 | CHAPTER III. The Red Rover |  |
3. CHAPTER III.
Alonzo. “Good boatswain, have care.”
—Tempest.
The instant the stranger had separated from the
credulous tailor, he lost his assumed air in one far
more natural and sedate. Still it would seem that
thought was an unwonted, or an unwelcome tenant
of his mind; for, switching his boot with his little
place with a light step and a wandering eye. Though
his look was unsettled, few of the individuals, whom
he passed, escaped his quick glances; and it was
quite apparent, from the hurried manner in which
he began to regard objects, that his mind was not
less active than his body. A stranger thus accoutred,
and one bearing about his person so many evidences
of his recent acquaintance with the road, did not
fail to attract the attention of the provident publicans
we have had occasion to mention in our opening
chapter. Declining the civilities of the most favoured
of the inn-keepers, he suffered his steps to be,
oddly enough, arrested by the one whose house was
the usual haunt of the hangers-on of the port.
On entering the bar-room of this tavern, as it was
called, but which in the mother country would probably
have aspired to be termed no more than a pothouse,
he found the hospitable apartment thronged
with its customary revellers. A slight interruption
was produced by the appearance of a guest who was
altogether superior, in mien and attire, to the ordinary
customers of the house, but it ceased the moment
the stranger had thrown himself on a bench,
and intimated to the host the nature of his wants.
As the latter furnished the required draught, he made
a sort of apology, which was intended for the ears
of all his customers nigh the stranger, for the manner
in which an individual, in the further end of the long
narrow room, not only monopolized the discourse,
but appeared to extort the attention of all within
hearing to some portentous legend he was recounting.
“It is the boatswain of the slaver in the outer
harbour, squire,” the worthy disciple of Bacchus
concluded; “a man who has followed the water
many a day, and who has seen sights and prodigies
enough to fill a smart volume. Old Bor'us the people
Is the toddy to the squire's relish?”
The stranger assented to the latter query, by
smacking his lips, and bowing, as he put down the
nearly untouched draught. He then turned his head,
to examine the individual who might, by the manner
in which he declaimed, have been termed, in
the language of the country, the second “orator of
the day.”
A stature which greatly exceeded six feet; enormous
whiskers, that quite concealed a moiety of his
grim countenance; a scar, which was the memorial
of a badly healed gash, that had once threatened to
divide that moiety in quarters; limbs in proportion;
the whole rendered striking by the dress of a seaman;
a long, tarnished silver chain, and a little
whistle of the same metal, served to render the individual
in question sufficiently remarkable. Without
appearing to be in the smallest degree aware of
the entrance of one altogether so superior to the class
of his usual auditors, this son of the Ocean continued
his narrative as follows, and in a voice that seemed
given to him by nature as if in very mockery of his
musical name; indeed, so very near did his tones
approach to the low murmurings of a bull, that some
little practice was necessary to accustom the ear to
the strangely uttered words.
“Well!” he continued, thrusting his brawny arm
forth, with the fist clenched, indicating the necessary
point of the compass by the thumb; “the coast
of Guinea might have lain hereaway, and the wind,
you see, was dead off shore, blowing in squalls, as a
cat spits, all the same as if the old fellow, who keeps
it bagged for the use of us seamen, sometimes let the
stopper slip through his fingers, and was sometimes
fetching it up again with a double turn round the
end of his sack.—You know what a sack is, brother?”
This abrupt question was put to the gaping bumpkin,
nether garment just received from the tailor under
his arm, had lingered, to add the incidents of the
present legend to the stock of lore that he had already
obtained for the ears of his kinsfolk in the country.
