University of Virginia Library

4. CHAPTER IV.

Shelley.

As Captain Truck was so fully aware of the importance
of rapid movements to the success of his enterprise, it will
be remembered that he left in the ship no seaman, no servant,
except Saunders the steward, and, in short, no men but
the two Messrs. Effingham, Mr. Sharp, Mr. Blunt, and the
other person just mentioned. If to these be added, Eve
Effingham, Mademoiselle Viefville, Ann Sidley, and a French
femme de chambre, the whole party will be enumerated. At
first, it had been the intention of the master to leave one of
his mates behind him, but, encouraged by the secure berth
he had found for his vessel, the great strength of his moorings,
the little hold the winds and waves could get of spars
so robbed of their proportions, and of a hull so protected by
the reef, and feeling a certain confidence in the knowledge
of Mr. Blunt, who, several times during the passage, had
betrayed a great familiarity with ships, he came to the decision
named, and had formally placed the last named gentleman
in full charge, ad interim, of the Montauk.

There was a solemn and exciting interest in the situation
of those who remained in the vessel, after the party of bustling
seamen had left them. The night came in bland and
tranquil, and although there was no moon, they walked the
deck for hours with strange sensations of enjoyment, mingled
with those of loneliness and desertion. Mr. Effingham and
his cousin retired to their rooms long before the others, who
continued their exercise with a freedom and an absence of
restraint, that they had not before felt, since subjected to the
confinement of the ship.

“Our situation is at least novel,” Eve observed, “for a
party of Parisians, Viennois, Romans, or by whatever name
we may be properly styled.”

“Say Swiss, then,” returned Mr. Blunt; “for I believe
that even the cosmopolite has a claim to choose his favourite
residence.”

Eve understood the allusion, which carried her back to
the weeks they had passed in company, among the grand
scenery of the Alps; but she would not betray the consciousness,
for, whatever may be the ingenuousness of a
female, she seldom loses her sensitiveness on the subject of
her more cherished feelings.

“And do you prefer Switzerland to all the other countries
of your acquaintance?” asked Mr. Sharp: “England
I leave out of the question, for, though we, who belong to
the island, see so many charms in it, it must be conceded
that strangers seldom join us very heartily in its praises.
I think most travellers would give the palm to Italy.”

“I am quite of the same opinion,” returned the other;
“and were I to be confined to a choice of a residence for
life, Italy should be my home. Still, I think, that we like
change in our residence, as well as in the seasons. Italy
is summer, and one, I fear, would weary of even an eternal
June.”

“Is not Italy rather autumn, a country in which the
harvest is gathered, and where one begins already to see
the fall of the leaf?”

“To me,” said Eve, “it would be an eternal summer; as
things are eternal with young ladies. My ignorance would
be always receiving instruction, and my tastes improvement.
But, if Italy be summer, or autumn, what is poor
America?”

“Spring of course,” civilly answered Mr. Sharp.

“And, do you, Mr. Blunt, who seem to know all parts
of the world equally well, agree in giving our country, my
country at least, this encouraging title?”

“It is merited in many respects, though there are others
in which the term winter would, perhaps, be better applied.
America is a country not easily understood; for, in some
particulars, like Minerva, it has been born full-grown;
while, in others, it is certainly still an infant.”

“In what particulars do you especially class it with the
latter?” inquired Mr. Sharp.

“In strength, to commence,” answered the other, slightly

smiling; “in opinions, too, and in tastes, and perhaps in
knowledge. As to the latter essential, however, and practical
things as well as in the commoner comforts, America
may well claim to be in midsummer, when compared with
other nations. I do not think you Americans, Miss Effingham,
at the head of civilisation, certainly, as so many of
your own people fancy; nor yet at the bottom, as so many
of those of Mademoiselle Viefville and Mr. Sharp so piously
believe.”

“And what are the notions of the countrymen of Mr.
Blunt, on the subject?”

“As far from the truth, perhaps, as any other. I perceive
there exist some doubts as to the place of my nativity,”
he added, after a pause that denoted a hesitation,
which all hoped was to end in his setting the matter at rest,
by a simple statement of the fact; “and I believe I shall
profit by the circumstance, to praise and condemn at pleasure,
since no one can impeach my candour, or impute
either to partialities or prejudices.”

“That must depend on the justice of your judgments.
In one thing, however, you will have me on your side, and
that is in giving the pas to delicious, dreamy Italy! Though
Mademoiselle Viefville will set this down as lèse majesté
against cher Paris; and I fear, Mr. Sharp will think even
London injured.”

“Do you really hold London so cheap?” inquired the
latter gentleman, with more interest than he himself was
quite aware of betraying.

