 | CHAPTER IV. The free-trader, or, The cruiser of Narragansett Bay |  |
4. CHAPTER IV.
Leaving the merchant and the mate
to make out the new sail which has
just hove in sight in the southern board,
we will follow Barbara Frankland to
the habitation of Mad Margaret, as the
female whom we have introduced into
the preceding chapters was usually designated.
The maiden, after leaving the
summit of the hill, which was not more
than forty rods over, descended on the
west side by a rude pathway formed by
the removal of loose stones and fragments
of the ledge. Part of the way
led over the face of the smooth stone,
and in some places was so steep that she
had to assist her descent by holding on
to the low fern bushes, which grew by
the sides.
The cot in which Margaret lived,
the water-side, and at the extremity of
the path by which she had come down
to it from the hill-top. It was a small,
one-story tenement, with a door and
window in one end, the other sides being
closely boarded up. It was blackenedwith
age and the weather, and at a
distance could scarcely be distinguished
from the rocks which overhung it. A
rude stone chimney was built up on
the outside of the hut, and as Barbara
approached, a small wreath of smoke
was curling upward into the heavens.
A single pine tree which had taken root
in a crevice of the ledge, grew so as to
lean far over the cottage and lend it the
only shadow it got from the noon-tide
sun.
There was a wreck of an old boat lying
on the beach by the door, and though
it was worthless, seemed to be preserved
with great care; for a rough shed built
of strips, hides and drift-wood had been
erected over it, and it was carefully
propped up by stones and billets of
wood placed beneath the bow and stern.
As Barbara passed it, she glanced at
it and looked as if she understood the
motive which led to its preservation, for
she said,
“Her poor boy! How her heart is
bound up in everything which once was
his!”
She now reached the door, and paused
to listen with something like fear ere
she knocked. From where she stood
she could see the sloop-of-war, which
was anchored directly opposite the cottage,
and also on her right the town
close at hand and in full view; but the
signal-staff and her own home were hidden
from her by the shoulder and brow
of the hill.
She had raised her hand to tap upon
the door, when the voice of Margaret
from within arrested her:
“Don't stop to knock at my door,
sweet maiden. I knew it was you coming.
I know that light step in a hundred.
Come in, come in! for your
presence is a blessing to any roof you
pass under.”
Barbara opened the door of the hut
and entered. Margaret was upon her
knees before the fire, blowing it up into
a flame. As the red glare of the live
coals enkindled by her breath was reflected
from her swarthy, wild features,
Barbara involuntarily drew back a step,
for there was something in her appearance
then that confirmed the universal
belief in her supernatural character.
“You are welcome, Miss Barbara,”
she said, rising to her feet, and extending
her hand to the beautiful girl, who
looked embarrassed and as if awe-stricken.
“I am always glad to see you on
my hearth-stone! God's blessing always
goes before and follows after the
good and pure. What will ye that I
should do for you?”
This was said in a rough and masculine
manner, but there was a deep vein
of kindness beneath the outward seeming.
And as she spoke, she placed an
old chair with a bottom of smooth ox-hide
for her.
“Sit ye, Miss Barbara, sit ye. Ye
must be tired coming over the rocks, for
it is not often that the feet of gentles
like you, walk so rough a road.”
“I walk in rougher paths than that,
Margaret,” answered Barbara. “You
forget what a famous walker I am.”
“True! true! I have met you in
many a wild place by the bay shore
gathering shells. But that was for your
pleasure. You have not come here now
for pleasure. You have business with
me.”
“Business, Margaret!” repeated
Barbara with a blush that overspread
her cheeks with the quickness of lightning.
you? Here is a Spanish coin my father
sent you, and I have come to see if
you are in want of any thing.”
“Thanks to your father, maiden, for
this,” answered Margaret, taking the
silver piece; “the blessing of the Bible
will be upon him and his, for he remembereth
the poor. But thou hast not
come alone to give me this, nor to see
how the world and I fare together, sweet
maiden,” said Margaret, fixing her dark
eye impressively upon her face.
“Do I not visit you as often as once
a month, Margaret? Why should you
attribute other matters now to my visit
than a desire to know of your welfare?”
“Because there are causes for it,
sweet lady,” answered the woman in a
decided and almost severe tone. “Why
will you try to deceive me? I can read
thy thoughts in thy face. There is
something on thy mind that thou wouldst
consult with me upon.”
Barbara became deadly pale, and
gazed upon the singular woman with
fear and surprise. “Can she divine my
thoughts?” she asked herself, amazed;
for she had indeed sought her hut to
consult her, but after reaching the hut,
she had laughed at herself, and resolved
not speak to her upon the subject which
weighed upon her thoughts. But when
she saw that she had discovered through
that keenness of observation which often
characterises madness, that there was
a secret at her heart, she resolved that
she would not go away without laying
it before her. Nevertheless, she did
not like at once to confess her power
and influence over her, inasmuch as
hitherto she had never regarded her in
the superstitious light in which she had
been held by a large portion of the community,
even by intelligent persons of
good family and estate. She therefore
said, making an effort to laugh off her
surprise at having her purpose so readily
divined by the extraordinary woman.
“You know, Margaret, I am not one
of your believers. I give you more
credit than most others for good sense,
and being like other people.”
