 | CHAPTER V. The Red Rover |  |
5. CHAPTER V.
Thief. “'Tis in the malice of mankind, that he thus advises us;
not to have us thrive in our mystery.”
—Timon of Athens.
Throughout the whole of that day, no change
occurred in the weather. The sleeping ocean lay
like a waving and glittering mirror, smooth and polished
on its surface, though, as usual, the long rising
and falling of a heavy ground-swell announced the
commotion that was in action within some distant
horizon. From the time that he left the deck, until
the sun laved its burnished orb in the sea, the individual,
who so well knew how to keep alive his authority
among the untamed tempers that he governed,
was seen no more. Satisfied with his victory, he no
longer seemed to apprehend that it was possible any
should be bold enough to dare to plot the overthrow
of his power. This apparent confidence in himself
did not fail to impress his people favourably. As no
neglect of duty was overlooked, nor any offence left
to go unpunished, an eye, that was not seen, was believed
by the crew to be ever on them, and an invisible
hand was thought to be at all times uplifted, ready
to strike or to reward. It was by a similar system
of energy in moments of need, and of forbearance
when authority was irksome, that this extraordinary
man had so long succeeded, as well in keeping down
domestic treason, as in eluding the utmost address
and industry of his open enemies.
When the watch was set for the night, however,
and the ship lay in the customary silence of the hour,
the form of the Rover was again seen walking swiftly
to and fro across the poop, of which he was now the
solitary occupant. The vessel had drifted in the
stream of the Gulf so far to the northward, that the
little mound of blue had long sunk below the edge
as human eye might see, by an interminable world
of water. As not a breath of air was stirring, the
sails had been handed, the tall and naked spars rearing
themselves, in the gloom of the evening, like
those of a ship which rested at her anchors. In short,
it was one of those hours of entire repose that the
elements occasionally grant to such adventurers as
trust their fortunes to the capricious government of
the treacherous and unstable winds.
Even the men, whose duty it was to be on the alert,
were emboldened, by the general tranquillity, to become
careless on their watch, and to cast their persons
between the guns, or on different portions of the
vessel, seeking that rest which the forms of discipline
and good order prohibited them from enjoying in
their hammocks. Here and there, indeed, the head
of a drowsy officer was seen nodding with the lazy
heaving of the ship, as he leaned against the bulwarks,
or rested his person on the carriage of some gun that
was placed beyond the sacred limits of the quarter-deck.
One form alone stood erect, vigilant, and evidently
maintaining a watchful eye over the whole:
This was Wilder, whose turn to keep the deck had
again arrived, in the regular division of the service
of the officers.
For two hours, not the slightest communication
occurred between the Rover and his lieutenant.
Both rather avoided than sought the intercourse; for
each had his own secret sources of serious meditation.
At the end of that period of silence, the former stopped
short in his walk, and looked long and steadily
at the still motionless, figure on the deck beneath him.
“Mr Wilder,” he at length said, “the air is fresher
on this poop, and more free from the impurities of
the vessel: Will you ascend?”
The other complied; and, for several minutes,
they walked silently, and with even steps, together,
night.
“We had a troublesome morning, Wilder,” the
Rover resumed, unconsciously betraying the subject
of his thoughts, and speaking always in a voice so
guarded, that no ears, but his to whom he addressed
himself, might embrace the sound: “Were you ever
so near that pretty precipice, a mutiny, before?”
“The man who is hit is nigher to danger than he
who feels the wind of the ball.”
“Ah! you have then been bearded in your ship!
Give yourself no uneasiness on account of the personal
animosity which a few of the fellows saw fit
to manifest against yourself. I am acquainted with
their most secret thoughts, as you shall shortly know.”
“I confess, that, in your place, I should sleep on a
thorny pillow, with such evidences of the temper of
my men before my mind. A few hours of disorder
might deliver the vessel, on any day, into the hands
of the Government, and your own life to”—
“The executioner! And why not yours?” demanded
the Rover, so quickly, as to give, in a slight degree,
an air of distrust to his manner. “But the eye
that has often seen battles seldom winks. Mine has
too often, and too steadily, looked danger in the face,
to be alarmed at the sight of a King's pennant. Besides,
it is not usual for us to be much on this ticklish
coast; the islands, and the Spanish Main, are less
dangerous cruising grounds.”
“And yet have you ventured here at a time when
success against the enemy has given the Admiral leisure
to employ a powerful force in your pursuit.”