“Indeed, no. This would be to discredit my own tastes
and knowledge. In a hundred things, I think London quite
the finest town of Christendom. It is not Rome, certainly,
and were it in ruins fifteen centuries, I question if people
would flock to the banks of the Thames to dream away existence
among its crumbling walls; but, in conveniences,
beauty of verdure, a mixture of park-like scenery and architecture,
and in magnificence of a certain sort, one would
hardly know where to go to find the equal of London.”

“You say nothing of its society, Miss Effingham?”

“It would be presuming, in a girl of my limited experience
to speak of this. I hear so much of the good sense of the
nation, that I dare not say aught against its society, and it

would be affectation for me to pretend to commend it; but
as for your females, judging by my own poor means, they
strike me as being singularly well cultivated and accomplished;
and yet—”

“Go on, I entreat you. Recollect we have solemnly decided
in a general congress of states to be cosmopolites, until
safe within Sandy Hook, and that la franchise is the mot
d'ordre.”

“Well, then, I should not certainly describe you English
as a talking people,” continued Eve, laughing. “In the
way of society, you are quite as agreeable as a people, who
never laugh and seldom speak, can possibly make themselves.”

“Et les jeunes Americaines?” said Mademoiselle Viefville,
laconically.

“My dear mademoiselle, your question is terrific! Mr.
Blunt has informed me that they actually giggle!”

“Quelle horreur!”

“It is bad enough, certainly; but I ascribe the report to
calumny. No; if I must speak, let me have Paris for its
society, and Naples for its nature. As respects New York,
Mr. Blunt, I suspend my judgment.”

“Whatever may be the particular merit which shall most
attract your admiration in favour of the great emporium, as
the grandiloquent writers term the capital of your own state,
I think I can venture to predict it will be neither of those
just mentioned. Of society, indeed, New York has positively
none: like London, it has plenty of company, which
is disciplined something like a regiment of militia composed
of drafts from different brigades, and which sometimes mistakes
the drum-major for the colonel.”

“I had fancied you a New Yorker, until now,” observed
Mr. Sharp.

“And why not now? Is a man to be blind to facts as
evident as the noon-day sun, because he was born here or
there? If I have told you an unpleasant truth, Miss Effingham,
you must accuse la franchise of the offence. I believe
you are not a Manhattanese?”

“I am a mountaineer; having been born at my father's
country residence.”

“This gives me courage then, for no one here will have his
filial piety shocked.”

“Not even yourself?”

“As for myself,” returned Paul Blunt, “it is settled I
am a cosmopolite in fact, while you are only a cosmopolite
by convention. Indeed, I question if I might take the same
liberties with either Paris or London, that I am about to take
with palmy Manhattan. I should have little confidence in
the forbearance of my auditors: Mademoiselle Viefville
would hardly forgive me: were I to attempt a criticism on
the first, for instance.”

“C'est impossible! you could not, Monsieur Blunt; vous
parlez trop bien Français not to love Paris.”

“I do love Paris, mademoiselle; and, what is more, I love
Londres, or even la Nouvelle Yorck. As a cosmopolite, I claim this privilege, at least, though I can see defects in all.
If you will recollect, Miss Effingham, that New York is a
social bivouac, a place in which families encamp instead of
troops, you will see the impossibility of its possessing a
graceful, well-ordered, and cultivated society. Then the
town is commercial; and no place of mere commerce can
well have a reputation for its society. Such an anomaly, I
believe, never existed. Whatever may be the usefulness of
trade, I fancy few will contend that it is very graceful.”

“Florence of old?” said Eve.

“Florence and her commerce were peculiar, and the
relations of things change with circumstances. When
Florence was great, trade was a monopoly, in a few hands,
and so conducted as to remove the principals from immediate
contact with its affairs. The Medici traded in spices and
silks, as men traded in politics, through agents. They probably
never saw their ships, or had any farther connexion
with their commerce, than to direct its spirit. They were
more like the legislator who enacts laws to regulate trade,
than the dealer who fingers a sample, smells at a wine, or
nibbles a grain. The Medici were merchants, a class of
men altogether different from the mere factors, who buy of
one to sell to another, at a stated advance in price, and all
of whose enterprise consists in extending the list of safe
customers, and of doing what is called a `regular business.'
Monopolies do harm on the whole, but they certainly elevate

the favoured few. The Medici and the Strozzi were both
princes and merchants, while those around them were principally
dependants. Competition, in our day, has let in
thousands to share in the benefits; and the pursuit, while it
is enlarged as a whole, has suffered in its parts by division.”

“You surely do not complain that a thousand are comfortable
and respectable to-day, for one that was il magnifico
three hundred years since?”

