 | CHAPTER V. The Red Rover |  |
5. CHAPTER V.
“Are you so brave? I'll have you talked with anon.”
Coriolanus.
The good people of the town of Newport sought
their rest at an early hour. They were remarkable
for that temperance and discretion which, even to
this day, distinguish the manners of the inhabitants
of New-England. By ten, the door of every house
in the place was closed for the night; and it is quite
probable, that, before another hour had passed,
scarcely an eye was open, among all those which,
throughout the day, had been sufficiently alert, not
only to superintend the interests of their proper
concerns of the rest of the neighbourhood.
The landlord of the “Foul Anchor,” as the inn,
where Fid and Nightingale had so nearly come to
blows, was called, scrupulously closed his doors at
eight; a sort of expiation, by which he endeavoured
to atone, while he slept, for any moral peccadillos
that he might have committed during the day. Indeed,
it was to be observed as a rule, that those who
had the most difficulty in maintaining their good
name, on the score of temperance and moderation,
were the most rigid in withdrawing, in season, from
the daily cares of the world. The Admiral's widow
had given no little scandal, in her time, because lights
were so often seen burning in her house long after
the hour prescribed by custom for their extinction.
Indeed, there were several other little particulars in
which this good lady had rendered herself obnoxious
to the whispered remarks of some of her female visitants.
An Episcopalian herself, she was always observed
to be employed with her needle on the evenings
of Saturdays, though by no means distinguished for
her ordinary industry. It was, however, a sort of manner
the good lady had of exhibiting her adherence
to the belief that the night of Sunday was the orthodox
evening of the Sabbath. On this subject there
was, in truth, a species of silent warfare between
herself and the wife of the principal clergyman of
the town. It resulted, happily, in no very striking
marks of hostility. The latter was content to retaliate,
by bringing her work, on the evenings of Sundays,
to the house of the dowager, and occasionally
interrupting their discourse, by a diligent application
of the needle for some five or six minutes at a time.
Against this contamination Mrs de Lacey took no
other precaution than to play with the leaves of a
prayer book, precisely on the principle that one
which the Church has considered safest for its proselytes.
Let these matters be as they would, by ten o'clock
on the night of the day our tale commences, the
town of Newport was as still as though it did not
contain a living soul. Watchmen there were none;
for roguery had not yet begun to thrive openly in
the provinces. When, therefore, Wilder and his
two companions issued, at that hour, from their
place of retirement into the empty streets, they
found them as still as if man had never trod there.
Not a candle was to be seen, nor the smallest evidence
of human life to be heard. It would seem
our adventurers knew their errand well; for, instead
of knocking up any of the drowsy publicans to demand
admission, they held their way steadily to the
water's side; Wilder leading, Fid coming next, and
Scipio, in conformity to all usage, bringing up the
rear, in his ordinary, quiet, submissive manner.
At the margin of the water they found several
small boats, moored under the shelter of a neighbouring
wharf. Wilder gave his companions their
directions, and walked to a place convenient for
embarking. After waiting the necessary time, the
bows of two boats came to the land at the same
moment, one of which was governed by the hands
of the negro, and the other by those of Fid.
“How's this?” demanded Wilder; “Is not one
enough? There is some mistake between you.”
“No mistake at all,” responded Dick, suffering
his oar to float on its blade, and running his fingers
into his hair, as if he was content with his achievement;
“no more mistake than there is in taking the
sun on a clear day and in smooth water. Guinea
is in the boat you hired; but a bad bargain you
made of it, as I thought at the time; and so, as
`better late than never' is my rule, I have just been
tightest and fastest rowing clipper of them all, then
am I no judge; and yet the parish priest would tell
you, if he were here, that my father was a boat-builder,
ay, and swear it too; that is to say, if you
paid him well for the same.”
“Fellow,” returned Wilder, angrily, “you will
one day induce me to turn you adrift. Return the
boat to the place where you found it, and see it secured
in the same manner as before.”
“Turn me adrift!” deliberately repeated Fid,
“that would be cutting all your weather lanyards at
one blow, master Harry. Little good would come
of Scipio Africa and you, after I should part company.
Have you ever fairly logg'd the time we have
sailed together?”
“Ay, have I; but it is possible to break even a
friendship of twenty years.”
