University of Virginia Library

8. CHAPTER VII.

Jack Cade.

Disappointed in his private appeal to the captain's dread
of popular disapprobation, Mr. Dodge returned to his secret
work on deck; for like a true freeman of the exclusive
school, this person never presumed to work openly, unless
sustained by a clear majority; canvassing all around him,
and striving hard to create a public opinion, as he termed
it, on his side of the question, by persuading his hearers
that every one was of his particular way of thinking already;
a method of exciting a feeling much practised by
partisans of his school. In the interval, Captain Truck
was working up his day's reckoning by himself, in his own
state-room, thinking little, and caring less, about any thing
but the results of his figures, which soon convinced him,
that by standing a few hours longer on his present course,
he should “plump his ship ashore” somewhere between
Falmouth and the Lizard.

This discovery annoyed the worthy master so much the
more, on account of the suggestions of his late visiter; for
nothing could be less to his taste than to have the appearance
of altering his determination under a menace. Still
something must be done before midnight, for he plainly perceived
that thirty or forty miles, at the farthest, would

fetch up the Montauk on her present course. The passengers
had left the deck to escape the night air, and he
heard the Effinghams inviting Mr. Sharp and Mr. Blunt
into the ladies' cabin, which had been taken expressly for
their party, while the others were calling upon the stewards
for the usual allowance of hot drinks, at the dining-table
without. The talking and noise disturbed him; his own
state-room became too confined, and he went on deck to
come to his decision, in view of the angry-looking skies
and the watery waste, over which he was called to prevail.
Here we shall leave him, pacing the quarter-deck, in moody
silence alone, too much disturbed to smoke even, while the
mate of the watch sat in the mizzen-rigging, like a monkey,
keeping a look-out to windward and ahead. In the mean
time, we will return to the cabin of the Effinghams.

The Montauk was one of the noblest of those surpassingly
beautiful and yacht-like ships that now ply between
the two hemispheres in such numbers, and which in luxury
and the fitting conveniences seem to vie with each other for
the mastery. The cabins were lined with satin-wood and
bird's-eye maple; small marble columns separated the
glittering panels of polished wood, and rich carpets covered
the floors. The main cabin had the great table, as a fixture,
in the centre, but that of Eve, somewhat shorter, but
of equal width, was free from all encumbrance of the sort.
It had its sofas, cushions, mirrors, stools, tables, and an
upright piano. The doors of the state-rooms, and other
conveniences, opened on its sides and ends. In short, it
presented, at that hour, the resemblance of a tasteful boudoir,
rather than that of an apartment in a cramped and
vulgar ship.

Here, then, all who properly belonged to the place were
assembled, with Mr. Sharp and Mr. Blunt as guests, when
a tap at the door announced another visiter. It was Mr.
Dodge, begging to be admitted on a matter of business.
Eve smiled, as she bowed assent to old Nanny, who acted
as her groom of the chambers, and hastily expressed a belief
that her guest must have come with a proposal to form
a Dorcas society.

Although Mr. Dodge was as bold as Cæsar in expressing
his contempt of anything but popular sway, he never came

into the presence of the quiet and well-bred without a feeling
of distrust and uneasiness, that had its rise in the simple
circumstance of his not being used to their company.
Indeed, there is nothing more appalling, in general, to the
vulgar and pretending, than the simplicity and natural ease
of the refined. Their own notions of elegance lie so much
on the surface, that they seem at first to suspect an ambush,
and it is probable that, finding so much repose where,
agreeably to their preconceived opinions, all ought to be
fuss and pretension, they imagine themselves to be regarded
as intruders.

Mr. Effingham gave their visiter a polite reception, and
one that was marked with a little more than the usual formality,
by way of letting it be understood that the apartment
was private; a precaution that he knew was very necessary
in associating with tempers like those of Steadfast. All this
was thrown away on Mr. Dodge, notwithstanding every
other person present admired the tact with which the host
kept his guest at a distance, by extreme attention, for the
latter fancied so much ceremony was but a homage to his
claims. It had the effect to put him on his own good behaviour,
however, and of suspending the brusque manner in
which he had intended to broach his subject. As every
body waited in calm silence, as if expecting an explanation
of the cause of his visit, Mr. Dodge soon felt himself constrained
to say something, though it might not be quite as
clearly as he could wish.

