 | CHAPTER VIII. The Red Rover |  |
8. CHAPTER VIII.
—“What is yon gentleman?”
Nurse. “The son and their of old Tiberio.”
Juliet. “What's he that follows there, that would not dance?”
Nurse. “Marry, I know not.”
Romeo and Juliet.
The sun was just heaving up, out of the field of
waters in which the blue islands of Massachusetts
lie, when the inhabitants of Newport were seen
opening their doors and windows, and preparing for
the different employments of the day, with the freshness
and alacrity of people who had wisely adhered
to the natural allotments of time in seeking their
rests, or in pursuing their pleasures. The morning
salutations passed cheerfully from one to another, as
each undid the slight fastenings of his shop; and
many a kind inquiry was made, and returned, after
the condition of a daughter's fever, or the rheumatism
of some aged grandam. As the landlord of the
“Foul Anchor” was so wary in protecting the character
of his house from any unjust imputations of
unseemly revelling, so was he among the foremost
in opening his doors, to catch any transient customer,
who might feel the necessity of washing away the
damps of the past night, in some invigorating stomachic.
This cordial was very generally taken in the
British provinces, under the various names of “bitters,”
“juleps,” “morning-drams,” “fogmatics,” &c.,
according as the situation of each district appeared
to require some particular preventive. The custom
is getting a little into disuse, it is true; but still it
retains much of that sacred character which it would
seem is the concomitant of antiquity. It is not a
little extraordinary that this venerable and laudable
practice, of washing away the unwholesome impurities
engendered in the human system, at a time when,
left exposed to the attacks of all the evils to which
flesh is heir, should subject the American to the witticisms
of his European brother. We are not among
the least grateful to those foreign philanthropists who
take so deep an interest in our welfare as seldom to
let any republican foible pass, without applying to
it, as it merits, the caustic application of their purifying
pens. We are, perhaps, the more sensible of
this generosity, because we have had so much occasion
to witness, that, so great is their zeal in behalf
of our infant States, (robust, and a little unmanageable
perhaps, but still infant) they are wont, in the
warmth of their ardour, to reform Cis-atlantic sins,
to overlook not a few backslidings of their own.
Numberless are the moral missionaries that the
mother country, for instance, has sent among us, on
these pious and benevolent errands. We can only
regret that their efforts have been crowned with so
little success. It was our fortune to be familiarly
acquainted with one of these worthies, who never
lost an opportunity of declaiming, above all, against
the infamy of the particular practice to which we
have just alluded. Indeed, so broad was the ground
he took, that he held it to be not only immoral, but,
what was far worse, ungenteel, to swallow any thing
stronger than small beer, before the hour allotted to
dinner. After that important period, it was not only
permitted to assuage the previous mortifications of
the flesh, but, so liberal did he show himself in the
orthodox indulgence, that he was regularly carried
to his bed at midnight, from which he as regularly
issued, in the course of the following morning, to
discourse again on the thousand deformities of premature
drink. And here we would take occasion
to say, that, as to our own insignificant person, we
eschew the abomination altogether; and only regret
that those of the two nations, who find pleasure in
as to the precise period, of the twenty-four
hours, when it is permitted to such Christian
gentlemen as talk English to get drunk. That the
negotiators who framed the last treaty of amity
should have overlooked this important moral topic,
is another evidence that both parties were so tired
of an unprofitable war as to patch up a peace in a
hurry. It is not too late to name a commission for
this purpose; and, in order that the question may be
fairly treated on its merits, we presume to suggest to
the Executive the propriety of nominating, as our
commissioner, some confirmed advocate of the system
of “juleps.” It is believed our worthy and indulgent
Mother can have no difficulty in selecting a
suitable opponent from the ranks of her numerous
and well-trained diplomatic corps.
With this manifestation of our personal liberality,
united to so much interest in the proper, and we
hope final, disposition of this important question, we
may be permitted to resume the narrative, without
being set down as advocates for morning stimulants,
or evening intoxication; which is a very just division
of the whole subject, as we believe, from no
very limited observation.