“Yet at this moment you believe in
me. You had faith in me, or you would
not have come hither. Speak freely
and openly, madam. I love thee and
honor thee, and if in my power, I will
serve thee. What is it on thy mind that
troubles thee, and makes thy eye restless,
and thy cheek as changing as the
autumn sky. I read a secret in thy
bosom as soon as I saw thy face in the
door.”
“Then I will tell thee, Margaret,
though I did intend to return and not
mention it,” answered Barbara, who
spoke with an air of confidence and
sincerity that showed she felt that she
might find council and wisdom in the
words even of Mad Margaret.
Before speaking, she let her eyes
wander round the hut, as if to collect
her thoughts for the revelation she had
to make, and in their tour they rested
on a pair of oars wrapped in old faded
crape above the mantelpiece, a jacket
and straw hat also marked with a bow
of crape hung over the window, and two
or three other mementoes of Margaret's
lost boy, sacredly preserved by the poor
crazed mother.
“I have had a dream, Margaret, that
has troubled me,” at length said the
maiden.
“Dreams are from Heaven, maiden;
speak without fear.”
“I should not have regarded it had
it been but once that I dreamed, but I
have had three nights in succession the
same dream.”
“Then it will become true,” answered
Margaret. “Three is a perfect
number. Did I not say that thou hudst
come to me to-day? What is thy
dream? Perhaps I can unweave its
truths for thee. Was it an evil or a
happy dream?”
“I hardly know. It was both good
and evil. But I am very foolish to tell
it, or to have let it fix itself so in my
thoughts. But having told Edith, my
maid, she advised me to come and consult
you, for she has great faith in you,
Margaret, and she related three or four
instances in which you had explained
dreams which had proved as you said
they would. You know I am not superstitious
and am too good a Christian,
I trust, to believe in any supernatural
power you may be supposed to possess,
still, I have a sort of confidence that you
may be able to divine the meaning of
my dream.”
“All dreams have not interpretations.
Some dreams are mere broken shadows
that pass over the mind, of the events of
the day, or events wished for. But true
dreams all have a meaning to those who
study it; maiden. Let me hear thy
dream.”
“I fancied that I was a bird, and was
very happily singing in my native woods,
when a hawk pursued me and I flew
in terror. It seemed to me that the
woods suddenly turned into my father's
garden, and that as I tried to conceal
myself in the thick foliage of the tree
that grew under my window, the hawk
pressed me so closely, and with his
fierce cries so terrified me, that I dashed
through the glass into the room.—
My room then suddenly became a cage,
and I found myself a prisoner to a very
handsome youth, who held the cage by
its ring, and talked to me encourageingly,
as if he had himself rescued me
from the hawk. While he was gazing
on me, my father came in and asked
him to sell the bird, as he wished to
purchase it for his daughter; for so
strongly did my dream shift its characters
about. The young man, whose
features I cannot distinctly recall, and
who was dressed in very humble apparel,
like a seaman, I think, answered that
he would not sell me at any price, as
he had obtained me at the risk of his
life. Upon this my father said, `If thou
wilt give me the bird, thou shalt have
my daughter; for if I have not that
bird in thy cage, my daughter will die
of grief for it.' The young man then
said, `How can she wish for what she
can never have seen?' `Then, said my
father, she hath dreamed of such a bird
from her childhood. But I will go and
bid her come to thee.' My father then
left the room, and in my struggles to
tell him that I was his daughter in the
cage, I awoke. Three times I have
dreamed the same dream without the
least variation. Now, Margaret, if you
can unravel it for me, you will do me a
great kindness; for, to tell you truly,
it troubles me not a little; though I am
silly to suffer it to do so, and am, no
doubt, very foolish to tell it to you; for
I have no faith in dreams. But I promised
Edith I would tell it to you.”
“I have listened to every word of it,
maiden,” answered Margaret, with a
thoughtful brow. “I think I can tell
you what your dream signifies. But
first let me ask you if you have dreamed
from your childhood of a little bird,
as your father said!”
“No, never, that I know of. It was
only in my dream that my father said
so.”
“Do you remember the color of the
eyes of the hawk?”
“Yes, indeed, I do! for they seemed
human as they looked upon me. They
were a bright grey.”
“And do you remember the color of
the eyes of the young man?”
“Hazel, and full of expression. He
was very handsome, indeed, though he
seemed poor or of humble origin.”
Do you recollect even seeing her
in your waking moments?”
“Never. The face was new to me!
and I have such an indistinct recollection
of the features, though the impression
they left is pleasing, I should hardly
recognise him were he living. But
it can't be that I should dream of the
face of one who is really alive, but never
sean by me!”
“It would be more wonderful, maiden,
to dream of a face of one who never
had existed,” answered Margaret. “It
is a very remarkable dream. But it
has its meaning. But will you believe
what I interpret?”
“If it is not wrong to listen to you?”
“It is not wrong. I am no witch nor
dealer with evil spirits, lady. He who
hath taken from me human reason, hath
given me the power of a keen understanding.
What I have lost in the
overturn of my senses, hath been made
up to me in spiritual strength. Once I
could not see so sharply and so far as I
do now; yet I was happier; for it is
not good to know too much of hidden
knowledge while in the frail body.—
Yet what I know shall be thine!”
| CHAPTER IV. The free-trader, or, The cruiser of Narragansett Bay | |