“I had a reason for it. It is not always easy to
separate the Commander from the man. If I have
temporarily forgotten the obligations of the former,
in the wishes of the latter, so far, at least, harm has
not come of it. I may have tired of chasing your indolent
Don, and of driving guarda costas into port.
to me, there is interest even in a mutiny!”
“I like not treason. In this particular, I confess
myself like the boor who loses his resolution in the
dark. While the enemy is in view, I hope you will
find me true as other men; but sleeping over a mine
is not an amusement to my taste.”
“So much for want of practice! Hazard is hazard,
come in what shape it may; and the human
mind can as readily be taught to be indifferent to secret
machinations as to open risk. Hush! Struck
the bell six, or seven?”
“Seven. You see the men slumber, as before. Instinct
would wake them, were their hour at hand.”
“'Tis well. I feared the time had passed. Yes,
Wilder, I love suspense; it keeps the faculties from
dying, and throws a man upon the better principles
of his nature. Perhaps I owe it to a wayward spirit,
but, to me, there is enjoyment in an adverse wind.”
“And, in a calm?”
“Calms may have their charms for your quiet
spirits; but in them there is nothing to be overcome.
One cannot stir the elements, though one may counteract
their workings.”
“You have not entered on this trade of yours”—
“Yours!”
“I might, now, have said `of ours,' since I too
have become a Rover.”
“You are still in your noviciate,” resumed the
other, whose quick mind had already passed the point
at which the conversation had arrived; “and high
enjoyment had I in being the one who shrived you in
your wishes. You manifested a skill in playing round
your subject, without touching it, which gives me
hopes of an apt scholar.”
“But no penitent, I trust.”
“That as it may be; we are all liable to our moments
of weakness, when we look on life as book-men
we are put to enjoy. Yes, I angled for you as the
fisherman plays with the trout. Nor did I overlook
the danger of deception. You were faithful on the
whole; though I protest against your ever again acting
so much against my interests as to intrigue to keep
the game from coming to my net.”
“When, and how, have I done this? You have
yourself admitted”—
“That the `Royal Caroline' was prettily handled,
and wrecked by the will of Heaven. I speak of
nobler quarries, now, than such as any hawk may fly
at. Are you a woman-hater, that you would fain
have frightened the noble-minded woman, and the
sweet girl, who are beneath our feet at this minute,
from enjoying the high privilege of your company?”
“Was it treacherous, to wish to save a woman from
a fate like that, for instance, which hung over them
both this very day? For, while your authority exists
in this ship, I do not think there can be danger, even
to her who is so lovely.”
“By heavens, Wilder, you do me no more than
justice. Before harm should come to that fair innocent,
with this hand would I put the match into the
magazine, and send her, all spotless as she is, to the
place from which she seems to have fallen.”
Our adventurer listened greedily to these words,
though he little liked the strong language of admiration
with which the Rover was pleased to clothe his
generous sentiment.
“How knew you of my wish to serve them?” he
demanded, after a pause, which neither seemed in
any hurry to break.
“Could I mistake your language? I thought it
plain enough when spoken.”
“Spoken!” exclaimed Wilder, in surprise. “Perhaps
part of my confession was then made when I
least believed it.”
The Rover did not answer; but his companion
saw, by the meaning smile which played about his
lip, that he had been the dupe of an audacious and
completely successful masquerade. Startled, perhaps
at discovering how intricate were the toils into
which he had rushed, and possibly vexed at being so
thoroughly over-reached, he made several turns
across the deck before he again spoke.
“I confess myself deceived,” he at length said,
“and henceforth I shall submit to you as a master
from whom one may learn, but who can never be
surpassed. The landlord of the `Foul Anchor,' at
least, acted in his proper person, whoever might have
been the aged seaman?”
“Honest Joe Joram! An useful man to a distressed
mariner, you must allow. How liked you the
Newport pilot?”
“Was he an agent too?”
“For the job merely. I trust such knaves no further
than their own eyes can see. But, hist! Heard
you nothing?”
“I thought a rope had fallen in the water.”
“Ay, it is so. Now you shall find how thoroughly
I overlook these turbulent gentlemen.”