A general laugh, at the expense of the admiring Pardon,
succeeded. Nightingale bestowed a knowing
wink on one or two of his familiars, and, profiting
by the occasion, “to freshen his nip,” as he quaintly
styled swallowing a pint of rum and water, he continued
his narrative by saying, in a sort of admonitory
tone,—
“And the time may come when you will know
what a round-turn is, too, if you let go your hold of
honesty. A man's neck was made, brother, to keep
his head above water, and not to be stretched out of
shape like a pair of badly fitted dead-eyes. Therefore,
have your reckoning worked up in season, and
the lead of conscience going, when you find yourself
drifting on the shoals of temptation.” Then, rolling
his tobacco in his mouth, he looked boldly about
him, like one who had acquitted himself of a moral
obligation, and continued: “Well, there lay the land,
and, as I was saying, the wind was here, at east-and-by-south,
or mayhap at east-and-by-south-half-south,
sometimes blowing like a fin-back in a hurry, and
sometimes leaving all the canvas chafing ag'in the
rigging and spars, as if a bolt of duck cost no more
nor a rich man's blessing. I didn't like the looks of
the weather, seeing that there was altogether too
much unsartainty for a quiet watch, so I walked aft,
in order to put myself in the way of giving an opinion,
if-so-be such a thing should be asked. You must
know, brothers, that, according to my notions of religion
and behaviour, a man is not good for much,
unless he has a fall share of manners; therefore I
am never known to put my spoon into the captain's
mess, unless I am invited, for the plain reason, that
which end of a ship the better man is to be found;
that is a matter concerning which men have different
opinions, though most judges in the business are
agreed. But aft I walked, to put myself in the way
of giving an opinion, if one should be asked; nor
was it long before the thing came to pass just as I
had foreseen. `Mister Nightingale,' says he; for
our Captain is a gentleman, and never forgets his
behaviour on deck, or when any of the ship's company
are at hand, `Mister Nightingale,' says he, `what
do you think of that rag of a cloud, hereaway at
the north-west?' says he. `Why, sir,' says I, boldly,
for I'm never backward in speaking, when properly
spoken to, so, `why, sir,' says I, `saving your Honour's
better judgment,'—which was all a flam, for he
was but a chicken to me in years and experience,
but then I never throw hot ashes to windward, or
any thing else that is warm—so, `sir,' says I, `it is my
advice to hand the three topsails and to stow the jib.
We are in no hurry; for the plain reason, that Guinea
will be to-morrow just where Guinea is to-night.
As for keeping the ship steady in these matters of
squalls, we have the mainsail on her—' ”
“You should have furl'd your mainsail too,” exclaimed
a voice from behind, that was quite as dogmatical,
though a little less grum, than that of the
loquacious boatswain.
“What know-nothing says that?” demanded
Nightingale fiercely, as if all his latent ire was excited
by so rude and daring an interruption.
“A man who has run Africa down, from Bon to
Good-Hope, more than once, and who knows a white
squall from a rainbow,” returned Dick Fid, edging
his short person stoutly towards his furious adversary,
making his way through the crowd by which the
important personage of the boatswain was environed,
by dint of his massive shoulders; “ay, brother,
never advise his officer to keep so much after-sail on
a ship, when there was the likelihood of the wind
taking her aback.”
To this bold vindication of an opinion which all
present deemed to be so audacious, there succeeded
a general and loud murmur. Encouraged by this
evidence of his superior popularity, Nightingale was
not slow, nor very meek, with his retort; and then
followed a clamorous concert, in which the voices
of the company in general served for the higher and
shriller notes, through which the bold and vigorous
assertions, contradictions, and opinions of the two
principal disputants were heard running a thorough-bass.
For some time, no part of the discussion was very
distinct, so great was the confusion of tongues; and
there were certain symptoms of an intention, on the
part of Fid and the boatswain, to settle their controversy
by the last appeal. During this moment of
suspense, the former had squared his firm-built frame
in front of his gigantic opponent, and there were
very vehement passings and counter-passings, in the
way of gestures from four athletic arms, each of
which was knobbed, like a fashionable rattan, with
a lump of bones, knuckles, and sinews, that threatened
annihilation to any thing that should oppose
them. As the general clamour, however, gradually
abated, the chief reasoners began to be heard; and,
as if content to rely on their respective powers of
eloquence, each gradually relinquished his hostile
attitude, and appeared disposed to maintain his ground
by a member scarcely less terrible than his brawny
arm.
“You are a bold seaman, brother,” said Nightingale,
resuming his seat, “and, if saying was doing,
no doubt you would make a ship talk. But I, who
have seen fleets of two and three deckers—and that
cruisers I will confess never to have fallen in with—
lying as snug as so many white gulls, under reefed
mainsails, know how to take the strain off a ship,
and to keep my bulkheads in their places.”
“I deny the judgment of heaving-to a boat under
her after square-sails,” retorted Dick. “Give her
the staysails, if you will, and no harm done; but a
true seaman will never get a bagful of wind between
his mainmast and his lee-swifter, if-so-be he knows
his business. But words are like thunder, which
rumbles aloft, without coming down a spar, as I have
yet seen; let us therefore put the question to some
one who has been on the water, and knows a little
of life and of ships.”
