I would speak. I
have lived like one of our simple daisies, which in
the budding may have caught your eye; and I
shall also wilt like the humble flower, when the
winter of my time arrives, without being missed
from the fields that have known me for a season.
But your fall, John, will be like that of the oak
that now supports us, and men shall pronounce on
the beauty and grandeur of the noble stem while
standing, as well as of its usefulness when felled.”
“Let them pronounce as they will!” returned
the proud stranger. “The truth must be finally
known, and when that hour shall come, they will
say, he was a faithful and gallant warrior in his
day; and a worthy lesson for all who are born in
in his example!”
“Such may be the language of that distant
people, whom ye have adopted in the place of
those that once formed home and kin to ye,”
said Alice, glancing her eye timidly at his countenance,
as if to discern how far she might venture,
without awakening his resentment; “but what
will the men of the land of your birth transmit to
their children, who will be the children of those
that are of your own blood?”
“They will say, Alice, whatever their crooked
policy may suggest, or their disappointed vanity
can urge. But the picture must be drawn by the
friends of the hero as well as by his enemies!
Think you that there are not pens as well as
swords in America?”
“I have heard that America called a land, John,
where God has lavished his favours with an unsparing
hand; where he has bestowed many
climes with their several fruits, and where his power
is exhibited no less than his mercy. It is said
her rivers are without any known end, and that
lakes are found in her bosom, which would put
our German ocean to shame! That plains, teeming
with verdure, are spread over wide degrees,
and yet those sweet valleys, which a single heart
can hold, are not wanting. In short, John, I hear
it is a broad land, that can furnish food for each
passion, and contain objects for every affection.”
“Ay, you have found those, Alice, in your solitude,
who have been willing to do her justice!
It is a country, that can form a world of itself; and
why should they who inherit it, look to other nations
for their laws?”
“I pretend not to reason on the right of the
children of that soil, to do whatever they may
Alice—“but can men be born in such a land, and
not know the feeling which binds a human being
to the place of his birth?”
“Can you doubt that they should be patriotic?”
exclaimed the Pilot, in surprise. “Do not their efforts
in this sacred cause—their patient sufferings—
their long privations, speak loudly in their behalf?”
“And will they, who know so well how to love
home, sing the praises of him, who has turned his
ruthless hand against the land of his fathers?”
“Forever harping on that word, home!” said
the Pilot, who now detected the timid approaches
of Alice to her hidden meaning. “Is man a stick
or a stone, that he must be cast into the fire, or
buried in a wall, wherever his fate may have
doomed him to appear on the earth? The sound
of home is said to feed the vanity of an Englishman,
let him go where he will; but it would seem
to have a still more powerful charm with English
women!”
“It is the dearest of all terms to every woman,
John, for it embraces the dearest of all ties! If
your dames of America are ignorant of its charm,
all the favours which God has lavished on their
land, will avail their happiness but little.”
“Alice,” said the Pilot, rising in his agitation,
“I see but too well the object of your allusions.
But on this subject we can never agree; for not
even your power can draw me from the path of
glory in which I am now treading. Our time is
growing brief; let us then talk of other things.—
This may be the last time that I shall ever put foot
on the island of Britain.”
Alice paused to struggle with the feelings excited
by this remark, before she pursued the discourse.
added, with a rigid adherence to that course which
she believed to he her duty—
“And now, John, that you have landed, is the
breaking up of a peaceful family, and the violence
ye have shown towards an aged man, a fit exploit
for one whose object is the glory of which ye have
spoken?”
“Think you that I have landed, and placed my
life in the hands of my enemies, for so unworthy
an object! No, Alice, my motive for this undertaking
has been disappointed, and therefore will
ever remain a secret from the world. But duty
to my cause has prompted the step which you so
unthinkingly condemn. This Col. Howard has
some consideration with those in power, and will
answer to exchange for a better man. As for his
wards, you forget their home, their magical
home, is in America; unless, indeed, they find
them nearer at hand, under the proud flag of a
frigate, that is now waiting for them in the
offing.”
“You talk of a frigate!” said Alice, with sudden
interest in the subject—“Is she your only
means of escaping from your enemies?”
“Alice Dunscombe has taken but little heed of
passing events, to ask such a question of me!”
returned the haughty Pilot. “The question
would have sounded more discreetly, had it been,
`is she the only vessel with you that your enemies
will have to escape from?' ”
“Nay, I cannot measure my language at such a
moment,” continued Alice, with a still stronger
exhibition of anxiety. “It was my fortune to
overhear a part of a plan that was intended to
destroy, by sudden means, those vessels of America
that were in our seas.”
“That might be a plan more suddenly adopted
than it can be executed, my good Alice. And
who were those redoubtable schemers?”