The landlord of the “Foul Anchor,” then, was
early a-foot, to gain an honest penny from any of the
supporters of the former system who might chance
to select his bar for their morning sacrifices to Bacchus,
in preference to that of his neighbour, he who
endeavoured to entice the lieges, by exhibiting a redfaced
man, in a scarlet coat, that was called the
“Head of George the Second,” It would seem
that the commendable activity of the alert publican
was not to go without its reward. The tide of custom
set strongly, for the first half-hour, towards the
haven of his hospitable bar; nor did he appear entirely
to abandon the hopes of a further influx, even
away. Finding, however, that his customers were
beginning to depart, on their several pursuits, he left
his station, and appeared at the outer door, with a
hand in each pocket, as though he found a secret
pleasure in the merry jingling of their new tenants.
A stranger, who had not entered with the others,
and who, of course, had not partaken of the customary
libations, was standing at a little distance,
with a hand thrust into the bosom of his vest, as if
he were chiefly occupied with his own reflections.
This figure caught the understanding eye of the publican,
who instantly conceived that no man, who had
had recourse to the proper morning stimulants, could
wear so meditative a face at that early period in the
cares of the day, and that consequently something
was yet to be gained, by opening the path of direct
communication between them.
“A clean air this, friend, to brush away the damps
of the night,” he said, snufling the really delicious
and invigorating breathings of a fine October morning.
“It is such purifiers as this, that gives our island
its character, and makes it perhaps the very healthiest,
as it is universally admitted to be the beautiful-lest,
spot in creation.—A stranger here, 'tis likely?”
“But quite lately arrived, sir,” was the reply.
“A seafaring man, by your dress? and one in
search of a ship, as I am ready to qualify to;” continued
the publican, chuckling, perhaps, at his own
penetration. “We have many such that passes here-away;
but people mustn't think, because Newport
is so flourishing a town, that births can always be had
for asking. Have you tried your luck yet in the
Capital of the Bay Province?”
“I left Boston no later than the day before yesterday.”
“What, couldn't the proud townsfolk find you a
ship! Ay, they are a mighty people at talking, and
bushel; and yet there are what I call good judges,
who think Narraganset Bay is in a fair way, shortly,
to count as many sail as Massachusetts. There,
yonder, is a wholesome brig, that is going, within the
week, to turn her horses into rum and sugar; and
here is a ship that hauled into the stream no longer
ago than yesterday sun-down. That is a noble vessel,
and has cabins fit for a prince! She'll be off
with the change of the wind; and I dare say a good
hand wouldn't go a-begging aboard her just now.
Then yonder is a slaver, off the fort, if you like a
cargo of wool-heads for your money.”
“And is it thought the ship in the inner harbour
will sail with the first wind?” demanded the stranger.
“It is downright. My wife is a full cousin to the
wife of the Collector's clerk; and I have it straight
that the papers are ready, and that nothing but the
wind detains them. I keep some short scores, you
know, friend, with the blue-jackets, and it behoves
an honest man to look to his interests in these hard
times. Yes, there she lies; a well-known ship, the
`Royal Caroline.' She makes a regular v'yage once
a year between the Provinces and Bristol, touching
here, out and home, to give us certain supplies, and
to wood and water; and then she goes home, or to
the Carolinas, as the case may be.”
“Pray, sir, has she much of an armament?” continued
the stranger, who began to lose his thoughtful
air, in the more evident interest he was beginning to
take in the discourse.
“Yes, yes; she is not without a few bull-dogs, to
bark in defence of her own rights, and to say a word
in support of his Majesty's honour, too; God bless
him! Judy! you Jude!” he shouted, at the top of
his voice, to a negro girl, who was gathering kind-ling-wood
among the chips of a ship-yard, “scamper
his bed-room windows: the man has overslept himself:
it is not common to hear seven o'clock strike,
and the thirsty tailor not appear for his bitters.”
A short cessation took place in the dialogue, while
the wench was executing her master's orders. The
summons produced no other effect than to draw a
shrill reply from Desire, whose voice penetrated,
through the thin board coverings of the little dwelling,
as readily as sound would be conveyed through
a sieve. In another moment a window was opened,
and the worthy housewife thrust her disturbed visage
into the fresh air of the morning.