“Certainly not. I rejoice in the change; but we must
not confound names with things. If we have a thousand
mere factors for one merchant, society, in the general signification
of the word, is clearly a gainer; but if we had one
Medici for a thousand factors, society, in its particular signification,
might also be a gainer. All I mean is, that, in
lowering the pursuit, we have necessarily lowered its qualifications;
in other words, every man in trade in New York,
is no more a Lorenzo, than every printer's devil is a
Franklin.”

“Mr. Blunt cannot be an American!” cried Mr. Sharp;
“for these opinions would be heresy.”

“Jamais, jamais,” joined the governess.

“You constantly forget the treaty of cosmopolitism. But
a capital error is abroad concerning America on this very
subject of commerce. In the way of merchandise alone,
there is not a Christian maritime nation of any extent, that
has a smaller portion of its population engaged in trade of
this sort than the United States of America. The nation, as
a nation, is agricultural, though the state of transition, in
which a country in the course of rapid settlement must
always exist, causes more buying and selling of real property
than is usual. Apart from this peculiarity, the Americans,
as a whole people, have not the common European
proportions of ordinary dealers.”

“This is not the prevalent opinion,” said Mr. Sharp.

“It is not, and the reason is, that all American towns, or
nearly all that are at all known in other countries, are
purely commercial towns. The trading portion of a community
is always the concentrated portion, too, and of
course, in the absence of a court, of a political, or of a
social capital, it has the greatest power to make itself heard
and felt, until there is a direct appeal to the other classes.

The elections commonly show quite as little sympathy
between the majority and the commercial class as is consistent
with the public welfare. In point of fact, America
has but a very small class of real merchants, men who are
the cause and not a consequence of commerce, though she
has exceeding activity in the way of ordinary traffic. The
portion of her people who are engaged as factors,—for this
is the true calling of the man who is a regular agent
between the common producer and the common consumer,—
are of a high class as factors, but not of the high class of
merchants. The man who orders a piece of silk to be
manufactured at Lyons, at three francs a yard, to sell it in
the regular course of the season to the retailer at three
francs and a half, is no more a true merchant, than the
attorney, who goes through the prescribed forms of the
court in his pleadings, is a barrister.”

“I do not think these sentiments will be very popular at
home, as Mr. Dodge says,” Eve laughingly remarked;
“but when shall we reach that home! While we are
talking of these things, here are we, in an almost deserted
ship, within a mile of the great Desert of Sahara! How
beautiful are the stars, mademoiselle! we have never before
seen a vault so studded with brilliants.”

“That must be owing to the latitude,” Mr. Sharp observed.

“Certainly. Can any one say in what latitude we are
precisely?” As Eve asked this question, she unconsciously
turned towards Mr. Blunt; for the whole party had silently
come to the conclusion that he knew more of ships and
navigation than all of them united.

“I believe we are not far from twenty-four, which is
bringing us near the tropics, and places us quite sixteen
degrees to the southward of our port. These two affairs
of the chase and of the gale have driven us fully twelve
hundred miles from the course we ought to have taken.”

“Fortunately, mademoiselle, there are none to feel apprehensions
on our account, or, none whose interest will be
so keen as to create a very lively distress. I hope, gentlemen,
you are equally at ease on this score?”

This was the first time Eve had ever trusted herself to
put an interrogatory that might draw from Paul Blunt any

communication that would directly touch upon his connexions.
She repented of the speech as soon as made, but
causelessly, as it drew from the young man no answer.
Mr. Sharp observed that his friends in England could
scarcely know of their situation, until his own letters would
arrive to relieve their minds. As for Mademoiselle Viefville,
the hard fortune which reduced her to the office of a
governess, had almost left her without natural ties.

“I believe we are to have watch and ward to-night,”
resumed Eve, after the general pause had continued some
little time. “Is it not possible for the elements to put us
in the same predicament as that in which we found the
poor Dane?”

“Possible, certainly, but scarcely probable,” returned
Mr. Blunt. “The ship is well moored, and this narrow
ledge of rocks, between us and the ocean, serves admirably
for a break-water. One would not like to be stranded,
helpless as we are, at this moment, on a coast like this!”

“Why so particularly helpless? You allude to the
absence of our crew?”

“To that, and to the fact that, I believe, we could not
muster as much as a pocket-pistol to defend ourselves
with, everything in the shape of fire-arms having been
sent with the party in the boats.”

“Might we not lie on the beach, here, for days, even
weeks,” inquired Mr. Sharp, “without being discovered by
the Arabs?”