“I know not but my duty to the king should
cause me to suppress this information,” said Alice,
hesitating.
“Well, be it so,” returned the Pilot, coolly; “it
may prove the means of saving the persons of some
of the royal officers from death or captivity. I
have already said, this may be the last of my visits
to this island, and consequently, Alice, the last of
our interviews—”
“And yet,” said Alice, as if pursuing the train
of her own thoughts, “there can be but little
harm in sparing human blood; and least of all in
serving those whom we have long known and
regarded!”
“Ay, that is a simple doctrine, and one that is
easily maintained,” he added, with much apparent
indifference; “and yet king George might well
spare some of his servants—the list of the abject
minions is so long!”
“There was a man named Dillon, who lately
dwelt in the Abbey, but who has mysteriously disappeared,”
continued Alice; “or rather who was
captured by your companions: know you aught
of him, John?”
“I have heard there was a miscreant of that
name, but we have never met. Alice, if it please
heaven that this shall be the last”—
“He was a captive in a schooner called the
Ariel,” she added, still unheeding his affected indifference
to her communication—and when permitted
to return to St. Ruth, he lost sight of his
solemn promise, and of his plighted honour, to
wreak his malice. Instead of effecting the exchange
that he had conditioned to see made, he
most foul treason! for his treatment was generous
and kind, and his liberation certain.”
“He was a most unworthy scoundrel! But,
Alice”—
“Nay, listen, John,” she continued, urged to
even a keener interest in his behalf, by his apparent
inattention; “and yet I should speak tenderly of his
failings, for he is already numbered with the dead!
One part of his scheme must have been frustrated,
for he intended to destroy that schooner which
you call the Ariel, and to have taken the person
of the young Barnstable.”
“In both of which he has failed! The person
of Barnstable I have rescued, and the Ariel has
been stricken by a hand far mightier than any of
this world! she is wrecked.”
“Then is the frigate your only means of escape!
Hasten, John, and seem not so proud and heedless,
for the hour may come when all your daring
will not profit ye against the machinations of secret
enemies. This Dillon had also planned that
expresses should journey to a sea-port at the south,
with the intelligence that your vessels were in these
seas, in order that ships might be despatched to intercept
your retreat.”
The Pilot lost his affected indifference as she
proceeded, and before she ceased speaking, his eye
was endeavouring to anticipate her words, by
reading her countenance through the dusky medium
of the star-light.
“How know you this, Alice?” he asked quickly—“and
what vessel did he name?”
“Chance made me an unseen listener to their plan,
and—I know not but I forget my duty to my prince!
—but, John, 'tis asking too much of weak woman,
to require that she shall see the man whom she
once viewed with eyes of favour, sacrificed, when
him to avoid the danger!”
“Once viewed with an eye of favour! Is it then
so!” said the Pilot, speaking in a vacant manner.
“But, Alice, heard ye the force of the ships, or
their names? Give me their names, and the first
lord of your British admiralty shall not give so true
an account of their force, as I will furnish from
this list of my own.”
“Their names were certainly mentioned,” said
Alice, with tender melancholy, “but the name
of one far nearer to me was ringing in my ears,
and has driven them from my mind.”
“You are the same good Alice I once knew!
And my name was mentioned? What said they
of the Pirate? Had his arm stricken a blow that
made them tremble in their Abbey? Did they
call him coward, girl?”
“It was mentioned in terms that pained my
heart as I listened. For, it is ever too easy a task
to forget the lapse of years, nor are the feelings of
youth to be easily eradicated.”
“Ay, there is luxury in knowing, that with all
their affected abuse, the slaves dread me in their
secret holds!” exclaimed the Pilot, pacing in
front of his listener, with quick steps. “This it
is to be marked, among men, above all others in
your calling! I hope yet to see the day when
the third George shall start at the sound of that
name, even within the walls of his palace.”
Alice Dunscombe heard him in deep and mortified
silence; for it was too evident that a link
in the chain of their sympathies was broken, and
that the weakness in which she had been unconsciously
indulging, was met by no correspondent
emotions in him. After sinking her head for a
moment on her bosom, she arose with a little more
to a sense of her presence, by saying, in a yet
milder voice—
“I have now communicated all that it can profit
you to know, and it is meet that we separate.”
“What, thus soon!” he cried, starting and taking
her hand. “This is but a short interview,
Alice, to precede so long a separation.”
“Be it short, or be it long, it must now end,”
she replied. “Your companions are on the eve
of departure, and I trust you would be one of the
last who would wish to be deserted. If ye do visit
England again, I hope it may be with altered sentiments,
so far as regards her interests. I wish ye
peace, John, and the blessings of God, as ye may
be found to deserve them.”
“I ask no farther, unless it may be the aid of
your gentle prayers! But the night is gloomy,
and I will see you in safety to the Abbey.”