“What next! what next!” demanded the offended,
and, as she was fain to believe, neglected wife,
under the impression that it was her truant husband,
making his tardy return to his domestic allegiance,
who had thus presumed to disturb her slumbers. “Is
it not enough that you have eloped from my bed and
board, for a long night, but you must dare to break
in on the natural rest of a whole family, seven blessed
children, without counting their mother! O Hector!
Hector! an example are you getting to be to the
young and giddy, and a warning will you yet prove
to the unthoughtful!”
“Bring hither the black book,” said the publican
to his wife, who had been drawn to a window by the
lamentations of Desire; “I think the woman said
something about starting on a journey between two
days; and, if such has been the philosophy of the
good-man, it behoves all honest people to look into
their accounts. Ay, as I live, Keziah, you have let
the limping beggar get seventeen and sixpence into
arrears, and that for such trifles as morning-drams
and night-caps!”
“You are wrathy, friend, without reason; the man
has made a garment for the boy at school, and found
the”—
“Hush, good woman,” interrupted her husband,
returning the book, and making a sign for her to retire;
“I dare say it will all come round in proper
time, and the less noise we make about the back-slidings
of a neighbour, the less will be said of our
own transgressions. A worthy and hard-working
mechanic, sir,” he continued, addressing the stranger;
“but a man who could never get the sun to
shine in at his windows, though, Heaven knows, the
glass is none too thick for such a blessing.”
“And do you imagine, on evidence as slight as
this we have seen, that such a man has actually absconded?”
“Why, it is a calamity that has befallen his betters!”
returned the publican, interlocking his fingers
across the rotundity of his person, with an air of
grave consideration. “We innkeepers—who live,
as it were, in plain sight of every man's secrets; for
it is after a visit to us that one is apt truly to open
his heart—should know something of the affairs of a
neighbourhood. If the good-man Homespun could
smooth down the temper of his companion as easily
as he lays a seam into its place, the thing might not
occur, but—Do you drink this morning, sir?”
“A drop of your best.”
“As I was saying,” continued the other, while he
furnished his customer, according to his desire, “if a
tailor's goose would take the wrinkles out of the
ruffled temper of a woman, as it does out of the
cloth; and then, if, after it had done this task, a man
might eat it, as he would yonder bird hanging behind
my bar—Perhaps you will have occasion to make
your dinner with us, too, sir?”
“I cannot say I shall not,” returned the stranger,
paying for the dram he had barely tasted; “it greatly
depends on the result of my inquiries concerning
the different vessels in the port.”
“Then would I, though perfectly disinterested, as
your home, while you sojourn in the town. It is the
resort of most of the seafaring men; and I may say
this much of myself, without conceit—No man can
tell you more of what you want to know, than the
landlord of the `Foul Anchor.' ”
“You advise an application to the Commander of
this vessel, in the stream, for a birth: Will she sail
so soon as you have named?”
“With the first wind. I know the whole history
of the ship, from the day they laid the blocks for her
keel to the minute when she let her anchor go where
you now see her. The great Southern Heiress,
General Grayson's fine daughter, is to be a passenger;
she, and her overlooker, Government-lady, I
believe they call her—a Mrs Wyllys—are waiting
for the signal, up here, at the residence of Madam
de Lacey; she that is the relict of the Rear-Admiral
of that name, who is full-sister to the General;
and, therefore, an aunt to the young lady, according
to my reckoning. Many people think the two fortunes
will go together; in which case, he will be
not only a lucky man, but a rich one, who gets Miss
Getty Grayson for a wife.”
The stranger, who had maintained rather an indifferent
manner during the close of the foregoing dialogue,
appeared now disposed to enter into it, with
a degree of interest suited to the sex and condition
of the present subject of their discourse. After waiting
to catch the last syllable that the publican chose
to expend his breath on, he demanded, a little abruptly,—
“And you say the house near us, on the rising
ground, is the residence of Mrs de Lacey?”
“If I did, I know nothing of the matter. By `up
here,' I mean half a mile off. It is a place fit for a
lady of her quality, and none of your elbowy dwellings,
like these crowded about us. One may easily
engage there are no such shades, in all Europe, as
them very trees that stand before the door of Madam
de Lacey.”