“Saving your presence, master Harry, I'll be
d—d if I believe any such thing. Here is Guinea,
who is no better than a nigger, and therein far from
being a fitting messmate to a white man; but, being
used to look at his black face for four-and-twenty
years, d'ye see, the colour has got into my eye, and
now it suits as well as another. Then, at sea, in a
dark night, it is not so easy a matter to tell the difference.
No, no, I am not tired of you yet, master
Harry; and it is no trifle that shall part us.”
“Then, abandon your habit of making free with
the property of others.”
“I abandon nothing. No man can say he ever
knowed me to quit a deck while a plank stuck to
the beams; and shall I abandon, as you call it, my
rights? What is the mighty matter, that all hands
must be called to see an old sailor punished? You
gave a lubberly fisherman, a fellow who has never
been in deeper water than his own line will sound,
you gave him, I say, a glittering spaniard, just for the
small reach into the morning. Well, what does Dick
do? He says to himself—for d—e if he's any
blab to run round a ship grumbling at his officer—
so, he just says to himself, `That's too much;' and
he looks about, to find the worth of it in some of the
fisherman's neighbours. Money can be eaten; and,
what is better, it may be drunk; therefore, it is not
to be pitched overboard with the cook's ashes. I'll
warrant me, if the truth could be fairly come by, it
would be found, that, as to the owners of this here
yawl, and that there skiff, their mothers are cousins,
and that the dollar will go in snuff and strong drink
among the whole family—so, no great harm done,
after all.”
Wilder made an impatient gesture to the other to
obey, and walked up the bank, while he had time to
comply. Fid never disputed a positive and distinct
order, though he often took so much discretionary
latitude in executing those which were less precise.
He did not hesitate, therefore, to return the boat;
but he did not carry his subordination so far as to
do it without complaint. When this act of justice
was performed, Wilder entered the skiff; and, seeing
that his companions were seated at their oars, he
bade them to pull down the harbour, admonishing
them, at the same time, to make as little noise as
possible.
“The night I rowed you into Louisbourg, a-reconnoitring,”
said Fid, thrusting his left hand into his
bosom, while, with his right, he applied sufficient
force to the light oar to make the skiff glide swiftly
over the water—“that night we muffled every thing,
even to our tongues. When there is occasion to put
stoppers on the mouths of a boat's crew, why, I'm
not the man to gainsay it; but, as I am one of them
that thinks tongues were just as much made to talk
with, as the sea was made to live on, I uphold rational
where are you shoving the skiff to? hereaway lies
the island, and you are for going into yonder bit of
a church.”
“Lay on your oars,” interrupted Wilder; “let
the boat drift by this vessel.”
They were now in the act of passing the ship,
which had been warping from the wharfs to an anchorage,
and in which the young sailor had so clandestinely
heard that Mrs Wyllys and the fascinating
Gertrude were to embark, on the following morning,
for the distant province of Carolina. As the skiff
floated past, Wilder examined the vessel, by the dim
light of the stars, with a seaman's eye. No part of
her hull, her spars, or her rigging, escaped his notice;
and, when the whole became confounded, by the
distance, in one dark mass of shapeless matter, he
leaned his head over the side of his little bark, and
mused long and deeply with himself. To this abstraction
Fid presumed to offer no interruption. It
had the appearance of professional duty; a subject
that, in his eyes, was endowed with a species of
character that might be called sacred. Scipio was
habitually silent. After losing many minutes in this
manner, Wilder suddenly regained his recollection,
and abruptly observed,—
“It is a tall ship, and one that should make a long
chase!”
“That's as may be,” returned the ready Fid.
“Should that fellow get a free wind, and his canvas
all abroad, it might worry a King's cruiser to get
nigh enough to throw the iron on his decks; but
jamm'd up close hauled, why, I'd engage to lay on
his weather quarter, with the saucy He—”
“Boys,” interrupted Wilder, “it is now proper
that you should know something of my future movements.
We have been shipmates, I might almost
say messmates, for more than twenty years. I was
to the commander of your ship, and not only was
instrumental in saving my life, but in putting me into
a situation to make an officer.”
“Ay, ay, you were no great matter, master Harry,
as to bulk; and a short hammock served your turn
as well as the captain's birth.”
“I owe you a heavy debt, Fid, for that one generous
act, and something, I may add, for your steady
adherence to me since.”
