University of Virginia Library

3. CHAPTER III.

Timon of Athens.

A SHIP with her sails loosened and her ensign abroad is
always a beautiful object; and the Montauk, a noble New-York-built
vessel of seven hundred tons burthen, was a
first-class specimen of the “kettle-bottom” school of naval
architecture, wanting in nothing that the taste and experience
of the day can supply. The scene that was now
acting before their eyes therefore soon diverted the thoughts
of Mademoiselle Viefville and Eve from the introductions

of the captain, both watching with intense interest the various
movements of the crew and passengers as they passed
in review.

A crowd of well-dressed, but of an evidently humbler
class of persons than those farther aft, were thronging the
gangways, little dreaming of the physical suffering they
were to endure before they reached the land of promise,—
that distant America, towards which the poor and oppressed
of nearly all nations turn longing eyes in quest of a shelter.
Eve saw with wonder aged men and women among
them; beings who were about to sever most of the ties of
the world in order to obtain relief from the physical pains
and privations that had borne hard on them for more than
threescore years. A few had made sacrifices of themselves
in obedience to that mysterious instinct which man feels in
his offspring; while others, again, went rejoicing, flushed
with the hope of their vigour and youth. Some, the victims
of their vices, had embarked in the idle expectation
that a change of scene, with increased means of indulgence,
could produce a healthful change of character. All had
views that the truth would have dimmed, and, perhaps, no
single adventurer among the emigrants collected in that ship
entertained either sound or reasonable notions of the mode
in which his step was to be rewarded, though many may
meet with a success that will surpass their brightest picture
of the future. More, no doubt, were to be disappointed.

Reflections something like these passed through the mind
of Eve Effingham, as she examined the mixed crowd, in
which some were busy in receiving stores from boats; others
in holding party conferences with friends, in which a few
were weeping; here and there a group was drowning reflection
in the parting cup; while wondering children looked
up with anxiety into the well-known faces, as if fearful
they might lose the countenances they loved, and the charities
on which they habitually relied, in such a mêlée.

Although the stern discipline which separates the cabin
and steerage passengers into castes as distinct as those of
the Hindoos had not yet been established, Captain Truck
had too profound a sense of his duty to permit the quarter-deck
to be unceremoniously invaded. This part of the
ship, then, had partially escaped the confusion of the moment;

though trunks, boxes, hampers, and other similar
appliances of travelling, were scattered about in tolerable
affluence. Profiting by the space, of which there was still
sufficient for the purpose, most of the party left the hurricane-house
to enjoy the short walk that a ship affords. At
that instant, another boat from the land reached the vessel's
side, and a grave-looking personage, who was not disposed
to lessen his dignity by levity or an omission of forms, appeared
on deck, where he demanded to be shown the master.
An introduction was unnecessary in this instance; for
Captain Truck no sooner saw his visiter than he recognized
the well-known features and solemn pomposity of a civil
officer of Portsmouth, who was often employed to search
the American packets, in pursuit of delinquents of all degrees
of crime and folly.

“I had just come to the opinion I was not to have the
pleasure of seeing you this passage, Mr. Grab,” said the
captain, shaking hands familiarly with the myrmidon of the
law; “but the turn of the tide is not more regular than
you gentlemen who come in the name of the king.—Mr.
Grab, Mr. Dodge; Mr. Dodge, Mr. Grab. And now, to
what forgery, or bigamy, or elopement, or scandalum magnatum,
do I owe the honour of your company this time?—
Sir George Templemore, Mr. Grab; Mr. Grab, Sir George
Templemore.”

Sir George bowed with the dignified aversion an honest
man might be supposed to feel for one of the other's employment;
while Mr. Grab looked gravely and with a counter
dignity at Sir George. The business of the officer,
however, was with none in the cabin; but he had come in
quest of a young woman who had married a suitor rejected
by her uncle,—an arrangement that was likely to subject
the latter to a settlement of accounts which he found inconvenient,
and which he had thought it prudent to anticipate
by bringing an action of debt against the bridegroom for
advances, real or pretended, made to the wife during her
nonage. A dozen eager ears caught an outline of this tale
as it was communicated to the captain, and in an incredibly
short space of time it was known throughout the ship, with
not a few embellishments.

“I do not know the person of the husband,” continued

the officer, “nor indeed does the attorney who is with me
in the boat; but his name is Robert Davis, and you can
have no difficulty in pointing him out. We know him to
be in the ship.”