“It is unnecessary,” she returned, with womanly
reserve. “The innocent can be as fearless on
occasion, as the most valiant among you warriors.
But here is no cause for fear. I will take a path
that will conduct me in a different way from that
which is occupied by your soldiers, and where I
shall find none but Him who is ever present to
protect the helpless. Once more, John, I bid ye
adieu.” Her voice faltered as she continued—“ye
will share the lot of humanity, and have your
hours of care and weakness; at such moments ye
can remember those ye leave on this despised
island, and perhaps among them ye may think of
some whose interest in your welfare has been far
removed from selfishness.”
“God be with you, Alice!” he said, touched
with her emotion, and losing all vain images in
to go alone.”
“Here we part, John,” she said firmly, “and
for ever! 'Tis for the happiness of both, for I fear
we have but little in common.” She gently wrested
her hand from his grasp, and once more bidding
him adieu, in a voice that was nearly inaudible,
she turned and slowly disappeared, moving,
with lingering steps, in the direction of the
Abbey.
The first impulse of the Pilot was, certainly, to
follow, and insist on seeing her on the way; but the
music of the guard on the cliffs, at that moment
sent forth its martial strains, and the whistle of the
boatswain was heard winding its shrill call among
the rocks, in those notes that his practised ear well
understood to be the last signal for embarking.
Obedient to the summons, this singular man,
in whose breast the natural feelings, that were now
on the eve of a violent eruption, had so long been
smothered by the visionary expectations of a wild
ambition, and perhaps of fierce resentments, pursued
his course, in deep abstraction, towards the
boats. He was soon met by the soldiers of Borroughcliffe,
deprived of their arms, it is true,
but unguarded, and returning peacefully to
their quarters. The mind of the Pilot, happily
for the liberty of these men, was too much
absorbed in his peculiar reflections, to note this act
of Griffith's generosity, nor did he arouse from his
musing until his steps were arrested by suddenly
encountering a human figure in the path-way. A
light tap on his shoulder was the first mark of recognition
he received, when Borroughcliffe, who
stood before him, said—
“It is evident, sir, from what has passed this
evening, that you are not what you seem. You
that I know, the right to command having been
strangely contested among ye this night. But let
who will own the chief authority, I take the liberty
of whispering in your ear that I have been scurvily
treated by you—I repeat, most scurvily treated
by you all, generally, and by you in particular.”
The Pilot started at this strange address, which
was uttered with all the bitterness that could be
imparted to it by a disappointed man, but he motioned
with his hand for the captain to depart, and
turned aside to pursue his own way.
“Perhaps I am not properly understood,” continued
the obstinate soldier; “I say, sir, you have
treated me scurvily, and I would not be thought
to say this to any gentleman, without wishing to
give him an opportunity to vent his anger.”
The eye of the Pilot, as he moved forward,
glanced at the pistols which Borroughcliffe held in
his hands, the one by the handle, and the other
by its barrel, and the soldier even fancied that his
footsteps were quickened by the sight. After gazing
at him until his form was lost in the darkness,
the captain muttered to himself—
“He is no more than a common Pilot after all!
No true gentleman would have received so palpable
a hint with such a start. Ah! here comes the party
of my worthy friend whose palate knows a grape
of the north side of Madeira, from one of the south.
The dog has the throat of a gentleman! we will
see how he can swallow a delicate allusion to his
faults!”
Borroughcliffe stepped aside to allow the marines,
who were also in motion for the boats, to
pass, and watched with keen looks for the person
of the commander. Manual, who had been
previously apprized of the intention of Griffith to
but those who had been liberated by authority, were
marching into the country. This accidental circumstance
gave Borroughcliffe an opportunity of
meeting the other at some little distance from either
of their respective parties.
“I greet you, sir,” said Borroughcliffe, “with
all affection. This has been a pleasant forage for
you, Capt. Manual.”
The marine was far from being disposed to
wrangle, but there was that in the voice of the other
which caused him to answer—
“It would have been far pleasanter, sir, if I had
met an opportunity of returning to Capt. Borroughcliffe
some of the favours that I have received
at his hands.”
“Nay, then, dear sir, you weigh my modesty to
the earth! Surely you forget the manner in which
my hospitality has been requited—by some two
hours' mouthing of my sword hilt; with a very unceremonious
ricochet into a corner; together with
a love-tap, received over the shoulders of one of
my men, by so gentle an instrument as the butt of
a musket! Damme, sir, but I think an ungrateful
man only a better sort of beast!”
“Had the love tap been given to the officer instead
of the man,” returned Manual, with all commendable
coolness, “it would have been better justice;
and the ramrod might have answered as well
as the butt, to floor a gentleman who carried the allowance
of four thirsty fiddlers under one man's
jacket.”