“We have had a considerable pleasant time, Miss Effingham,
since we sailed from Portsmouth,” he observed familiarly.

Eve bowed her assent, determined not to take to herself
a visit that did violence to all her habits and notions of propriety.
But Mr. Dodge was too obtuse to feel the hint conveyed
in mere reserve of manner.

“It would have been more agreeable, I allow, had not
this man-of-war taken it into her head to follow us in this
unprecedented manner.” Mr. Dodge was as fond of his
dictionary as the steward, though he belonged to the political,
while Saunders merely adorned the polite school of
talkers. “Sir George calls it a most `uncomfortable procedure.'

You know Sir George Templemore, without
doubt, Miss Effingham?”

“I am aware there is a person of that name on board,
sir,” returned Eve, who recoiled from this familiarity with
the sensitiveness with which a well-educated female distinguishes
between one who appreciates her character and one
who does not;” “but have never had the honour of his acquaintance.”

Mr. Dodge thought all this extraordinary, for he had
witnessed Captain Truck's introduction, and did not understand
how people who had sailed twenty-four hours in the
same ship, and had been fairly introduced, should not be
intimate. As for himself, he fancied he was, what he
termed, “well acquainted” with the Effinghams, from having
talked of them a great deal ignorantly, and not a little
maliciously; a liberty he felt himself fully entitled to take,
from the circumstance of residing in the same county, although
he had never spoken to one of the family, until accident
placed him in their company on board the same
vessel.

“Sir George is a gentleman of great accomplishments,
Miss Effingham, I assure you; a man of unqualified merit.
We have the same state-room, for I like company, and prefer
chatting a little in my berth to being always asleep. He
is a baronet, I suppose you know,—not that I care anything
for titles, all men being equal in truth, though—
though—”

“—Unequal in reality, sir, you probably meant to add,”
observed John Effingham, who was lolling on Eve's workstand,
his eagle-shaped face fairly curling with the contempt
he felt, and which he hardly cared to conceal.

“Surely not, sir!” exclaimed the terrified Steadfast,
looking furtively about, lest some active enemy might be
at hand to quote this unhappy remark to his prejudice.
“Surely not! men are every way equal, and no one can
pretend to be better than another. No, no,—it is nothing
to me that Sir George is a baronet; though one would prefer
having a gentleman in the same state-room to having a
coarse fellow. Sir George thinks, sir, that the ship is running
into great danger by steering for the land in so dark
a night, and in such dirty weather. He has many out-of-the-way

expressions, Sir George, I must admit, for one of
his rank; he calls the weather dirty, and the proceedings
uncomfortable; modes of expression, gentlemen, to which
I give an unqualified disapprobation.”

“Probably Sir George would attach more importance to
a qualified disapprobation,” retorted John Effingham.

“Quite likely,” returned Mr. Dodge innocently, though the
two other visiters, Eve and Mademoiselle Viefville, permitted
slight muscular movements about the lips to be seen: “Sir
George is quite an original in his way. We have few originals
in our part of the country, you know, Mr. John
Effingham; for to say the truth, it is rather unpopular to
differ from the neighbourhood, in this or any other respect.
Yes, sir, the people will rule, and ought to rule. Still, I
think Sir George may get along well enough as a stranger,
for it is not quite as unpopular in a stranger to be original,
as in a native. I think you will agree with me, sir, in believing
it excessively presuming in an American to pretend
to be different from his fellow-citizens.”

“No one, sir, could entertain such presumption, I am
persuaded, in your case.”

“No, sir, I do not speak from personal motives; but on
the great general principles, that are to be maintained for
the good of mankind. I do not know that any man has a
right to be peculiar in a free country. It is aristocratic,
and has an air of thinking one man is better than another.
I am sure Mr. Effingham cannot approve of it?”

“Perhaps not. Freedom has many arbitrary laws that
it will not do to violate.”

“Certainly, sir, or where would be its supremacy? If
the people cannot control and look down peculiarity, or anything
they dislike, one might as well live in despotism at
once.”