“It is very probable,” muttered the stranger,
who, not appearing quite as sensitive in his provincial
admiration as the publican, had already relapsed
into his former musing air. Instead of pushing
the discourse, he suddenly turned the subject, by
making some common-place remark; and then,
repeating the probability of his being obliged to
return, he walked deliberately away, taking the direction
of the residence of Mrs de Lacey. The
observing publican would, probably, have found sufficient
matter for observation, in this abrupt termination
of the interview, had not Desire, at that precise
moment, broken out of her habitation, and
diverted his attention, by the peculiarly piquant
manner in which she delineated the character of her
delinquent husband.
The reader has probably, ere this, suspected that
the individual who had conferred with the publican,
as a stranger, was not unknown to himself. It was,
in truth, no other than Wilder. But, in the completion
of his own secret purposes, the young mariner
left the wordy war in his rear; and, turning up the
gentle ascent, against the side of which the town is
built, he proceeded towards the suburbs.
It was not difficult to distinguish the house he
sought, among a dozen other similar retreats, by its
“shades,” as the innkeeper, in conformity to a provincial
use of the word, had termed a few really
noble elms that grew in the little court before its
door. In order, however, to assure himself that he
was right, he confirmed his surmises by actual inquiry,
and then continued thoughtfully on his path.
The morning had, by this time, fairly opened,
with every appearance of another of those fine,
ought to be, so distinguished. The little air there
was, came from the south, fanning the face of our adventurer,
as he occasionally paused, in his ascent, to
gaze at the different vessels in the harbour, like a
mild breeze in June. In short, it was just such a
time as one, who is fond of strolling in the fields, is
apt to seize on with rapture, and which a seaman
sets down as a day lost in his reckoning.
Wilder was first drawn from his musings by the
sound of a dialogue that came from persons who
were evidently approaching. There was one voice,
in particular, that caused his blood to thrill, he knew
not why, and which appeared unaccountably, even
to himself, to set in motion every latent faculty of
his system. Profiting, by the formation of the ground,
he sprang, unseen, up a little bank, and, approaching
an angle in a low wall, he found himself in the
immediate proximity of the speakers.
The wall enclosed the garden and pleasure-grounds
of a mansion, that he now perceived was
the residence of Mrs de Lacey. A rustic summer-house,
which, in the proper season, had been nearly
buried in leaves and flowers, stood at no great distance
from the road. By its elevation and position,
it commanded a view of the town, the harbour, the
isles of Massachusetts to the east, those of the Providence
Plantations to the west, and, to the south, an
illimitable expanse of ocean. As it had now lost its
leafy covering, there was no difficulty in looking directly
into its centre, through the rude pillars which
supported its little dome. Here Wilder discovered
precisely the very party to whose conversation he
had been a listener the previous day, while caged,
with the Rover, in the loft of the ruin. Though the
Admiral's widow and Mrs Wyllys were most in advance,
evidently addressing some one who was, like
himself, in the public road, the quick eye of the
of the blooming Gertrude, in the back-ground. His
observations were, however, interrupted by a reply
from the individual who as yet was unseen. Directed
by the voice, Wilder was next enabled to perceive
the person of a man in a green old age, who, seated
on a stone by the way side, appeared to be resting
his weary limbs, while he answered to some interrogations
from the summer-house. Though his head
was white, and the hand, which grasped a long
walking-staff, sometimes trembled, as its owner
sought additional support from its assistance, there
was that in the costume, the manner, and the voice
of the speaker, which furnished sufficient evidence
of his having once been a veteran of the sea.
“Lord! your Ladyship, Ma'am,” he said, in
tones that were getting tremulous, even while they
retained the deep characteristic intonations of his
profession, “we old sea-dogs never stop to look
into an almanac, to see which way the wind will
come after the next thaw, before we put to sea.
It is enough for us, that the sailing orders are
aboard, and that the Captain has taken leave of his
Lady.”