“Now, that is rank ingratitude to your own cordial
of the south side, and a most biting insult! I really
see but one way of terminating this wordy war,
which if not discreetly ended, may lead us far
into the morning.”
“Elect your own manner of determining the
dispute, sir; I hope, however, it will not be by
your innate knowledge of mankind, which has
already mistaken a captain of marines in the service
of Congress, for a runaway lover, bound to
some green place or other.”
“You might just as well tweak my nose, sir!”
said Borroughcliffe. “Indeed, I think it would
be the milder reproach of the two! will you make
your selection of these, sir? They were loaded
for a very different sort of service, but I doubt not
will answer on occasion.”
“I am provided with a pair, that are charged
for any service,” returned Manual, drawing a pistol
from his own belt, and stepping backward a few
paces.
“You are destined for America, I know,” said
Borroughcliffe, who stood his ground with consummate
coolness; “but it would be more convenient
for me, sir, if you could delay your march
for a single moment.”
“Fire and defend yourself!” exclaimed Manual
furiously, retracing his steps towards his
enemy.
The sounds of the two pistols were blended in
one report, and the soldiers of Borroughcliffe and
the marines all rushed to the place, on the sudden
alarm. Had the former been provided with arms,
it is probable a bloody fray would have been the
consequence of the sight that both parties beheld
on arriving at the spot, which they did simultaneously.
Manual lay on his back, without any signs
of life, and Borroughcliffe had changed his cool,
haughty, upright attitude, for a recumbent posture,
which was somewhat between lying and sitting.
“Is the poor fellow actually expended?” said
the Englishman, in something like the tones of regret;
was nearly as great a fool as myself!”
The marines had, luckily for the soldiers and
their captain, by this time discovered the signs of
life in their own commander, who had been only
slightly stunned by the bullet which had grazed his
crown, and who being assisted on his feet, stood a
minute or two rubbing his head, as if awaking
from a dream. As Manual came gradually to his
senses he recollected the business in which he had
just been engaged, and, in his turn, inquired after
the fate of his antagonist.
“I am here, my worthy incognito,” cried the
other, with a voice of perfect good nature; “lying
in the lap of mother Earth, and all the better for
opening a vein or two in my right leg;—though I
do think that the same effect might have been produced
without treating the bone so roughly!—But
I opine that I saw you also reclining on the bosom
of our common ancestor.”
“I was down for a few minutes, I do believe,”
returned Manual; “there is the path of a bullet
across my scalp!”
“Humph! on the head!” said Borroughcliffe,
dryly; “the hurt is not likely to be mortal, I see
—Well, I shall offer to raffle with the first poor
devil I can find that has but one good leg, for who
shall have both; and that will just set up a beggar
and a gentleman!—Manual, give me your hand;
we have drank together, and we have fought;
surely there is nothing now to prevent our being
sworn friends!”
“Why,” returned Manual, continuing to rub his
head, “I see no irremoveable objections—but you
will want a surgeon? can I order any thing to be
done? There go the signals again to embark—
march the fellows down at quick time, sergeant; my
without assistance.”
“Ah! you are what I call a well made man,
my dear friend!” exclaimed Borroughcliffe; “no
weak points about your fortress! such a man is
worthy to be the head of a whole corps, instead of
a solitary company;—Gently, Drill, gently; handle
me as if I were made of potter's clay;—I will
not detain you longer, my friend Manual, for I hear
signal after signal; they must be in want of some
of your astonishing reasoning faculties to set them
afloat.
Manual might have been offended at the palpable
allusions that his new friend made to the firmness
of his occiput, had not his perception of
things been a little confused, by a humming sound
that seemed to abide near the region of thought.
As it was, he reciprocated the good wishes of the
other, whom he shook most cordially by the hand,
and once more renewed his offers of service, after
exchanging sundry friendly speeches.
“I thank you quite as much as if I were not at
all indebted to you for letting blood, thereby saving
me a fit of apoplexy; but Drill has already
despatched a messenger to B—for a leech, and
the lad may bring the whole dépto down upon
you.—Adieu, once more, and remember, that if
you ever visit England again as a friend, you are
to let me see you.”
“I shall do it without fail; and I shall keep you
to your promise, if you once more put foot in America.”
“Trust me for that; I shall stand in need of
your excellent head to guide me safely among
those rude foresters! Adieu; cease not to bear
me in your thoughts.”
“I shall never cease to remember you, my good
member, which was snapping in a manner that caused
him to fancy he heard it. Once more these worthies
shook each other by the hand, and again they
renewed their promises of future intercourse; after
which they separated like two reluctant lovers—
parting in a manner that would have put to shame
the friendship of Orestes and Pylades!
| CHAPTER XIII. The pilot | |