“I never introduce any steerage passengers, my dear
sir; and there is no such person in the cabin, I give you
my honour,—and that is a pledge that must pass between
gentlemen like us. You are welcome to search, but the
duty of the vessel must go on. Take your man—but do
not detain the ship.—Mr. Sharp, Mr. Grab; Mr. Grab, Mr.
Sharp.—Bear a hand there, Mr. Leach, and let us have the
slack of the chain as soon as possible.”

There appeared to be what the philosophers call the
attraction of repulsion between the parties last introduced,
for the tall gentlemanly-looking Mr. Sharp eyed the officer
with a supercilious coldness, neither party deeming much
ceremony on the occasion necessary. Mr. Grab now summoned
his assistant, the attorney, from the boat, and there
was a consultation between them as to their further proceedings.
Fifty heads were grouped around them, and
curious eyes watched their smallest movements, one of the
crowd occasionally disappearing to report proceedings.

Man is certainly a clannish animal; for without knowing
any thing of the merits of the case, without pausing to
inquire into the right or the wrong of the matter, in the
pure spirit of partisanship, every man, woman, and child
of the steerage, which contained fully a hundred souls, took
sides against the law, and enlisted in the cause of the defendant.
All this was done quietly, however, for no one
menaced or dreamed of violence, crew and passengers
usually taking their cues from the officers of the vessel on
such occasions, and those of the Montauk understood too
well the rights of the public agents to commit themselves in
the matter.

“Call Robert Davis,” said the officer, resorting to a ruse,
by affecting an authority he had no right to assume. “Robert
Davis!” echoed twenty voices, among which was that
of the bridegroom himself, who was nigh to discover his
secret by an excess of zeal. It was easy to call, but no
one answered.

“Can you tell me which is Robert Davis, my little fellow?”

the officer asked coaxingly, of a fine flaxen-headed
boy, whose age did not exceed ten, and who was a curious
spectator of what passed. “Tell me which is Robert Davis,
and I will give you a sixpence.”

The child knew, but professed ignorance.

“C'est un esprit de corps admirable!” exclaimed Mademoiselle
Viefville; for the interest of the scene had brought
nearly all on board, with the exception of those employed
in the duty of the vessel, near the gangway. “Ceci est
délicieux, and I could devour that boy!”

What rendered this more odd, or indeed absolutely ludicrous,
was the circumstance that, by a species of legerdemain,
a whisper had passed among the spectators so stealthily,
and yet so soon, that the attorney and his companion
were the only two on deck who remained ignorant of the
person of the man they sought. Even the children caught
the clue, though they had the art to indulge their natural
curiosity by glances so sly as to escape detection.

Unfortunately, the attorney had sufficient knowledge
of the family of the bride to recognize her by a general
resemblance, rendered conspicuous as it was by a pallid face
and an almost ungovernable nervous excitement. He
pointed her out to the officer, who ordered her to approach
him,—a command that caused her to burst into tears. The
agitation and distress of his wife were near proving too
much for the prudence of the young husband, who was
making an impetuous movement towards her, when the
strong grasp of a fellow-passenger checked him in time to
prevent discovery. It is singular how much is understood
by trisles when the mind has a clue to the subject, and how
often signs, that are palpable as day, are overlooked when
suspicion is not awakened, or when the thoughts have obtained
a false direction. The attorney and the officer
were the only two present who had not seen the indiscretion
of the young man, and who did not believe him
betrayed. His wife trembled to a degree that almost destroyed
the ability to stand; but, casting an imploring look
for self-command on her indiscreet partner, she controlled
her own distress, and advanced towards the officer, in obedience
to his order, with a power of endurance that the

strong affections of a woman could alone enable her to
assume.

“If the husband will not deliver himself up, I shall be
compelled to order the wife to be carried ashore in his
stead!” the attorney coldly remarked, while he applied a
pinch of snuff to a nose that was already saffron-coloured
from the constant use of the weed.

A pause succeeded this ominous declaration, and the
crowd of passengers betrayed dismay, for all believed there
was now no hope for the pursued. The wife bowed her
head to her knees, for she had sunk on a box as if to hide
the sight of her husband's arrest. At this moment a voice
spoke from among the group on the quarter-deck.

“Is this an arrest for crime, or a demand for debt?”
asked the young man who has been announced as Mr.
Blunt.