“Ah! the very words of the poor lamented Admiral!”
exclaimed Mrs de Lacey, who evidently
found great satisfaction in pursuing the discourse
with this superannuated mariner. “And then you
are of opinion, honest friend, that, when a ship is
ready, she should sail, whether the wind is”—
“Here is another follower of the sea, opportunely
come to lend us his advice,” interrupted Gertrude,
with a hurried air, as if to divert the attention of her
aunt from something very like a dogmatical termination
of an argument that had just occurred between
her and Mrs Wyllys; “perhaps to serve as an umpire.”
“True,” said the latter. “Pray, what think you
sail in such a time, or not?”
The young mariner reluctantly withdrew his eyes
from the blushing Gertrude, who, in her eagerness to
point him out, had advanced to the front, and was
now shrinking back, timidly, to the centre of the
building again, like one who already repented of her
temerity. He then fastened his look on her who
put the question; and so long and riveted was his
gaze, that she saw fit to repeat it, believing that
what she had first said was not properly understood.
“There is little faith to be put in the weather,
Madam,” was the dilatory reply. “A man has followed
the sea to but little purpose who is tardy in
making that discovery.”
There was something so sweet and gentle, at the
same time that it was manly, in the voice of Wilder,
that the ladies, by a common impulse, seemed struck
with its peculiarities. The neatness of his attire,
which, while it was strictly professional, was worn
with an air of smartness, and even of gentility, that
rendered it difficult to suppose that he was not entitled
to lay claim to a higher station in society than
that in which he actually appeared, added to this
impression. Bending her head, with a manner that
was intended to be polite, a little more perhaps in
self-respect than out of consideration to the other,
as if in deference to the equivocal character of his
appearance, Mrs de Lacey resumed the discourse.
“These ladies,” she said, “are about to embark in
yonder ship, for the province of Carolina, and we
were consulting concerning the quarter in which the
wind will probably blow next. But, in such a vessel,
it cannot matter much, I should think, sir, whether
the wind were fair or foul.”
“I think not,” was the reply. “She looks to me
like a ship that will not do much, let the wind be as
it may.”
“She has the reputation of being a very fast sailer.—Reputation!
we know she is such, having come
from home to the Colonies in the incredibly short
passage of seven weeks! But seamen have their
favourites and prejudices, I believe, like us poor
mortals ashore. You will therefore excuse me, if
I ask this honest veteran for an opinion on this particular
point also. What do you imagine, friend, to
be the sailing qualities of yonder ship—she with the
peculiarly high top-gallant-booms, and such conspicuous
round-tops?”
The lip of Wilder curled, and a smile struggled
with the gravity of his countenance; but he continued
silent. On the other hand, the old mariner arose,
and appeared to examine the ship, like one who perfectly
comprehended the technical language of the
Admiral's widow.
“The ship in the inner harbour, your Ladyship,”
he answered, when his examination was finished,
“which is, I suppose, the vessel that Madam means,
is just such a ship as does a sailor's eye good to look
on. A gallant and a safe boat she is, as I will swear;
and as to sailing, though she may not be altogether
a witch, yet is she a fast craft, or I'm no judge of
blue water, or of those that live on it.”
“Here is at once a difference of opinion!” exclaimed
Mrs de Lacey. “I am glad, however, you
pronounce her safe; for, although seamen love a
fast-sailing vessel, these ladies will not like her the
less for the security. I presume, sir, you will not
dispute her being safe.”
“The very quality I should most deny,” was the
laconic answer of Wilder.
“It is remarkable! This is a veteran seaman, sir,
and he appears to think differently.”
“He may have seen more, in his time, than myself,
Madam; but I doubt whether he can, just now,
see as well. This is something of a distance to discover
nigher.”
“Then you really think there is danger to be apprehended,
sir?” demanded the soft voice of Gertrude,
whose fears had gotten the better of her diffidence.
“I do. Had I mother, or sister,” touching his
hat, and bowing to his fair interrogator, as he uttered
the latter word with much emphasis, “I would
hesitate to let her embark in that ship. On my honour,
Ladies, I do assure you, that I think this very
vessel in more danger than any ship which has left,
or probably will leave, a port in the Provinces this
autumn.”
“This is extraordinary!” observed Mrs Wyllys.