“Why, yes, I've been pretty steady in my conduct,
master Harry, in this here business, more particularly,
seeing that I have never let go my grapplings,
though you've so often sworn to turn me
adrift. As for Guinea, here, the chap makes fair
weather with you, blow high or blow low, whereas
it is no hard matter to get up a squall between us,
as might be seen in that small affair about the
boat;”—
“Say no more of it,” interrupted Wilder, whose
feelings appeared sensibly touched, as his recollections
ran over long-past and bitterly-remembered
scenes: “You know that little else than death can
part us, unless indeed you choose to quit me now.
It is right that you should know that I am engaged
in a desperate pursuit, and one that may easily end
in ruin to myself and all who accompany me. I feel
reluctant to separate from you, my friends, for it may
be a final parting, but, at the same time, you should
know all the danger.”
“Is there much more travelling by land?” bluntly
demanded Fid.
“No; the duty, such as it is, will be done entirely
on the water.”
“Then bring forth your ship's books, and find room
for such a mark as a pair of crossed anchors, which
stand for all the same as so many letters reading
Richard Fid.' ”
“But perhaps, when you know”—
“I want to know nothing about it, master Harry.
Haven't I sailed with you often enough under sealed
orders, to trust my old body once more in your company,
without forgetting my duty? What say you,
Guinea? will you ship? or shall we land you at once,
on yonder bit of a low point, and leave you to scrape
acquaintance with the clams?”
“ 'Em berry well off, here,” muttered the perfectly
contented negro.
“Ay, ay, Guinea is like the launch of one of the
coasters, always towing in your wake, master Harry;
whereas I am often luffing athwart your hawse, or
getting foul, in some fashion or other, on one of your
quarters. Howsomever, we are both shipped, as
you see, in this here cruise, with the particulars of
which we are both well satisfied. So pass the word
among us, what is to be done next, and no more
parley.”
“Remember the cautions you have already received,”
returned Wilder, who saw that the devotion
of his followers was too infinite to need quickening,
and who knew, from long and perilous experience,
how implicitly he might rely on their fidelity, notwithstanding
certain failings, that were perhaps peculiar
to their condition; “remember what I have
already given in charge; and now pull directly for yon
ship in the outer harbour.”
Fid and the black promptly complied; and the
boat was soon skimming the water between the little
island and what might, by comparison, be called
the main. As they approached the vessel, the strokes
of the oars were moderated, and finally abandoned
altogether, Wilder preferring to let the skiff drop
down with the tide upon the object he wished well
to examine before venturing to board.
“Has not that ship her nettings triced to the rigging?”
he demanded, in a voice that was lowered to
betrayed, at the same time, the interest he took in
the reply.
“According to my sight, she has,” returned Fid;
“your slavers are a little pricked by conscience, and
are never over-bold, unless when they are chasing a
young nigger on the coast of Congo. Now, there is
about as much danger of a Frenchman's looking in
here to-night, with this land breeze and clear sky, as
there is of my being made Lord High Admiral of
England; a thing not likely to come to pass soon,
seeing that the King don't know a great deal of my
merit.”
“They are, to a certainty, ready to give a warm
reception to any boarders!” continued Wilder, who
rarely paid much attention to the amplifications with
which Fid so often saw fit to embellish the discourse.
“It would be no easy matter to carry a ship thus
prepared, if her people were true to themselves.”
“I warrant ye there is a full quarter-watch at least
sleeping among her guns, at this very moment, with
a bright look-out from her cat-heads and taffrail. I
was once on the weather fore-yard-arm of the Hebe,
when I made, hereaway to the south-west, a sail
coming large upon us,”—
“Hist! they are stirring on her decks!”
“To be sure they are. The cook is splitting a
log; the captain has sung out for his night-cap.”
The voice of Fid was lost in a summons from the
ship, that sounded like the roaring of some sea monster,
which had unexpectedly raised its head above
the water. The practised ears of our adventurers
instantly comprehended it to be, what it truly was,
the manner in which it was not unusual to hail a
boat. Without taking time to ascertain that the
plashing of oars was to be heard in the distance,
Wilder raised his form in the skiff, and answered.
“How now?” exclaimed the same strange voice;
thus. Whereaway are you, he that answers?”
“A little on your larboard bow; here, in the
shadow of the ship.”
“And what are ye about, within the sweep of my
hawse?”
“Cutting the waves with my taffrail,” returned
Wilder, after a moment's hesitation.
“What fool has broke adrift here!” muttered his
interrogator. “Pass a blunderbuss forward, and
let us see if a civil answer can't be drawn from the
fellow.”