There was a quiet authority in the speaker's manner that
reassured the failing hopes of the passengers, while it caused
the attorney and his companion to look round in surprise,
and perhaps a little in resentment. A dozen eager voices
assured “the gentleman' there was no crime in the matter
at all—there was even no just debt, but it was a villanous
scheme to compel a wronged ward to release a fraudulent
guardian from his liabilities. Though all this was not very
clearly explained, it was affirmed with so much zeal and
energy as to awaken suspicion, and to increase the interest
of the more intelligent portion of the spectators. The
attorney surveyed the travelling dress, the appearance of
fashion, and the youth of his interrogator, whose years
could not exceed five-and-twenty, and his answer was given
with an air of superiority.

“Debt or crime, it can matter nothing in the eye of the
law.”

“It matters much in the view of an honest man,” returned
the youth with spirit. “One might hesitate about
interfering in behalf of a rogue, however ready to exert
himself in favour of one who is innocent, perhaps, of every
thing but misfortune.”

“This looks a little like an attempt at a rescue! I hope
we are still in England, and under the protection of English
laws?”

“No doubt at all of that, Mr. Seal,” put in the captain,
who having kept an eye on the officer from a distance, now
thought it time to interfere, in order to protect the interests
of his owners. “Yonder is England, and that is the Isle
of Wight, and the Montauk has hold of an English Bottom,
and good anchorage it is; no one means to dispute your
authority, Mr. Attorney, nor to call in question that of the
king. Mr. Blunt merely throws out a suggestion, sir; or
rather, a distinction between rogues and honest men;
nothing more, depend on it, sir.—Mr. Seal, Mr. Blunt; Mr.
Blunt, Mr. Seal. And a thousand pities it is, that the distinction
is not more commonly made.”

The young man bowed slightly, and with a face flushed,
partly with feeling, and partly at finding himself unexpectedly
conspicuous among so many strangers, he advanced a
little from the quarter-deck group, like one who feels he is
required to maintain the ground he has assumed.

“No one can be disposed to question the supremacy of
the English laws in this roadstead,” he said, “and least of
all myself; but you will permit me to doubt the legality of
arresting, or in any manner detaining, a wife in virtue of a
process issued against the husband.”

“A briefless barrister!” muttered Seal to Grab. “I dare
say a timely guinea would have silenced the fellow. What
is now to be done?”

“The lady must go ashore, and all these matters can be
arranged before a magistrate.”

“Ay, ay! let her sue out a habeas corpus if she please,”
added the ready attorney, whom a second survey caused to
distrust his first inference. “Justice is blind in England
as well as in other countries, and is liable to mistakes; but
still she is just. If she does mistake sometimes, she is
always ready to repair the wrong.”

“Cannot you do something here?” Eve involuntarily
half-whispered to Mr. Sharp, who stood at her elbow.

This person started on hearing her voice making this
sudden appeal, and glancing a look of intelligence at her,
he smiled and moved nearer to the principal parties.

“Really, Mr. Attorney,” he commenced, “this appears
to be rather irregular, I must confess,—quite out of the
ordinary way, and it may lead to unpleasant consequences.”

“In what manner, sir?” interrupted Seal, measuring the
other's ignorance at a glance.

“Why, irregular in form, if not in principle. I am
aware that the habeas corpus is all-essential, and that the
law must have its way; but really this does seem a little
irregular, not to describe it by any harsher term.”

Mr. Seal treated this new appeal respectfully, in appearance
at least, for he saw it was made by one greatly his
superior, while he felt an utter contempt for it in essentials,
as he perceived intuitively that this new intercession was
made in a profound ignorance of the subject. As respects
Mr. Blunt, however, he had an unpleasant distrust of the
result, the quiet manner of that gentleman denoting more
confidence in himself, and a greater practical knowledge of
the laws. Still, to try the extent of the other's information,
and the strength of his nerves, he rejoined in a magisterial
and menacing tone—

“Yes, let the lady sue out a writ of habeas corpus if
wrongfully arrested; and I should be glad to discover the
foreigner who will dare to attempt a rescue in old England,
and in defiance of English laws.”

It is probable Paul Blunt would have relinquished his interference,
from an apprehension that he might be ignorantly
aiding the evil-doer, but for this threat; and even the
threat might not have overcome his prudence, had not he
caught the imploring look of the fine blue eyes of Eve.

“All are not necessarily foreigners who embark on
board an American ship at an English port,” he said
steadily, “nor is justice denied those that are. The habeas
corpus is as well understood in other countries as in this,
for happily we live in an age when neither liberty nor
knowledge is exclusive. If an attorney, you must know
yourself that you cannot legally arrest a wife for a husband,
and that what you say of the habeas corpus is little
worthy of attention.”