“If the oldest admiral in his Majesty's fleet was
here, he wouldn't be backward in saying who is right
and who is wrong. I say, brothers, if there is a man
among you all who has had the advantage of a sea
education, let him speak, in order that the truth of
this matter may not be hid, like a marlingspike jammed
between a brace-block and a blackened yard.”
“Here, then, is the man,” returned Fid; and,
stretching out his arm, he seized Scipio by the collar,
and drew him, without ceremony, into the centre of
the circle, that had opened around the two disputants.
“There is a man for you, who has made one
more voyage between this and Africa than myself,
for the reason that he was born there. Now, answer
as if you were hallooing from a lee-earing, S'ip, under
what sail would you heave-to a ship, on the coast
of your native country, with the danger of a white
squall at hand?”
“I no heave-'em-to,” said the black, “I make 'em
scud.”
“Ay, boy; but, to be in readiness for the puff,
would you jam her up under a mainsail, or let her
lie a little off under a fore course?”
“Any fool know dat,” returned Scipio, grumly,
and evidently tired already of being thus catechised.
“If you want 'em fall off, how you'm expect, in
reason, he do it under a main course? You answer
me dat, misser Dick.”
“Gentlemen,” said Nightingale, looking about him
with an air of great gravity, “I put it to your Honours,
is it genteel behaviour to bring a nigger, in this
out-of-the-way fashion, to give an opinion in the teeth
of a white man?”
This appeal to the wounded dignity of the company
was answered by a common murmur. Scipio,
who was prepared to maintain, and would have
maintained, his professional opinion, after his positive
and peculiar manner, against any disputant, had
not the heart to resist so general an evidence of the
impropriety of his presence. Without uttering a
word in vindication or apology, he folded his arms,
and walked out of the house, with the submission
and meekness of one who had been too long trained
in humility to rebel. This desertion on the part of
his companion was not, however, so quietly acquiesced
in by Fid, who found himself thus unexpectedly
deprived of the testimony of the black. He loudly
remonstrated against his retreat; but, finding it in
vain, he crammed the end of several inches of tobacco
into his mouth, swearing, as he followed the
African, and keeping his eye, at the same time, firmly
fastened on his adversary, that, in his opinion,
“the lad, if he was fairly skinned, would be found
to be the whiter man of the two.”
The triumph of the boatswain was now complete;
nor was he at all sparing of his exultation.
“Gentlemen,” he said, addressing himself, with
an air of increased confidence, to the motley audience
who surrounded him, “you see that reason is like a
ship bearing down with studding-sails on both sides,
leaving a straight wake and no favours. Now, I
has just sheered off, in time to save his character,
but this I will say, that the man is not to be found,
between Boston and the West Indies, who knows
better than myself how to make a ship walk, or how
to make her stand still, provided I”—
The deep voice of Nightingale became suddenly
hushed, and his eye was riveted, by a sort of enchantment,
on the keen glance of the stranger in
green, whose countenance was now seen blended
among the more vulgar faces of the crowd.
“Mayhap,” continued the boatswain, swallowing
his words, in the surprise of seeing himself so unexpectedly
confronted by so imposing an eye, “mayhap
this gentleman has some knowledge of the sea,
and can decide the matter in dispute.”
“We do not study naval tactics at the universities,”
returned the other briskly, though I will confess, from
the little I have heard, I am altogether in favour of
scudding.”
He pronounced the latter word with an emphasis
which rendered it questionable if he did not mean to
pun; the more especially as he threw down his reckoning,
and instantly left the field to the quiet possession
of Nightingale. The latter, after a short pause,
resumed his narrative, though, either from weariness
or some other cause, it was observed that his voice
was far less positive than before, and that his tale
was cut prematurely short. After completing his
narrative and his grog, he staggered to the beach,
whither a boat was shortly after despatched to convey
him on board the ship, which, during all this
time, had not ceased to be the constant subject of
the suspicious examination of the good-man Home-spun.
In the mean while, the stranger in green had pursued
his walk along the main street of the town. Fid
had given chase to the disconcerted Scipio, grumbling
on the knowledge and seamanship of the boat-swain.