“I fear not. Mariners have told me that the barbarians
hover along the shores, especially after gales, in the hope
of meeting with wrecks, and that it is surprising how soon
they gain intelligence of any disaster. It is seldom there is
even an opportunity to escape in a boat.”

“I hope here, at least, we are safe?” cried Eve, in a
little terror, and shuddering, as much in playfulness as in
real alarm.

“I see no grounds of concern where we are, so long as
we can keep the ship off the shore. The Arabs have no
boats, and if they had, they would not dare to attack a vessel
that floated, in one, unless aware of her being as truly
helpless as we happen at this moment to be.”

“This is a chilling consolation, but I shall trust in your

good care, gentlemen. Mademoiselle, it is drawing near
midnight, I believe.”

Eve and her companion then courteously wished the two
young men good night, and retired to their state-rooms; Mr.
Sharp remained an hour longer with Mr. Blunt, who had undertaken
to watch the first few hours, conversing with a light
heart, and gaily; for, though there was a secret consciousness
of rivalry between these two young men on the subject
of Eve's favour, it was a generous and manly competition,
in which each did the other ample justice. They talked of
their travels, their views of customs and nations, their adventures
in different countries, and of the pleasure each had
felt in visiting spots renowned by association or the arts;
but not a word was hazarded by either concerning the young
creature who had just left them, and whom each still saw
in his mind's eye, long after her light and graceful form had
disappeared. At length Mr. Sharp went below, his companion
insisting on being left alone, under the penalty of remaining
up himself during the second watch. From this
time, for several hours, there was no other noise in the ship
than the tread of the solitary watchman. At the appointed
period of the night, a change took place, and he who had
watched, slept; while he who had slept, watched. Just as
day dawned, however, Paul Blunt, who was in a deep sleep,
felt a shake at his shoulder.

“Pardon me,” cautiously whispered Mr. Sharp: “I fear
we are about to have a most unpleasant interruption to our
solitude.”

“Heavenly powers!—Not the Arabs?”

“I fear no less: but it is still too dark to be certain of the
fact. If you will rise, we can consult on the situation in
which we are placed. I beg you to be quick.”

Paul Blunt had hastily risen on an arm, and he now
passed a hand over his brow, as if to make certain that he
was awake. He had not undressed himself, and in another
moment he stood on his feet in the middle of the state-room.

“This is too serious to allow of mistake. We will not
alarm her, then; we will not give any alarm, sir, until certain
of the calamity.”

“In that I entirely agree with you,” returned Mr. Sharp,

who was perfectly calm, though evidently distressed. “I
may be mistaken, and wish your opinion. All on board but
us two are in a profound sleep.”

The other drew on his coat, and in a minute both were
on deck. The day had not yet dawned, and the light was
scarce sufficient to distinguish objects even near as those on
the reef, particularly when they were stationary. The rocks,
themselves, however, were visible in places, for the tide was
out, and most of the upper portion of the ledge was bare.
The two gentlemen moved cautiously to the bows of the
vessel, and, concealed by the bulwarks, Mr. Sharp pointed
out to his companion the objects that had given him the
alarm.

“Do you see the pointed rock a little to the right of the
spot where the kedge is placed?” he said, pointing in the
direction that he meant. “It is now naked, and I am quite
certain there was an object on it, when I went below, that
has since moved away.”

“It may have been a sea-bird; for we are so near
the day, some of them are probably in motion. Was it
large?”

“Of the size of a man's head, apparently; but this is by
no means all. Here, farther to the north, I distinguished
three objects in motion, wading in the water, near the point
where the rocks are never bare.”

“They may have been herons; the bird is often found in
these low latitudes, I believe. I can discover nothing.”

“I would to God, I may have been mistaken, though I do
not think I could be so much deceived.”

Paul Blunt caught his arm, and held it like one who listened
intently.

“Heard you that?” he whispered hurriedly.

“It sounded like the clanking of iron.”

Looking around, the other found a handspike, and passing
swiftly up the heel of the bowsprit, he stood between the
knight-heads. Here he bent forward, and looked intently
towards the lines of chains which lay over the bulwarks, as
bow-fasts. Of these chains the parts led quite near each
other, in parallel lines, and as the ship's moorings were taut,
they were hanging in merely a slight curve. From the rocks,
or the place where the kedges were laid to a point within

thirty feet of the ship, these chains were dotted with living
beings crawling cautiously upward. It was even easy, at a
second look, to perceive that they were men stealthily advancing
on their hands and feet.

Raising the handspike, Mr. Blunt struck the chains several
violent blows. The effect was to cause the whole of the
Arabs—for it could be no others—suddenly to cease advancing,
and to seat themselves astride the chains.