“We arrest, and whoever interferes with an officer in
charge of a prisoner is guilty of a rescue. Mistakes must
be rectified by the magistrates.”

“True, provided the officer has warranty for what he
does.”

“Writs and warrants may contain errors, but an arrest
is an arrest,” growled Grab.

“Not the arrest of a woman for a man. In such a case
there is design, and not a mistake. If this frightened wife
will take counsel from me, she will refuse to accompany
you.”

“At her peril, let her dare do so!”

“At your peril do you dare to attempt forcing her from
the ship!”

“Gentlemen, gentlemen!—let there be no misunderstanding,
I pray you,” interposed the captain. “Mr.
Blunt, Mr. Grab; Mr. Grab, Mr. Blunt. No warm words,
gentlemen, I beg of you. But the tide is beginning to
serve, Mr. Attorney, and `time and tide,' you know— If
we stay here much longer, the Montauk may be forced to
sail on the 2d, instead of the 1st, as has been advertised in
both hemispheres. I should be sorry to carry you to sea,
gentlemen, without your small stores; and as for the cabin,
it is as full as a lawyer's conscience. No remedy but the
steerage in such a case.—Lay forward, men, and heave
away. Some of you, man the fore-top-sail halyards.—We
are as regular as our chronometers; the 1st, 10th, and
20th, without fail.”

There was some truth, blended with a little poetry, in
Captain Truck's account of the matter. The tide had indeed
made in his favour, but the little wind there was blew
directly into the roadstead, and had not his feelings become
warmed by the distress of a pretty and interesting young
woman, it is more than probable the line would have incurred
the disgrace of having a ship sail on a later day
than had been advertised. As it was, however, he had
the matter up in earnest, and he privately assured Sir
George and Mr. Dodge, if the affair were not immediately
disposed of, he should carry both the attorney and officer
to sea with him, and that he did not feel himself bound to
furnish either with water. “They may catch a little rain,
by wringing their jackets,” he added, with a wink; “though
October is a dryish month in the American seas.”

The decision of Paul Blunt would have induced the attorney
and his companion to relinquish their pursuit but
for two circumstances. They had both undertaken the

job as a speculation, or on the principle of “no play, no
pay,” and all their trouble would be lost without success.
Then the very difficulty that occurred had been foreseen,
and while the officer proceeded to the ship, the uncle had
been busily searching for a son on shore, to send off to
identify the husband,—a step that would have been earlier
resorted to could the young man have been found. This
son was a rejected suitor, and he was now seen, by the aid
of a glass that Mr. Grab always carried, pulling towards
the Montauk, in a two-oared boat, with as much zeal as
malignancy and disappointment could impart. His distance
from the ship was still considerable; but a peculiar
hat, with the aid of the glass, left no doubt of his identity.
The attorney pointed out the boat to the officer, and the
latter, after a look through the glass, gave a nod of approbation.
Exultation overcame the usual wariness of the attorney,
for his pride, too, had got to be enlisted in the success
of his speculation,—men being so strangely constituted
as often to feel as much joy in the accomplishment of
schemes that are unjustifiable, as in the accomplishment of
those of which they may have reason to be proud.

On the other hand, the passengers and people of the
packet seized something near the truth, with that sort of
instinctive readiness which seems to characterize bodies of
men in moments of excitement. That the solitary boat
which was pulling towards them in the dusk of the evening
contained some one who might aid the attorney and his
myrmidon, all believed, though in what manner none could
tell.

Between all seamen and the ministers of the law there is
a long-standing antipathy, for the visits of the latter are usually
so timed as to leave nothing between the alternatives
of paying or of losing a voyage. It was soon apparent,
then, that Mr. Seal had little to expect from the apathy of
the crew, for never did men work with better will to get a
ship loosened from the bottom.

All this feeling manifested itself in a silent and intelligent
activity rather than in noise or bustle, for every man on
board exercised his best faculties, as well as his best good
will and strength; the clock-work ticks of the palls of the
windlass resembling those of a watch that had got the start

of time, while the chain came in with surges of half a
fathom at each heave.

“Lay hold of this rope, men,” cried Mr. Leach, placing
the end of the main-topsail halyards in the hands of half-a-dozen
athletic steerage passengers, who had all the inclination
in the world to be doing, though uncertain where to
lay their hands; “lay hold, and run away with it.”