“It is not the character we have received of the
vessel, which has been greatly exaggerated, or she is
entitled to be considered as uncommonly convenient
and safe. May I ask, sir, on what circumstances you
have founded this opinion?”
“They are sufficiently plain. She is too lean in
the harping, and too full in the counter, to steer.
Then, she is as wall-sided as a church, and stows
too much above the water-line. Besides this, she
carries no head-sail, but all the press upon her will
be aft, which will jam her into the wind, and, more
than likely, throw her aback. The day will come
when that ship will go down stern foremost.”
His auditors listened to this opinion, which
Wilder delivered in an oracular and very decided
manner, with that sort of secret faith, and humble
dependance, which the uninstructed are so apt
to lend to the initiated in the mysteries of any imposing
profession. Neither of them had certainly a
very clear perception of his meaning; but there
were, apparently, danger and death in his very
words. Mrs de Lacey felt it incumbent on her peculiar
comprehended the subject.
“These are certainly very serious evils!” she
exclaimed. “It is quite unaccountable that my
agent should have neglected to mention them. Is
there any other particular quality, sir, that strikes
your eye at this distance, and which you deem alarming?”
“Too many. You observe that her top-gallant-masts
are fidded abaft; none of her lofty sails set
flying; and then, Madam, she has depended on bobstays
and gammonings for the security of that very
important part of a vessel, the bowsprit.”
“Too true! too true!” said Mrs de Lacey, in a
sort of professional horror. “These things had escaped
me; but I see them all, now they are mentioned.
Such neglect is highly culpable; more especially
to rely on bobstays and gammonings for the
security of a bowsprit! Really, Mrs Wyllys, I can
never consent that my niece should embark in such
a vessel.”
The calm, penetrating eye of Wyllys had been
riveted on the countenance of Wilder while he was
speaking, and she now turned it, with undisturbed
serenity, on the Admiral's widow, to reply.
“Perhaps the danger has been a little magnified,”
she observed. “Let us inquire of this other seaman
what he thinks on these several points.—And do you
see all these serious dangers to be apprehended,
friend, in trusting ourselves, at this season of the
year, in a passage to the Carolinas, aboard of yonder
ship?”
“Lord, Madam!” said the gray-headed mariner,
with a chuckling laugh, “these are new-fashioned
faults and difficulties, if they be faults and difficulties
at all! In my time, such matters were never
heard of; and I confess I am so stupid as not to understand
saying.”
“It is some time, I fancy, old man, since you were
last at sea,” Wilder coolly observed.
“Some five or six years since the last time, and
fifty since the first,” was the answer.
“Then you do not see the same causes for apprehension?”
Mrs Wyllys once more demanded.
“Old and worn out as I am, Lady, if her Captain
will give me a birth aboard her, I will thank him
for the same as a favour.”
“Misery seeks any relief,” said Mrs de Lacey, in
an under tone, and bestowing on her companions a
significant glance. “I incline to the opinion of the
younger seaman; for he supports it with substantial,
professional reasons.”
Mrs Wyllys suspended her questions, just as long
as complaisance to the last speaker seemed to require;
and then she resumed them as follows, addressing
her next inquiry to Wilder.
“And how do you explain this difference in judgment,
between two men who ought both to be so
well qualified to decide right?”
“I believe there is a well-known proverb which
will answer that question,” returned the young man,
smiling: “But some allowance must be made for the
improvements in ships; and, perhaps, some little
deference to the stations we have respectively filled
on board them.”
“Both very true. Still, one would think th
changes of half a dozen years cannot be so very
considerable, in a profession that is so exceedingly
ancient.”
“Your pardon, Madam. They require constant
practice to know them. Now, I dare say that yonder
worthy old tar is ignorant of the manner in which a
ship, when pressed by her canvas, is made to `cut
the waves with her taffrail.' ”
“Impossible!” cried the Admiral's widow; “the
youngest and the meanest mariner must have been
struck with the beauty of such a spectacle.”
“Yes, yes,” returned the old tar, who wore the
air of an offended man, and who, probably, had he
been ignorant of any part of his art, was not just
then in the temper to confess it; “many is the proud
ship that I have seen doing the very same; and, as
the lady says, a grand and comely sight it is!”