“This is fearful,” said Mr. Sharp; “but we must die,
rather than permit them to reach the ship.”

“We must. Stand you here, and if they advance, strike
the chains. There is not an instant to lose.”

Paul Blunt spoke hurriedly, and, giving the other the
handspike, he ran down to the bitts, and commenced loosening
the chains from their fastenings. The Arabs heard the
clanking of the iron-rings, as he threw coil after coil on the
deck, and they did not advance. Presently two parts yielded
together beneath them, and then two more. These were the
signals for a common retreat, and Mr. Sharp now plainly
counted fifteen human forms as they scrambled back towards
the reef, some hanging by their arms, some half in the water,
and others lying along the chains, as best they might.
Mr. Blunt having loosened the chains, so as to let their bights
fall into the sea, the ship slowly drifted astern, and rode by
her cables. When this was done, the two young men stood
together in silence on the forecastle, as if each felt that all
which had just occurred was some illusion.

“This is indeed terrible,” exclaimed Paul Blunt. “We
have not even a pistol left! No means of defence—nothing
but this narrow belt of water between us and these barbarians!
No doubt, too, they have fire-arms; and, as soon as
it is light, they will render it unsafe to remain on deck.”

Mr. Sharp took the hand of his companion and pressed it
fervently. “God bless you!” he said in a stifled voice.
“God bless you, for even this brief delay. But for this
happy thought of yours, Miss Effingham—the others—we
should all have been, by this time, at the mercy of these
remorseless wretches. This is not a moment for false pride
or pitiful deceptions. I think either of us would willingly
die to rescue that beautiful and innocent creature from a fate
like this which threatens her in common with ourselves?”

“Cheerfully would I lay down my life to be assured that
she was, at this instant, safe in a civilized and Christian
country.”

These generous young men squeezed each other's hands,
and at that moment no feeling of rivalry, or of competition
even, entered the heart of either. Both were influenced by
a pure and ardent desire to serve the woman they loved, and
it would be true to say, that scarce a thought of any but Eve
was uppermost in their minds. Indeed so engrossig was
their common care in her behalf, so much more terrible than
that of any other person did her fate appear on being captured,
that they forgot, for the moment, there were others in
the ship, and others, too, who might be serviceable in arresting
the very calamity they dreaded.

“They may not be a strong party,” said Paul Blunt,
after a little thought, “in which case, failing of a surprise,
they may not be able to muster a force sufficient to hazard
an open attack until the return of the boats. We have,
God be praised! escaped being seized in our sleep, and
made unconscious victims of so cruel a fate. Fifteen or
twenty will scarcely dare attempt a ship of this size, without
a perfect knowledge of our feebleness, and particularly
of our want of arms. There is a light gun on board, and
it is loaded; with this, too, we may hold them at bay, by
not betraying our weakness. Let us awake the others, for
this is not a moment for sleep. We are safe, at least, for
an hour or two; since, without boats, they cannot possibly
find the means to board us in less than that time.”

The two young men went below, unconsciously treading
lightly, like those who moved about in the presence of an
impending danger. Paul Blunt was in advance, and to his
great surprise he met Eve at the door of the ladies' cabin,
apparently awaiting their approach. She was dressed, for
apprehension, and the novelty of their situation, had caused
her to sleep in most of her clothes, and a few moments had
sufficed for a hasty adjustment of the toilet. Miss Effingham
was pale, but a concentration of all her energies
seemed to prevent the exhibition of any womanly terror.

“Something is wrong!” she said, trembling in spite of
herself, and laying her hand unwittingly on the arm of
Paul Blunt: “I heard the heavy fall of iron on the deck.”

“Compose yourself, dearest Miss Effingham, compose
yourself, I entreat you. I mean, that we have come to
awaken the gentlemen.”

“Tell me the worst, Powis, I implore you. I am equal,—
I think I am equal, to hearing it.”

“I fear your imagination has exaggerated the danger.”

“The coast?”

“Of that there is no cause for apprehension. The sea
is calm, and our fasts are perfectly good.”

“The boats?”

“Will doubtless be back in good time.”

“Surely—surely,” said Eve, recoiling a step, as if she
saw a monster, “not the Arabs?”

“They cannot enter the ship, though a few of them are
hovering about us. But for the vigilance of Mr. Sharp,
indeed, we might have all been captured in our sleep. As
it is, we have warning, and there is now little doubt of our
being able to intimidate the few barbarians who have shown
themselves, until Captain Truck shall return.”

“Then from my soul, I thank you, Sir George Templemore,
and for this good office will you receive the thanks
of a father, and the prayers of all whom you have so signally
served.”