The second mate performed the same feat forward, and
as the sheets had never been started, the broad folds of the
Montauk's canvas began to open, even while the men were
heaving at the anchor. These exertions quickened the
blood in the veins of those who were not employed, until
even the quarter-deck passengers began to experience the
excitement of a chase, in addition to the feelings of compassion.
Captain Truck was silent, but very active in
preparations. Springing to the wheel, he made its spokes
fly until he had forced the helm hard up, when he unceremoniously
gave it to John Effingham to keep there. His
next leap was to the foot of the mizen-mast, where, after a
few energetic efforts alone, he looked over his shoulder and
beckoned for aid.

“Sir George Templemore, mizen-topsail-halyards; mizen-topsail-halyards,
Sir George Templemore,” muttered
the eager master, scarce knowing what he said. “Mr.
Dodge, now is the time to show that your name and nature
are not identical.”

In short, nearly all on board were busy, and, thanks to
the hearty good will of the officers, stewards, cooks, and a
few of the hands that could be spared from the windlass,
busy in a way to spread sail after sail with a rapidity little
short of that seen on board of a vessel of war. The rattling
of the clew-garnet blocks, as twenty lusty fellows ran
forward with the tack of the mainsail, and the hauling forward
of braces, was the signal that the ship was clear of
the ground, and coming under command.

A cross current had superseded the necessity of casting
the vessel, but her sails took the light air nearly abeam;
the captain understanding that motion was of much more
importance just then than direction. No sooner did he
perceive by the bubbles that floated past, or rather appeared
to float past, that his ship was dividing the water forward,

than he called a trusty man to the wheel, relieving John
Effingham from his watch. The next instant, Mr. Leach
reported the anchor catted and fished.

“Pilot, you will be responsible for this if my prisoners
escape,” said Mr. Grab menacingly. “You know my errand,
and it is your duty to aid the ministers of the law.”

“Harkee, Mr. Grab,” put in the master, who had warmed
himself with the exercise; “we all know, and we all do our
duties, on board the Montauk. It is your duty to take
Robert Davis on shore if you can find him; and it is my
duty to take the Montauk to America: now, if you will
receive counsel from a well-wisher, I would advise you to
see that you do not go in her. No one offers any impediment
to your performing your office, and I'll thank you to
offer me none in performing mine.—Brace the yards further
forward, boys, and let the ship come up to the wind.”

As there were logic, useful information, law, and seamanship
united in this reply, the attorney began to betray uneasiness;
for by this time the ship had gathered so much
way as to render it exceedingly doubtful whether a two-oared
boat would be able to come up with her, without the
consent of those on board. It is probable, as evening had
already closed, and the rays of the moon were beginning
to quiver on the ripple of the water, that he would have
abandoned his object, though with infinite reluctance, had
not Sir George Templemore pointed out to the captain a
six-oared boat, that was pulling towards them from a quarter
that permitted it to be seen in the moonlight.

“That appears to be a man-of-war's cutter,” observed
the baronet uneasily, for by this time all on board felt a
sort of personal interest in their escape.

“It does indeed, Captain Truck,” added the pilot; “and
if she make a signal, it will become my duty to heave-to
the Montauk.”

“Then bundle out of her, my fine fellow, as fast as you
can; for not a brace or a bowline shall be touched here,
with my consent, for any such purpose. The ship is
cleared—my hour is come—my passengers are on board—
and America is my haven.—Let them that want me, catch
me. That is what I call Vattel.”

The pilot and the master of the Montauk were excellent

friends, and understood each other perfectly, even while the
former was making the most serious professions of duty.
The boat was hauled up, and, first whispering a few cautions
about the shoals and the currents, the worthy marine
guide leaped into it, and was soon seen floating astern—a
cheering proof that the ship had got fairly in motion. As
he fell out of hearing in the wake of the vessel, the honest
fellow kept calling out “to tack in season.”

“If you wish to try the speed of your boat against that
of the pilot, Mr. Grab,” called out the captain, “you will
never have a better opportunity. It is a fine night for a
regatta, and I will stand you a pound on Mr. Handlead's
heels. For that matter, I would as soon trust his head, or
his hands, in the bargain.”

The officer continued obstinately on board, for he saw
that the six-oared boat was coming up with the ship, and,
as he well knew the importance to his client of compelling
a settlement of the accounts, he fancied some succour might
be expected in that quarter. In the mean time, this new
movement on the part of their pursuers attracted general
attention, and, as might be expected, the interest of this
little incident increased the excitement that usually accompanies
a departure for a long sea-voyage, fourfold. Men
and women forgot their griefs and leave-takings in anxiety,
and in that pleasure which usually attends agitation of the
mind that does not proceed from actual misery of our own.