“Hold!” said a calm but authoritative voice from
the most distant part of the ship; “it is as it should
be; let them approach.”
The man in the bows of the vessel bade them
come along side, and then the conversation ceased.
Wilder had now an opportunity to discover, that, as
the hail had been intended for another boat, which
was still at a distance, he had answered prematurely.
But, perceiving that it was too late to retreat with
safety, or perhaps only acting in conformity to his
original determination, he directed his companions
to obey.
“ `Cutting the waves with the taffrail,' is not the
civillest answer a man can give to a hail,” muttered
Fid, as he dropped the blade of his oar into the
water; “nor is it a matter to be logged in a man's
memory, that they have taken offence at the same.
Howsomever, master Harry, if they are so minded
as to make a quarrel about the thing, give them as
good as they send, and count on manly backers.”
No reply was made to this encouraging assurance;
for, by this time, the skiff was within a few feet of the
ship. Wilder ascended the side of the vessel amid
a deep, and, as he felt it to be, an ominous silence.
The night was dark, though enough light fell from
the stars, that were here and there visible, to render
seaman. When our young adventurer touched the
deck, he cast a hurried and scrutinizing look about
him, as if doubts and impressions, which had long
been harboured, were all to be resolved by that first
view.
An ignorant landsman would have been struck
with the order and symmetry with which the tall
spars rose towards the heavens, from the black mass
of the hull, and with the rigging that hung in the
air, one dark line crossing another, until all design
seemed confounded in the confusion and intricacy of
the studied maze. But to Wilder these familiar objects
furnished no immediate attraction. His first
rapid glance had, like that of all seamen, it is true,
been thrown upward, but it was instantly succeeded
by the brief, though keen, examination to which we
have just alluded. With the exception of one who,
though his form was muffled in a large sea-cloak,
seemed to be an officer, not a living creature was to
be seen on the decks. On either side there was a
dark, frowning battery, arranged in the beautiful and
imposing order of marine architecture; but nowhere
could he find a trace of the crowd of human beings
which usually throng the deck of an armed ship, or
that was necessary to render the engines effective.
It might be that her people were in their hammocks,
as usual at that hour, but still it was customary to
leave a sufficient number on the watch, to look to
the safety of the vessel. Finding himself so unexpectedly
confronted with a single individual, our
adventurer began to be sensible of the awkwardness
of his situation, and of the necessity of some explanation.
“You are no doubt surprised, sir,” he said, “at
the lateness of the hour that I have chosen for my
visit.”
“You were certainly expected earlier,” was the
laconic answer.
“Expected!”
“Ay, expected. Have I not seen you, and your
two companions who are in the boat, reconnoitring
us half the day, from the wharfs of the town, and
even from the old tower on the hill? What did all
this curiosity foretel, but an intention to come on
board?”
“This is odd, I will acknowledge!” exclaimed
Wilder, in some secret alarm. “And, then, you had
notice of my intentions?”
“Hark ye, friend,” interrupted the other, indulging
in a short, low laugh; “from your outfit and appearance,
I think I am right in calling you a seaman:
Do you imagine that glasses were forgotten in the
inventory of this ship? or, do you fancy that we don't
know how to use them?”
“You must have strong reasons for looking so
deeply into the movements of strangers on the land.”
“Hum! Perhaps we expect our cargo from the
country. But I suppose you have not come so far
in the dark to look at our manifest. You would see
the Captain?”
“Do I not see him?”
“Where?” demanded the other, with a start that
manifested he stood in a salutary awe of his superior.
“In yourself.”
“I! I have not got so high in the books, though
my time may come yet, some fair day. Hark ye,
friend; you passed under the stern of yonder ship,
which has been hauling into the stream, in coming
out to us?”
“Certainly; she lies, as you see, directly in my
course.”
“A wholesome-looking craft that! and one well
they tell me.”
“It would so seem: her sails are bent, and she
floats like a ship that is full.”
“Of what?” abruptly demanded the other.
“Of articles mentioned in her manifest, no doubt.
But you seem light yourself: if you are to load at
this port, it will be some days before you put to sea.”
“Hum! I don't think we shall be long after our
neighbour,” the other remarked, a little drily.
Then, as if he might have said too much, he added
hastily, “We slavers carry little else, you know,
than our shackles and a few extra tierces of rice;
the rest of our ballast is made up of these guns, and
the stuff to put into them.”