“Nay, Miss Effingham, although I find this interest in
me so grateful that I have hardly the heart to lessen your
gratitude, truth compels me to give it a juster direction.
But for the promptitude of Mr. Blunt—or as I now find I
ought to address him, Mr. Powis—we should truly have all
been lost.”

“We will not dispute about your merits, gentlemen.
You have both deserved our most heartfelt thanks, and if
you will awaken my father and Mr. John Effingham, I will
arouse Mademoiselle Viefville and my own women. Surely,
surely, this is no time to sleep!”

The summons was given at the state-room doors, and
the two young men returned to the deck, for they felt it was
not safe to leave it long at such a moment. All was quite
tranquil above, however, nor could the utmost scrutiny now
detect the presence of any person on the reef.

“The rocks are cut off from the shore, farther to the
southward by deeper water,” said Paul Blunt—for we shall

continue to call both gentlemen, except on particular occasions,
by their noms de guerre—“and when the tide is up
the place cannot be forded. Of this the Arabs are probably
aware; and having failed in their first attempt, they
will probably retire to the beach as the water is rising, for
they might not like to be left on the riband of rock that
will remain in face of the force that would be likely to be
found in such a vessel.”

“May they not be acquainted with the absence of most
of our people, and be bent upon seizing the vessel before
they can return?”

“That indeed is the gloomy side of the conjecture, and
it may possibly be too true; but as the day is beginning to
break, we shall soon learn the worst, and anything is
better than vague distrust.”

For some time the two gentlemen paced the quarter-deck
together in silence. Mr. Sharp was the first to speak.

“The emotions natural to such an alarm,” he said,
“have caused Miss Effingham to betray an incognito of
mine, that I fear you find sufficiently absurd. It was quite
accidental, I do assure you; as much so, perhaps, as it
was motiveless.”

“Except as you might distrust American democracy,”
returned Paul, smiling, “and feel disposed to propitiate it
by a temporary sacrifice of rank and title.”

“I declare you do me injustice. My man, whose name
is Sharp, had taken the state-room, and, finding myself
addressed by his appellation, I had the weakness to adopt
it, under the impression it might be convenient in a packet.
Had I anticipated, in the least, meeting with the Effinghams,
I should not have been guilty of the folly, for Mr.
and Miss Effingham are old acquaintances.”

“While you are thus apologising for a venial offence,
you forget it is to a man guilty of the same error. I knew
your person, from having seen you on the Continent; and
finding you disposed to go by the homely name of Sharp,
in a moment of thoughtlessness, I took its counterpart,
Blunt. A travelling name is sometimes convenient, though
sooner or later I fancy all deceptions bring with them their
own punishments.”

“It is certain that falsehood requires to be supported by

falsehood. Having commenced in untruth, would it not be
expedient to persevere until we reach America? I, at least,
cannot now assert a right to my proper name, without
deposing an usurper!”

“It will be expedient for you, certainly, if it be only to
escape the homage of that double-distilled democrat, Mr.
Dodge. As for myself, few care enough about me to
render it a matter of moment how I am styled; though, on
the whole, I should prefer to let things stand as they are,
for reasons I cannot well explain.”

No more was said on the subject, though both understood
that the old appellations were to be temporarily
continued. Just as this brief dialogue ended, the rest of
the party appeared on deck. All preserved a forced calmness,
though the paleness of the ladies betrayed the intense
anxiety they felt. Eve struggled with her fears on account
of her father, who had trembled so violently, when the
truth was first told him, as to be quite unmanned, but who
now comported himself with dignity, though oppressed with
apprehension almost to anguish. John Effingham was
stern, and in the bitterness of his first sensations he had
muttered a few imprecations on his own folly, in suffering
himself to be thus caught without arms. Once the terrible
idea of the necessity of sacrificing Eve, in the last
resort, as an expedient preferable to captivity, had flashed
across his mind; but the real tenderness he felt for her,
and his better nature, soon banished the unnatural thought.
Still, when he joined the party on deck, it was with a
general but vague impression, that the moment was at
hand when circumstances had required that they were all
to die together. No one was more seemingly collected
than Mademoiselle Viefville. Her life had been one of
sacrifices, and she had now made up her mind that it was
to pass away in a scene of violence; and, with a species of
heroism that is national, her feelings had been aroused to
a sort of Roman firmness, and she was prepared to meet
her fate with a composure equal to that of the men.

These were the first feelings and impressions of those who
had been awakened from the security of the night, to hear
the tale of their danger; but they lessened as the party collected
in the open air, and began to examine into their situation

by means of the steadily increasing light. As the day
advanced, Paul Blunt, in particular, carefully examined the
rocks near the ship, even ascending to the foretop, from
which elevation he overlooked the whole line of the reef; and
something like hope revived in every bosom, when he proclaimed
the joyful intelligence that nothing having life was
visible in that direction.