They soon joined company again, the former
changing his attack to the negro, whom he liberally
abused, for abandoning a point which he
maintained was as simple, and as true, as “that yonder
bit of a schooner would make more way, going
wing-and-wing, than jammed up on a wind.”
Probably diverted with the touches of peculiar
character he had detected in this singular pair of
confederates, or possibly led by his own wayward
humour, the stranger followed their footsteps. After
turning from the water, they mounted a hill, the latter
a little in the rear of his pilots, until he lost sight
of them in a bend of the street, or rather road; for,
by this time, they were past even the little suburbs
of the town. Quickening his steps, the barrister, as
he had announced himself to be, was glad to catch
a glimpse of the two worthies, seated under a fence
several minutes after he had believed them lost.
They were making a frugal meal, off the contents of
a little bag which the white had borne under his arm,
and from which he now dispensed liberally to his
companion, who had taken his post sufficiently nigh
to proclaim that perfect amity was restored, though
still a little in the back ground, in deference to the
superior condition which the other enjoyed through
favour of his colour. Approaching the spot, the
stranger observed,—
“If you make so free with the bag, my lads, your
third man may have to go supperless to bed.”
“Who hails?” said Dick, looking up from his
bone, with an expression much like that of a mastiff
when engaged at a similar employment.
“I merely wished to remind you that you had
another messmate,” cavalierly returned the other.
“Will you take a cut, brother?” said the seaman,
offering the bag, with the liberality of a sailor, the
made on its contents.
“You still mistake my meaning; on the wharf you
had another companion.”
“Ay, ay; he is in the offing there, overhauling
that bit of a light-house, which is badly enough moored,
unless they mean it to shew the channel to your
ox-teams and inland traders; hereaway, gentlemen,
where you see that pile of stones which seems likely
to be coming down shortly by-the-run.”
The stranger looked in the direction indicated by
the other, and saw the young mariner, to whom he
had alluded, standing at the foot of a ruined tower,
which was crumbling under the slow operations of
time, at no great distance from the place where he
stood. Throwing a handful of small change to the
seamen, he wished them a better meal, and crossed
the fence, with an apparent intention of examining
the ruin also.
“The lad is free with his coppers,” said Dick,
suspending the movements of his teeth, to give the
stranger another and a better look; “but, as they
will not grow where he has planted them, S'ip, you
may turn them over to my pocket. An off-handed
and a free-handed chap that, Africa; but then these
law-dealers get all their pence of the devil, and they
are sure of more, when the shot begins to run low
in the locker.”
Leaving the negro to collect the money, and to
transfer it, as in duty bound, to the hands of him
who, if not his master, was at all times ready and
willing to exercise the authority of one, we shall
follow the stranger in his walk toward the tottering
edifice. There was little about the ruin itself to attract
the attention of one who, from his assertions,
had probably often enjoyed the opportunities of examining
far more imposing remains of former ages,
on the other side of the Atlantic. It was a small
by arches, and might have been constructed, in
the infancy of the country, as a place of defence,
though it is far more probable that it was a work
of a less warlike nature. More than half a century
after the period of which we are writing, this little
edifice, peculiar in its form, its ruinous condition,
and its materials, has suddenly become the study
and the theme of that very learned sort of individual,
the American antiquarian. It is not surprising
that a ruin thus honoured should have become the
object of many a hot and erudite discussion. While
the chivalrous in the arts and in the antiquities of
the country have been gallantly breaking their lances
around the mouldering walls, the less instructed and
the less zealous have regarded the combatants with
the same species of wonder as they would have manifested
had they been present when the renowned
knight of La Mancha tilted against those other wind-mills,
so ingeniously described by the immortal Cervantes.
On reaching the place, the stranger in green gave
his boot a smart blow with the riding whip, as if to
attract the attention of the abstracted young sailor,
and freely remarked,—
“A very pretty object this would be, if covered
with ivy, to be seen peeping through an opening in
a wood. But I beg pardon; gentlemen of your profession
have little to do with woods and crumbling
stones. Yonder is the tower,” pointing to the tall
masts of the ship in the outer harbour, “you love to
look on; and your only ruin is a wreck!”
“You seem familiar with our tastes, sir,” coldly
returned the other.
“It is by instinct, then; for it is certain I have
had but little opportunity of acquiring my knowledge
by actual communion with any of the—cloth; nor
do I perceive that I am likely to be more fortunate
amity: What do you see about this pile of stones,
that can keep you so long from your study of yonder
noble and gallant ship?”