The Rover then cut short the dialogue, which was
growing deeply interesting to his companion, and
moved, with a light step, to the stern, over which he
hung, for a few moments, by himself, like a man who
found a pleasure in gazing at the dark surface of the
sea. But a slight noise, like that produced by agitated
ropes, caught the ear of his companion, who instantly
placed himself at the side of his Commander,
where he did not wait long without gaining another
proof of the manner in which he, as well as all the
rest of the crew, were circumvented by the devices
of their leader.
A man was guardedly, and, from his situation, with
some difficulty, moving round the quarter of the ship,
him sufficient means to effect his object. He,
however, soon reached a stern ladder, where he
stood suspended, and evidently endeavouring to discern
which of the two forms, that were overlooking
his proceedings, was that of the individual he sought.
“Are you there, Davis?” said the Rover, in a
voice but little above a whisper, first laying his hand
lightly on Wilder, as though he would tell him to
attend. “I fear you have been seen or heard.”
“No fear of that, your Honour. I got out at the
port by the cabin bulkhead; and the after-guard are
all as sound asleep as if they had the watch below.”
“It is well. What news bring you from the
people?”
“Lord! your Honour may tell them to go to
church, and the stoutest sea-dog of them all wouldn't
dare to say he had forgotten his prayers.”
“You think them in a better temper than they
were?”
“I know it, sir: Not but what the will to work
mischief is to be found in two or three of the men;
but they dare not trust each other. Your Honour
has such winning ways with you, that one never
knows when he is on safe grounds in setting up to
be master.”
“Ay, this is ever the way with your disorganizers,”
muttered the Rover, just loud enough to be heard by
Wilder. “A little more honesty, than they possess,
is just wanted, in order that each may enjoy the
faith of his neighbour. And how did the fellows receive
the lenity? Did I well? or must the morning
bring its punishment?”
“It is better as it stands, sir. The people know
whose memory is good, and they talk already of the
danger of adding another reckoning to this they feel
certain you have not forgotten. There is the captain
of the forecastle, who is a little bitter, as usual, and
he got from the fist of the black.”
“Ay, he is ever troublesome; a settling day must
come at last with the rogue.”
“It will be a small matter to expend him in boatservice,
sir; and the ship's company will be all the
better for his absence.”
“Well, well; no more of him,” interrupted the
Rover, a little impatiently, as if he liked not that
his companion should look too deeply into the policy
of his government, so early in his initiation. “I will
see to him. If I mistake not, fellow, you over-acted
your own part to-day, and were a little too forward
in leading on the trouble.”
“I hope your Honour will remember that the
crew had been piped to mischief; besides, there
could be no great harm in washing the powder off
a few marines.”
“Ay, but you pressed the point after your officer
had seen fit to interfere. Be wary in future, lest you
make the acting too true to nature, and you get applauded
in a manner quite as well performed.”
The fellow promised caution and amendment; and
then he was dismissed, with his reward in gold, and
with an injunction to be secret in his return. So
soon as the interview was ended, the Rover and
Wilder resumed their walk; the former having made
sure that no evesdropper had been at hand to steal
into his mysterious connexion with the spy. The
silence was again long, thoughtful, and deep.
“Good ears” (recommenced the Rover) “are
nearly as important, in a ship like this, as a stout
heart. The rogues forward must not be permitted
to eat of the fruit of knowledge, lest we, who are in
the cabins, die.”
“This is a perilous service in which we are embarked,”
observed his companion, by a sort of involuntary
exposure of his secret thoughts.
The Rover remained silent, making many turns
across the deck, before he again opened his lips.
When he spoke, it was in a voice so bland and gentle,
that his words sounded more like the admonitory
tones of a considerate friend, than like the language
of a man who had long been associated with a set
of beings so rude and unprincipled as those with
whom he was now seen.
“You are still on the threshold of your life, Mr
Wilder,” he said, “and it is all before you to choose
the path on which you will go. As yet, you have
been present at no violation of what the world calls
its laws; nor is it too late to say you never will be.
I may have been selfish in my wish to gain you; but
try me; and you will find that self, though often active,
cannot, nor does not, long hold its dominion
over my mind. Say but the word, and you are free;
it is easy to destroy the little evidence which exists
of your having made one of my crew. The land is
not far beyond that streak of fading light; before to-morrow's
sun shall set, your foot may tread it.”
“Then, why not both? If this irregular life be
evil for me, it is the same for you. Could I hope”—
“What would you say?” calmly demanded the
Rover, after waiting sufficiently long to be sure his
companion hesitated to continue. “Speak freely
your words are for the ears of a friend.”