“And is it usual for ships in the trade to carry so
heavy an armament?”
“Perhaps it is, perhaps not. To own the truth,
there is not much law on the coast, and the strong
arm often does as much as the right. Our owners,
therefore, I believe, think it quite as well there
should be no lack of guns and ammunition on board.”
“They should also give you people to work
them.”
“They have forgotten that part of their wisdom,
certainly.”
His words were nearly drowned by the same gruff
voice that had brought-to the skiff of Wilder, which
sent another hoarse summons across the water, rolling
out sounds that were intended to say,—
“Boat, ahoy!”
The answer was quick, short, and nautical; but
it was rendered in a low and cautious tone. The
individual, with whom Wilder had been holding such
equivocating parlance, seemed embarrassed by the
sudden interruption, and a little at a loss to know
how to conduct himself. He had already made a
motion to wards leading his visiter to the cabin, when
along side of the ship, announcing that he was too
late. Bidding the other remain where he was, he
sprang to the gangway, in order to receive those
who had just arrived.
By this sudden desertion, Wilder found himself in
entire possession of that part of the vessel where he
stood. It gave him a better opportunity to renew
his examination, and to cast a scrutinizing eye also
over the new comers.
Some five or six athletic-looking seamen ascended
from the boat, in profound silence. A short and
whispered conference took place between them and
their officer, who appeared both to receive a report,
and to communicate an order. When these preliminary
matters were ended, a line was lowered, from
a whip on the main-yard, the end evidently dropping
into the newly-arrived boat. In a moment, the burthen
it was intended to transfer to the ship was seen
swinging in the air, midway between the water and
the spar. It then slowly descended, inclining in-board,
until it was safely, and somewhat carefully,
landed on the decks of the vessel.
During the whole of this process, which in itself
had nothing extraordinary or out of the daily practice
of large vessels in port, Wilder had strained his
eyes, until they appeared nearly ready to start from
their sockets. The black mass, which had been
lifted from the boat, seemed, while it lay against the
back-ground of sky, to possess the proportions of the
human form. The seamen gathered about this object.
After much bustle, and a good deal of low
conversation, the burthen or body, whichever it
might be called, was raised by the men, and the
whole disappeared together, behind the masts, boats,
and guns which crowded the forward part of the
vessel.
The whole event was of a character to attract
so intently riveted on the groupe in the gangway, as
to prevent his detecting a dozen black objects, that
were suddently thrust forward, from behind the spars
and other dark masses of the vessel. They might
be blocks swinging in the air, but they bore also a
wonderful resemblance to human heads. The simultaneous
manner in which they both appeared and
disappeared, served to confirm this impression; nor,
to confess the truth, had our adventurer any doubt
that curiosity had drawn so many inquiring countenances
from their respective places of concealment.
He had not much leisure, however, to reflect on all
these little accompaniments of his situation, before
he was rejoined by his former companion, who, to
all appearance, was again left, with himself, to the
entire possession of the deck.
“You know the trouble of getting off the people
from the shore,” the officer observed, “when a ship
is ready to sail.”
“You seem to have a summary method of hoisting
them in,” returned Wilder.
“Ah! you speak of the fellow on the whip? Your
eyes are good, friend, to tell a jack-knife from a
marling-spike, at this distance. But the lad was
mutinous; that is, not absolutely mutinous—but,
drunk. As mutinous as a man can well be, who can
neither speak, sit, nor stand.”
Then, as if as well content with his humour as
with this simple explanation, the other laughted and
chuckled, in a manner that showed he was in perfect
good humour with himself.
“But all this time you are left on deck,” he quickly
added, “and the Captain is waiting your appearance
in the cabin: Follow; I will be your pilot.”
“Hold,” said Wilder; “will it not be as well to
announce my visit?”
“He knows it already: Little takes place aboard,
the log-book.”
Wilder made no further objection, but indicated
his readiness to proceed. The other led the way to
the bulkhead which separated the principal cabin
from the quarter-deck of the ship; and, pointing to
a door, he rather whispered than said aloud,—
“Tap twice; if he answer, go in.”
Wilder did as he was directed. His first summons
was either unheard or disregarded. On repeating
it, he was bid to enter. The young seaman opened
the door, with a crowd of sensations, that will find
their solution in the succeeding parts of our narrative,
and instantly stood, under the light of a powerful
lamp, in the presence of the stranger in green.
| CHAPTER V. The Red Rover | |