“God be praised!” he said with fervour, as his foot
touched the deck again on descending; “we have at least a
respite from the attacks of these barbarians. The tide has
risen so high that they dare not stay on the rocks, lest they
might be cut off; for they probably think us stronger than
we are, and armed. The light gun on the forecastle is
loaded, gentlemen, though not shotted; for there are no shot
in the vessel, Saunders tells me; and I would suggest the
propriety of firing it, both to alarm the Arabs, and as a
signal to our friends. The distance from the wreck is not
so great but it might be heard, and I think they would at
least send a boat to our relief. Sound flies fast, and a short
time may bring us succour. The water will not be low
enough for our enemies to venture on the reef again, under
six or eight hours, and all may yet be well.”

This proposal was discussed, and it proving, on inquiry,
that all the powder in the ship, after loading the gun for this
very purpose of firing a signal, had been taken in the boats,
and that no second discharge could be made, it was decided
to lose no more time, but to let their danger be known to
their friends at once, if it were possible to send the sound so
far. When this decision was come to, Mr. Blunt, aided by
Mr. Sharp, made the necessary preparations without delay.
The latter, though doing all he could to assist, envied the
readiness, practical skill and intelligence, with which his
companion, a man of cultivated and polished mind in higher
things, performed every requisite act that was necessary to
effect their purpose. Instead of hastily discharging the piece,
an iron four-pound gun, Mr. Blunt first doubled the wad,
which he drove home with all his force, and then he greased
the muzzle, as he said, to increase the report.

“I shall not attempt to explain the philosophy of this,”
he added with a mournful smile, “but all lovers of salutes
and salvos will maintain that it is useful; and be it so or

not, too much depends on our making ourselves heard, to
neglect any thing that has even a chance of aiding that one
great object. If you will now assist me, Sir George, we
will run the gun over to starboard, in order that it may be
fired on the side next the wreck.”

“Judging from the readiness you have shown on several
occasions, as well as your familiarity with the terms, I should
think you had served,” returned the real baronet, as he
helped his companion to place the gun at a port on the
northern side of the vessel.

“You have not mistaken my trade. I was certainly bred,
almost born, a seaman; and though as a traveller I have
now been many years severed from my early habits, little
of what I knew has been lost. Were there five others here,
who had as much familiarity as myself with vessels, I think
we could carry the ship outside the reef, crippled as she is,
and set the Arabs at defiance. Would to God our worthy
captain had never brought her inside.”

“He did all for the best, no doubt?”

“Beyond a question; and no more than a commendable
prudence required. Still he has left us in a most critical position.
This priming is a little damp, and I distrust it. The
coal, if you please.”

“Why do you not fire?”

“At the last moment, I almost repent of my own expedient.
Is it quite certain no pistols remain among any of
our effects?”

“I fear not. Saunders reports that all, even to those of
the smallest size, were put in requisition for the boats.”

“The charge in this gun might serve for many pistols, or
for several fowling-pieces. I might even sweep the reef, on
an emergency, by using old iron for shot! It appears like
parting with a last friend, to part with this single precious
charge of gunpowder.”

“Nay, you certainly know best; though I rather think
the Messrs. Effingham are of your first opinion.”

“It is puerile to waver on such a subject, and I will
hesitate no longer. There are moments when the air seems
to float in the direction of our friends; on the first return of
one of those currents, I will fire.”

A minute brought the opportunity, and Paul Blunt, or Paul

Powis, as his real name would now appear to be, applied the
coal. The report was sharp and lively; but as the smoke
floated away, he again expressed his doubts of the wisdom
of what had just been done. Had he then known that the
struggling sounds had diffused themselves in their radii,
without reaching the wreck, his regrets would have been
increased fourfold. This was a fact, however, that could
not be then ascertained, and those in the packet were compelled
to wait two or three hours before they even got the
certainty of their failure.

As the light increased a view was obtained of the shore,
which seemed as silent and deserted as the reef. For half
an hour the whole party experienced the revulsion of feeling
that accompanies all great changes of emotion, and the conversation
had even got to be again cheerful, and to turn into
its former channels, when suddenly a cry from Saunders renewed
the alarm. The steward was preparing the breakfast
in the galley, from which he gave occasional glances towards
the land, and his quick eye had been the first to detect
a new and still more serious danger that now menaced them.