“Then, as a friend will I unbosom myself. You
say, the land is here in the west. It would be easy
for you and I, men nurtured on the sea, to lower
this boat into the water; and, profiting by the dark
ness, long ere our absence could be known, we
should be lost to the eye of any who might seek us.
“Whither would you steer?”
“To the shores of America, where shelter and
peace might be found in a thousand secret places.
“Would you have a man, who has so long lived a
land of strangers?”
“But you have gold. Are we not masters here?
Who is there that might dare even to watch our
movements, until we were pleased ourselves to throw
off the authority with which we are clothed? Ere
the middle watch was set, all might be done.”
“Alone! Would you go alone?”
“No—not entirely—that is—it would scarcely
become us, as men, to desert the females to the brutal
power of those we should leave behind.”
“And would it become us, as men, to desert those
who put faith in our fidelity? Mr Wilder, your proposal
would make me a villain! Lawless, in the
opinion of the world, have I long been; but a traitor
to my faith and plighted word, never! The hour
may come when the beings whose world is in this
ship shall part; but the separation must be open,
voluntary, and manly. You never knew what drew
me into the haunts of man, when we first met in the
town of Boston?”
“Never,” returned Wilder, in a tone of deep disappointment.
“Listen, and you shall hear. A sturdy follower had
fallen into the hands of the minions of the law. It
was necessary to save him. He was a man I little
loved, but he was one who had ever been honest,
after his opinions. I could not desert the victim;
nor could any but I effect his escape. Gold and artifice
succeeded; and the fellow is now here, to sing
the praises of his Commander to the crew. Could
I forfeit a good name, obtained at so much hazard?”
“You would forfeit the good opinions of knaves,
to gain a reputation among those whose commendations
are an honour.”
“I know not. You little understand the nature
of man, if you are now to learn that he has pride in
once purchased notoriety by its exhibition. Besides,
I am not fitted for the world, as it is found among
your dependant colonists.”
“You claim your birth, perhaps, in the mother
country?”
“I am no better than a poor provincial, sir; an
humble satellite of the mighty sun. You have seen
my flags, Mr Wilder:—but there was one wanting
among them all; ay, and one which, had it existed,
it would have been my pride, my glory, to have upheld
with my heart's best blood!”
“I know not what you mean.”
“I need not tell a seaman, like you, how many
noble rivers pour their waters into the sea along this
coast of which we have been speaking—how many
wide and commodious havens abound there—or how
many sails whiten the ocean, that are manned by
men who first drew breath on that spacious and
peaceful soil.”
“Surely I know the advantages of the country you
mean.”
“I fear not!” quickly returned the Rover. “Were
they known, as they should be, by you and others
like you, the flag I mentioned would soon be found
in every sea; nor would the natives of our country
have to succumb to the hirelings of a foreign prince.”
“I will not affect to misunderstand your meaning;
for I have known others as visionary as yourself in
fancying that such an event may arrive.”
“May!—As certain as that star will settle in the
ocean, or that day is to succeed to night, it must.
Had that flag been abroad, Mr Wilder, no man would
have ever heard the name of the Red Rover.”
“The King has a service of his own, and it is
open to all his subjects alike.”
“I could be a subject of a King; but to be the
subject of a subject, Wilder, exceeds the bounds of
have said born, in one of his vessels; and how often
have I been made to feel, in bitterness, that an ocean
separated my birth-place from the footstool of his
throne! Would you think it, sir? one of his Commanders
dared to couple the name of my country
with an epithet I will not wound your ear by repeating!”
“I hope you taught the scoundrel manners.”
The Rover faced his companion, and there was
a ghastly smile on his speaking features, as he answered,—
“He never repeated the offence! 'Twas his blood
or mine; and dearly did he pay the forfeit of his
brutality!”
“You fought like men, and fortune favoured the
injured party?”
“We fought, sir.—But I had dared to raise my
hand against a native of the holy isle!—It is enough,
Mr Wilder; the King rendered a faithful subject desperate,
and he has had reason to repent it. Enough
for the present; another time I may say more.—Good
night.”
“Wilder saw the figure of his companion descend
the ladder to the quarter-deck; and then was he left
to pursue the current of his thoughts, alone, during
the remainder of a watch which, to his impatience,
seemed without an end.
| CHAPTER V. The Red Rover | |