Wilder appeared confounded. He bit his lip, like
one who was over-reached either by excessive ignorance
or exceeding cunning; but the self-complacency
of Mrs de Lacey spared him the necessity of
an immediate reply.
“It would have been an extraordinary circumstance,
truly,” she said, “that a man should have
grown white-headed on the seas, and never have
been struck with so noble a spectacle. But then,
my honest tar, you appear to be wrong in overlooking
the striking faults in yonder ship, which this, a—
a—this gentleman has just, and so properly, named.”
“I do not call them faults, your Ladyship. Such
is the way my late brave and excellent Commander
always had his own ship rigged; and I am bold to
say that a better seaman, or a more honest man,
never served in his Majesty's fleet.”
“And you have served the King! How was your
beloved Commander named?”
“How should he be! By us, who knew him well,
he was called Fair-weather; for it was always
smooth water, and prosperous times, under his orders;
though, on shore, he was known as the gallant
and victorious Rear-Admiral de Lacey.”
“And did my late revered and skilful husband
cause his ships to be rigged in this manner?” said
the widow, with a tremour in her voice, that bespoke
how much, and how truly, she was overcome by surprise
and gratified pride.
The aged tar lifted his bending frame from the
stone, and bowed low, as he answered,—
“If I have the honour of seeing my Admiral's
Lady, it will prove a joyful sight to my old eyes.
Sixteen years did I serve in his own ship, and five
more in the same squadron. I dare say your Ladyship
may have heard him speak of the captain of his
main-top, Bob Bunt.”
“I dare say—I dare say—He loved to talk of
those who served him faithfully.”
“Ay, God bless him, and make his memory glorious!
He was a kind officer, and one that never forgot
a friend, let it be that his duty kept him on a
yard or in the cabin. He was the sailor's friend,
that very same Admiral!”
“This is a grateful man,” said Mrs de Lacey,
wiping her eyes, “and I dare say a competent judge
of a vessel. And are you quite sure, worthy friend,
that my late revered husband had all his ships arranged
like the one of which we have been talking?”
“Very sure, Madam; for, with my own hands,
did I assist to rig them.”
“Even to the bobstays?”
“And the gammonings, my Lady. Were the Admiral
alive, and here, he would call you `a safe and
well-fitted ship,' as I am ready to swear.”
Mrs de Lacey turned, with an air of great dignity
and entire decision, to Wilder, as she continued,—
“I have, then, made a small mistake in memory,
which is not surprising, when one recollects, that he
who taught me so much of the profession is no longer
here to continue his lessons. We are much obliged
to you, sir, for your opinion; but we must think
that you have over-rated the danger.”
“On my honour, Madam,” interrupted Wilder,
laying his hand on his heart, and speaking with singular
emphasis, “I am sincere in what I say. I do
affirm, that I believe there will be great danger in
that, in so saying, I am actuated by no malice
to her Commander, her owners, nor any connected
with her.”
“We dare say, sir, you are very sincere: We only
think you a little in error,” returned the Admiral's
widow, with a commiserating, and what she intended
for a condescending, smile. “We are your debtors
for your good intentions, at least. Come, worthy
veteran, we must not part here. You will gain admission
by knocking at my door; and we shall talk
further of these matters.”
Then, bowing to Wilder, she led the way up the
garden, followed by all her companions. The step
of Mrs de Lacey was proud, like the tread of one
conscious of all her advantages; while that of
Wyllys was slow as if she were buried in thought.
Gertrude kept close to the side of the latter, with
her face hid beneath the shade of a gipsy hat. Wilder
fancied that he could discover the stolen and anxious
glance that she threw back towards one who
had excited a decided emotion in her sensitive bosom,
though it was a feeling no more attractive than
alarm. He lingered until they were lost amid the
shrubbery. Then, turning to pour out his disappointment
on his brother tar, he found that the old
man had made such good use of his time, as to be
entering the gate, most probably felicitating himself
on the prospect of reaping the reward of his recent
adulation.
| CHAPTER VIII. The Red Rover | |