A long train of camels was visible, travelling across the
desert, and holding its way towards the part of the reef
which touched the shore. At this point, too, were now to
be seen some twenty Arabs, waiting the arrival of their
friends; among whom it was fair to conclude were those
who had attempted to carry the ship by surprise. As the
events which next followed were closely connected with the
policy and forbearance of the party of barbarians near the
wreck, this will be a suitable occasion to explain the motives
of the latter, in not assailing Captain Truck, and the real
state of things among these children of the desert.

The Dane had been driven ashore, as conjectured, in the
last gale, and the crew had immediately been captured by a
small wandering party of the Arabs, with whom the coast
was then lined; as is usually the case immediately after
tempestuous weather. Unable to carry off much of the
cargo, this party had secured the prisoners, and hurried inland
to an oasis, to give the important intelligence to their
friends; leaving scouts on the shore, however, that they
might be early apprised of any similar disaster, or of any
change in the situation of their present prize. These scouts

had discovered the Montauk, drifting along the coast, dismasted
and crippled, and they had watched her to her anchorage
within the reef. The departure of her boats had
been witnessed, and though unable to foresee the whole object
of this expedition, the direction taken pointed out the wreck
as the point of destination. All this, of course, had been
communicated to the chief men of the different parties on
the coast, of which there were several, who had agreed to
unite their forces to secure the second ship, and then to
divide the spoils.

When the Arabs reached the coast near the wreck, that
morning, the elders among them were not slow in comprehending
the motives of the expedition; and having gained a
pretty accurate idea of the number of men employed about
the Dane, they had come to the just conclusion that few
were left in the vessel at anchor. They had carried off the
spy-glass of their prize too, and several among them knew
its use, from having seen similar things in other stranded
ships. By means of this glass, they discovered the number
and quality of those on board the Montauk, as soon as there
was sufficient light, and directed their own operations accordingly.
The parties that had appeared and disappeared
behind the sandy ridges of the desert, about the time at
which we have now arrived in the narrative, and those who
have been already mentioned in a previous chapter, were
those who came from the interior, and those who went in
the direction of the reef; the first of the latter of which
Saunders had just discovered. Owing to the rounded
formation of the coast, and to the intervention of a head-land,
the distance by water between the two ships was quite
double that by land between the two encampments, and
those who now arrived abreast of the packet, deliberately
pitched their tents, as if they depended more on a display
of their numbers for success than on concealment, and as if
they felt no apprehension of the return of the crew.

When the gentlemen had taken a survey of this strong
party, which numbered more than a hundred, they held a
consultation of the course it would be necessary to pursue.
To Paul Blunt, as an avowed seaman, and as one who had
already shown the promptitude and efficiency of his resources,
all eyes were turned in expectation of an opinion.

“So long as the tide keeps in,” this gentleman observed,
“I see no cause for apprehensions. We are beyond the
reach of musketry, or at all events, any fire of the Arabs,
at this distance, must be uncertain and harmless; and we
have always the hope of the arrival of the boats. Should
this fail us, and the tide fall this afternoon as low as it fell
in the morning, our situation will indeed become critical.
The water around the ship may possibly serve as a temporary
protection, but the distance to the reef is so small that
it might be passed by swimming.”

“Surely we could make good the vessel against men raising
themselves out of the water, and clambering up a vessel's
side?” said Mr. Sharp.

“It is probable we might, if unmolested from the shore.
But, imagine twenty or thirty resolute swimmers to put off
together for different parts of the vessel, protected by the
long muskets these Arabs carry, and you will easily conceive
the hopelessness of any defence. The first man
among us, who should show his person to meet the boarders,
would be shot down like a dog.”

“It was a cruel oversight to expose us to this horrible
fate!” exclaimed the appalled father.

“This is easier seen now than when the mistake was
committed,” observed John Effingham. “As a seaman, and
with his important object in view, Captain Truck acted for
the best, and we should acquit him of all blame, let the result
be what it may. Regrets are useless, and it remains
for us to devise some means to arrest the danger by which
we are menanced, before it be too late. Mr. Blunt, you must
be our leader and counsellor: is it not possible for us to carry
the ship outside of the reef, and to anchor her beyond the
danger of our being boarded?”

“I have thought of this expedient, and if we had a boat
it might possibly be done, in this mild weather; without a
boat, it is impossible.”

“But we have a boat,” glancing his eye towards the
launch that stood in the chocks or chucks.

“One that would be too unwieldy for our purposes, could
it be got into the water; a thing in itself that would be
almost impracticable for us to achieve.”

A long silence succeeded, during which the gentlemen

were occupied in the bootless effort of endeavouring to
devise expedients to escape the Arabs; bootless, because on
such occasions, the successful measure is commonly the
result of a sort of sudden inspiration, rather than of continued
and laborious thought.