“As I have resided much abroad, of late years, Mr.
Dodge,” inquired Eve, who was fearful her kinsman would
give some cut that would prove to be past bearing, as she
saw his eye was menacing, and who felt a disposition to be
amused at the other's philosophy, that overcame the attraction
of repulsion she had at first experienced towards him—
“will you favour me with some of those great principles

of liberty of which I hear so much, but which, I fear, have
been overlooked by my European instructers?”

Mademoiselle Viefville looked grave; Messrs. Sharp and
Blunt delighted; Mr. Dodge, himself, mystified.

“I should feel myself little able to instruct Miss Effingham
on such a subject,” the latter modestly replied, “as no
doubt she has seen too much misery in the nations she has
visited, not to appreciate justly all the advantages of that
happy country which has the honour of claiming her for
one of its fair daughters.”

Eve was terrified at her own temerity, for she was far
from anticipating so high a flight of eloquence in return for
her own simple request, but it was too late to retreat.

“None of the many illustrious and god-like men that
our own beloved land has produced can pretend to more
zeal in its behalf than myself, but I fear my abilities to do
it justice will fall far short of the subject,” he continued.
“Liberty, as you know, Miss Effingham, as you well know,
gentlemen, is a boon that merits our unqualified gratitude,
and which calls for our daily and hourly thanks to the gallant
spirits who, in the days that tried men's souls, were
foremost in the tented field, and in the councils of the nation.”

John Effingham turned a glance at Eve, that seemed to
tell her how unequal she was to the task she had undertaken,
and which promised a rescue, with her consent; a
condition that the young lady most gladly complied with in
the same silent but expressive manner.

“Of all this my young kinswoman is properly sensible,
Mr. Dodge,” he said by way of diversion; “but she, and I
confess myself, have some little perplexity on the subject
of what this liberty is, about which so much has been said
and written in our time. Permit me to inquire, if you understand
by it a perfect independence of thought, action,
and rights?”

“Equal laws, equal rights, equality in all respects, and
pure, abstract, unqualified liberty, beyond all question, sir.”

“What, a power in the strong man to beat the little man,
and to take away his dinner?”

“By no means, sir; Heaven forbid that I should maintain
any such doctrine! It means entire liberty: no kings,

no aristocrats, no exclusive privileges; but one man as good
as another!”

“Do you understand, then, that one man is as good as
another, under our system, Mr. Dodge?”

“Unqualifiedly so, sir; I am amazed that such a question
should be put by a gentleman of your information, in an
age like this!”

“If one man is as good as another,” said Mr. Blunt, who
perceived that John Effingham was biting his lips, a sign
that something more biting would follow,—“will you do
me the favour to inform me, why the country puts itself to
the trouble and expense of the annual elections?”

“Elections, sir! In what manner could free institutions
flourish or be maintained, without constantly appealing to
the people, the only true sources of power?”

“To this I make no objections, Mr. Dodge,” returned the
young man, smiling; “but why an election; if one man
is as good as another, a lottery would be cheaper, easier,
and sooner settled. Why an election, or even a lottery at
all? why not choose the President as the Persians chose
their king, by the neighing of a horse?

“This would be indeed an extraordinary mode of proceeding
for an intelligent and virtuous people, Mr. Blunt;
and I must take the liberty of saying that I suspect you of
pleasantry. If you wish an answer, I will say, at once,
by such a process we might get a knave, or a fool, or a
traitor.”

“How, Mr. Dodge! I did not expect this character of
the country from you! Are the Americans, then, all fools,
or knaves, or traitors?”

“If you intend to travel much in our country, sir, I would
advise great caution in throwing out such an insinuation,
for it would be apt to meet with a very general and unqualified
disapprobation. Americans are enlightened and free,
and as far from deserving these epithets as any people on
earth.”

“And yet the fact follows from your own theory. If one
man is as good as another, and any one of them is a fool,
or a knave, or a traitor,—all are knaves, or fools, or traitors!
The insinuation is not mine, but it follows, I think,
inevitably, as a consequence of your own proposition.”

In the pause that succeeded, Mr. Sharp said in a low
voice to Eve, “He is an Englishman, after all!”