“Did it then surprise you that a seaman out of
employment should examine a vessel that he finds
to his mind, perhaps with an intention to ask for
service?”
“Her commander must be a dull fellow, if he refuse
it to so proper a lad! But you seem to be too
well instructed for any of the meaner births.”
“Births!” repeated the other, again fastening his
eyes, with a singular expression, on the stranger in
green.
“Births! It is your nautical word for `situation,'
or `station;' is it not? We know but little of the
marine vocabulary, we barristers; but I think I may
venture on that as the true Doric. Am I justified by
your authority?”
“The word is certainly not yet obsolete; and, by
a figure, it is as certainly correct in the sense you
used it.”
“Obsolete!” repeated the stranger in green, returning
the meaning look he had just received: “Is
that the name of any part of a ship? Perhaps, by
figure, you mean figure-head; and, by obsolete, the
long-boat!”
The young seaman laughed; and, as if this sally
had broken through the barrier of his reserve, his
manner lost much of its cold restraint during the remainder
of their conference.
“It is just as plain,” he said, “that you have been
at sea, as it is that I have been at school. Since we
have both been so fortunate, we may afford to be generous,
and cease speaking in parables. For instance,
what think you has been the object and use of this
ruin, when it was in good condition?”
“In order to judge of that,” returned the stranger
closely. Let us ascend.”
As he spoke, the barrister mounted, by a crazy
ladder, to the floor which lay just above the crown of
the arches, through which he passed by an open trap-door.
His companion hesitated to follow; but, observing
that the other expected him at the summit
of the ladder, and that he very kindly pointed out a
defective round, he sprang forward, and went up the
ascent with the agility and steadiness peculiar to his
calling.
“Here we are!” exclaimed the stranger in green,
looking about at the naked walls, which were formed
of such small and irregular stones as to give the
building the appearance of dangerous frailty, “with
good oaken plank for our deck, as you would say,
and the sky for our roof, as we call the upper part
of a house at the universities. Now let us speak of
things on the lower world. A—a—; I forget what
you said was your usual appellation—”
“That might depend on circumstances. I have
been known by different names in different situations.
However, if you call me Wilder, I shall not
fail to answer.”
“Wilder!” a good name; though, I dare say, it
would have been as true were it Wildone. You
young ship-boys have the character of being a little
erratic in your humours at times. How many tender
hearts have you left to sigh for your errors, amid
shady bowers, while you have been ploughing—that
is the word, I believe—ploughing the salt-sea ocean?”
“Few sigh for me,” returned Wilder, thoughtfully,
though he evidently began to chafe a little under
this free sort of catechism. “Let us now return to
our study of the tower. What think you has been
its object?”
“Its present use is plain, and its former use can
be no great mystery. It holds at this moment two
heads, not overstocked with the stores of wisdom.
Formerly it had its granaries of corn, at least, and, I
doubt not, certain little quadrupeds, who were quite
as light of fingers as we are of head and heart. In
plain English, it has been a mill.”
“There are those who think it had been a fortress.”
“Hum! The place might do, at need,” returned
he in green, casting a rapid and peculiar glance
around him. “But mill it has been, not withstanding
one might wish it a nobler origin. The windy situation,
the pillars to keep off the invading vermin,
the shape, the air, the very complexion, prove it.
Whir-r-r, whir-r-r; there has been clatter enough
here in time past, I warrant you. Hist! It is not
done yet!”
Stepping lightly to one of the little perforations
which had once served as windows to the tower, he
cautiously thrust his head through the opening; and,
after gazing there half a minute, he withdrew it again,
making a gesture to the attentive Wilder to be silent.
The latter complied; nor was it long before the nature
of the interruption was sufficiently explained.
The silvery voice of woman was first heard at a
little distance; and then, as the speakers drew nigher,
the sounds arose directly from beneath, within
the very shadow of the tower. By a sort of tacit
consent, Wilder and the barrister chose spots favourable
to the execution of such a purpose; and each
continued, during the time the visiters remained near
the ruin, examining their persons, unseen themselves,
and we are sorry we must do so much violence to
the breeding of two such important characters in our
legend, amused and attentive listeners also to their
conversation.
| CHAPTER III. The Red Rover | |