“Mr. Dodge does not mean that one man is as good as
another in that particular sense,” Mr. Effingham kindly
interposed, in his quality of host; “his views are less general,
I fancy, than his words would give us, at first, reason
to suppose.”

“Very true, Mr. Effingham, very true, sir; one man is
not as good as another in that particular sense, or in the
sense of elections, but in all other senses. Yes, sir,” turning
towards Mr. Blunt again, as one reviews the attack on
an antagonist, who has given a fall, after taking breath;
“in all other senses, one man is unqualifiedly as good as
another. One man has the same rights as another.”

“The slave as the freeman?”

“The slaves are exceptions sir. But in the free states,
except in the case of elections, one man is as good as another
in all things. That is our meaning, and any other
principle would be unqualifiedly unpopular.”

“Can one man make a shoe as well as another?”

“Of rights, sir,—I stick to the rights, you will remember.”

“Has the minor the same rights as the man of full age;
the apprentice as the master; the vagabond as the resident;
the man who cannot pay as the man who can?”

“No, sir, not in that sense either. You do not understand
me, sir, I fear. All that I mean is, that in particular
things, one man is as good as another in America. This
is American doctrine, though it may not happen to be
English, and I flatter myself it will stand the test of the
strictest investigation.”

“And you will allow me to inquire where this is not the
case, in particular things. If you mean to say that there
are fewer privileges accorded to the accidents of birth, or to
fortune and station in America, than is usual in other countries,
we shall agree; but I think it will hardly do to say
there are none!”

“Privileges accorded to birth in America, sir! The idea
would be odious to her people!”

“Does not the child inherit the property of the father?”

“Most assuredly; but this can hardly be termed a privilege.”

“That may depend a good deal on taste. I should account
it a greater privilege than to inherit a title without the
fortune.”

“I perceive, gentlemen, that we do not perfectly understand
each other, and I must postpone the discussion to a
more favourable opportunity; for I confess great uneasiness
at this decision of the captain's, about steering in among
the rocks of Sylla.” (Mr. Dodge was not as clear-headed
as common, in consequence of the controversy that had just
occurred.) “I challenge you to renew the subject another
time, gentlemen. I only happened in” (another peculiarity
of diction in this gentleman) “to make a first call, for I
suppose there is no exclusion in an American ship?”

“None whatever, sir,” Mr. John Effingham coldly answered.
“All the state-rooms are in common, and I propose
to seize an early occasion to return this compliment, by
making myself at home in the apartment which has the
honour to lodge Mr. Dodge and Sir George Templemore.”

Here Mr. Dodge beat a retreat, without touching at all
on his real errand. Instead of even following up the matter
with the other passengers, he got into a corner, with
one or two congenial spirits, who had taken great offence
that the Effinghams should presume to retire into their
cabin, and particularly that they should have the extreme
aristocratical audacity to shut the door, where he continued
pouring into the greedy ears of his companions his own
history of the recent dialogue, in which, according to his
own account of the matter, he had completely gotten the
better of that “young upstart, Blunt,” a man of whom he
knew positively nothing, divers anecdotes of the Effingham
family, that came of the lowest and most idle gossip of rustic
malignancy, and his own vague and confused notions
of the rights of persons and of things. Very different was
the conversation that ensued in the ladies' cabin, after the
welcome disappearance of the uninvited guest. Not a remark
of any sort was made on his intrusion, or on his folly;
even John Effingham, little addicted in common to forbearance,
being too proud to waste his breath on so low game,
and too well taught to open upon a man the moment his

back was turned. But the subject was continued, and in a
manner better suited to the education, intelligence, and
views of the several speakers.

Eve said but little, though she ventured to ask a question
now and then; Mr. Sharp and Mr. Blunt being the principal
supporters of the discourse, with an occasional quiet,
discreet remark from the young lady's father, and a sarcasm,
now and then, from John Effingham. Mr. Blunt,
though advancing his opinions with diffidence, and with a
proper deference for the greater experience of the two elder
gentlemen, soon made his superiority apparent, the subject
proving to be one on which he had evidently thought a
great deal, and that too with a discrimination and originality
that are far from common.

He pointed out the errors that are usually made on the
subject of the institutions of the American Union, by confounding
the effects of the general government with those
of the separate states; and he clearly demonstrated that
the Confederation itself had, in reality, no distinctive character
of its own, even for or against liberty. It was a
confederation, and got its character from the characters of
its several parts, which of themselves were independent in
all things, on the important point of distinctive principles,
with the exception of the vague general provision that they
must be republics; a provision that meant anything, or
nothing, so far as true liberty was concerned, as each state
might decide for itself.

“The character of the American government is to be
sought in the characters of the state governments,” he concluded,
“which vary with their respective policies. It is in
this way that communities that hold one half of their numbers
in domestic bondage are found tied up in the same
political fasces with other communities of the most democratic
institutions. The general government assures neither
liberty of speech, liberty of conscience, action, nor of anything
else, except as against itself; a provision that is quite
unnecessary, as it is purely a government of delegated
powers, and has no authority to act at all on those particular
interests.”

“This is very different from the general impression in
Europe,” observed Mr. Sharp; “and as I perceive I have

the good fortune to be thrown into the society of an American,
if not an American lawyer, able to enlighten my
ignorance on these interesting topics, I hope to be permitted,
during some of the idle moments, of which we are likely to
have many, to profit by it.”

The other coloured, bowed to the compliment, but appeared
to hesitate before he answered.

“'T is not absolutely necessary to be an American by
birth,” he said, “as I have already had occasion to observe,
in order to understand the institutions of the country, and
I might possibly mislead you were you to fancy that a native
was your instructer. I have often been in the country,
however, if not born in it, and few young men, on this side
of the Atlantic, have had their attention pointed, with so
much earnestness, to all that affects it as myself.”

“I was in hopes we had the honour of including you
among our countrymen,” observed John Effingham, with
evident disappointment. “So many young men come
abroad disposed to quarrel with foreign excellences, of
which they know nothing, or to concede so many of our
own, in the true spirit of serviles, that I was flattering myself
I had at last found an exception.”

Eve also felt regret, though she hardly avowed to herself
the reason.

“He is then, an Englishman, after all!” said Mr. Sharp,
in another aside.

“Why not a German—or a Swiss—or even a Russian?”

“His English is perfect; no continental could speak so
fluently, with such a choice of words, so totally without an
accent, without an effort. As Mademoiselle Viefville says,
he does not speak well enough for a foreigner.”

Eve was silent, for she was thinking of the singular
manner in which a conversation so oddly commenced, had
brought about an explanation on a point that had often given
her many doubts. Twenty times had she decided in her
own mind that this young man, whom she could properly
call neither stranger nor acquaintance, was a countryman,
and as often had she been led to change her opinion. He
had now been explicit, she thought, and she felt compelled
to set him down as a European, though not disposed, still,
to believe he was an Englishman. For this latter notion,

she had reasons it might not have done to give to a native
of the island they had just left, as she knew to be the fact
with Mr. Sharp.

Music succeeded this conversation, Eve having taken the
precaution to have the piano tuned before quitting port, an
expedient we would recommend to all who have a regard
for the instrument that extends beyond its outside, or even
for their own ears. John Effingham executed brilliantly on
the violin; and, as it appeared on inquiry, the two younger
gentlemen performed respectably on the flute, flageolet, and
one or two other wind instruments. We shall leave them
doing great justice to Beethoven, Rossini, and Mayerbeer,
whose compositions Mr. Dodge did not fail to sneer at in
the outer cabin, as affected and altogether unworthy of
attention, and return on deck to the company of the anxious
master.

Captain Truck had continued to pace the deck moodily
and alone, during the whole evening, and he only seemed
to come to a recollection of himself when the relief passed
him on his way to the wheel, at eight bells. Inquiring the
hour, he got into the mizzen rigging, with a night-glass, and
swept the horizon in search of the Foam. Nothing could
be made out, the darkness having settled upon the water in
a way to circumscribe the visible horizon to very narrow
limits.

“This may do,” he muttered to himself, as he swung off
by a rope, and alighted again on the planks of the deck.
Mr. Leach was summoned, and an order was passed for
the relieved watch to remain on deck for duty.

When all was ready, the first mate went through the
ship, seeing that all the candles were extinguished, or that
the hoods were drawn over the sky-lights, in such a way
as to conceal any rays that might gleam upwards from the
cabin. At the same time attention was paid to the binnaclelamp.
This precaution observed, the people went to work
to reduce the sail, and in the course of twenty minutes they
had got in the studding-sails, and all the standing canvas
to the topsails, the fore-course, and a forward staysail.
The three topsails were then reefed, with sundry urgent
commands to the crew to be active, for, “The Englishman
was coming up like a horse, all this time, no doubt.”

This much effected, the hands returned on deck, as much
amazed at the several arrangements as if the order had
been to cut away the masts.

“If we had a few guns, and were a little stronger-handed,”
growled an old salt to the second-mate, as he hitched up
his trousers and rolled over his quid, “I should think the
hard one, aft, had been stripping for a fight; but as it is,
we have nothing to carry on the war with, unless we throw
sea-biscuits into the enemy!”

“Stand by to veer!” called out the captain from the
quarter-deck; or, as he pronounced it, “ware.”

The men sprang to the braces, and the bows of the ship
fell of gradually, as the yards yielded slowly to the drag.
In a minute the Montauk was rolling dead before it, and her
broadside came sweeping up to the wind with the ship's
head to the eastward. This new direction in the course
had the double effect of hauling off the land, and of diverging
at more than right angles from the line of sailing of the
Foam, if that ship still continued in pursuit. The seamen
nodded their heads at each other in approbation, for all now
as well understood the meaning of the change as if it had
been explained to them verbally.

The revolution on deck produced as sudden a revolution
below. The ship was no longer running easily on an even
keel, but was pitching violently into a head-beating sea, and
the wind, which a few minutes before, was scarcely felt to
blow, was now whistling its hundred strains among the
cordage. Some sought their berths, among whom were
Mr. Sharp and Mr. Dodge; some hurried up the stairs to
learn the reason, and all broke up their avocations for the
night.

Captain Truck had the usual number of questions to answer,
which he did in the following succinct and graphic
manner, a reply that we hope will prove as satisfactory to
the reader, as it was made to be, perforce, satisfactory to
the curious on board.

“Had we stood on an hour longer, gentlemen, we should
have been lost on the coast of Cornwall!” he said, pithily:
“had we stopped where we were, the sloop-of-war would
have been down upon us in twenty minutes: by changing
the course, in the way you have seen, he may get to leeward

of us; if he find it out, he may change his own
course, in the dark, being as likely to go wrong as to go
right; or he may stand in, and set up the ribs of his majesty's
ship Foam to dry among the rocks of the Lizard,
where I hope all her people will get safely ashore, dry shod.”

After waiting the result anxiously for an hour, the passengers
retired to their rooms one by one; but Captain
Truck did not quit the deck until the middle watch was set.
Paul Blunt heard him enter his state-room, which was next
to his own, and putting out his head, he inquired the news
above. The worthy master had discovered something about
this young man which created a respect for his nautical information,
for he never misapplied a term, and he invariably
answered all his questions promptly, and with respect.

“Dirtier, and dirtier,” he said, in defiance of Mr. Dodge's
opinion of the phrase, pulling off his pee-jacket, and laying
aside his sow-wester; “a cap-full of wind, with just enough
drizzle to take the comfort out of a man, and lacker him
down like a boot.”

“The ship has gone about?”

“Like a dancing-master with two toes. We have got
her head to the southward and westward again; another
reef in the topsails,” (which word Mr. Truck pronounced
tawsails, with great unction,) “England well under our lee,
and the Atlantic ocean right before us. Six hours on this
course, and we make a fair wind of it.”

“And the sloop?”

“Well, Mr. Blunt, I can give no direct account of her.
She has dropped in along-shore, I suspect, where she is
clawing off, like a boy climbing a hillock of ice on his
hands and knees; or is flying about among the other foam,
somewhere in the latitude of the Lizard. An easy pillow
to you, Mr. Blunt, and no tacking till the nap's up.”

“And the poor wretches in the Foam?”

“Why, the Lord have mercy on their souls!”