 | CHAPTER V. The free-trader, or, The cruiser of Narragansett Bay |  |
5. CHAPTER V.
Barbara Frankland listened with
awe and fear, to the singular words of
the extraordinary person, whose presence
she had sought, half in fear, half
faithless, touching her reputation for revealing
dreams.
“If I thought you were gifted with
powers beyond our human nature, Mar
garet, I should fear to hear what you
have to say,” she said, gravely.
“Then, why have you sought me, lady?
But fear not, I will give thee the
meaning of thy dream, as my wisdom
teaches it to me. It is a good dream
to thee, maiden, if thou art humble, and
despisest not lowness of condition in any
one; but thy pride of wealth and station
may make it an evil one to thee.”
“I trust I have no pride, Margaret.”
“The least, lady, that one in thy
place ever had. Thine is the pride of
beauty, and of conscious goodness,
rather than of rank, so I do not fear
but the dream will be a good one for
thee.”
“I hope it will,” answered Barbara,
who began to feel deeply interested in
the disclosure she was about to hear
made, and to feel something of a superstitious
reverence for her upon her spirit.
“The hawk which pursued you,” began
Margaret, without consulting either
tea-cup or cards, or going through
any of the mystic ceremonies that the
professed witches of that day were accustomed
to use. She did not even
look at the lines in the palm of the maiden's
hand. But she took the hand,
soft and tremulous in her grasp, and
fixing her large, dark eyes upon her
fair, youthful brow, said, impressively,
“the hawk that pursued you, and from
which you fled in terror, was human.
It was represented to you in your dream
under the form of a hawk, for such is
the character of one whom you must
fear, and who will pursue you. You
will, under the sanctity of your father's
house, find shelter from this enemy,
but only by becoming captive to another.”
“How?” asked the maiden, whose
eye beamed with the deepest interest,
and fear.
“That is not for me to reveal. You
will escape one pursuer to fall into the
power of another who did not seek you,
but whose you become as a bird in a
cage is imprisoned. It will depend
upon the impression the young man
made upon you in your dream, whether
this captivity be happy or miserable.”
“He made a most favorable impression.
Indeed, I never saw a more noble
countenance, and his voice as he
spoke to me, was full of music. If I had
not been a bird, I thought I could have
listened to it forever.”
“Then your captivity will be a happy
one, and your dream a good dream.”
“But my father, and his wish to purchase
me?”
“That must remain unexplained.”
“And the young man's answer, that
he had risked his life for me, and for no
price would he let me go—will you
explain this?”
“It will come to pass, and let this be
enough for you to know, maiden. Your
dream will all become real. It warns
and encourages you. It bids you be on
your guard, and it encourages you to
feel assured that when danger is
most imminent, that when even the sanctuary
of your father's home will not protect
you, then will aid come to you from
a source you little hoped for. This is
all that I have to say, save that, if you become
not too proud, the dream is for good
and not for evil. But if you are proud in
the hour of your fate, darkness and
sorrow will come upon you as a tempest
in the midnight.”
“I tremble at your words, Margaret;
your manner, too, causes me to fear
you.”
“I speak only the thoughts that pass
through my mind, lady. Were they
full of evil and woe to thee, I should utter
them, but fear them not. They are
for thy good; as I have said to thee, if
thou art humble and grateful, and presume
not upon thy wealth and station
in the hour of thy trial.”
“What trial do you speak of so sol
elmnly, Margaret? In spite of myself,
your language makes a deep impression
upon my mind. And yet I know
you can tell me nothing that is in the
future. I feel that I have been very
weak to come to you, and that you
are mocking my folly by answering me
according to it.
“Fair maid, I have spoken truly, and
in fear of judgment for my words in the
day when every idle word will be adjudged.
All thou hast to do, is to believe
thy dream, and be on thy guard,
and to remember that in the hour of thy
greatest trial, thou wilt have succor,
though it will be secured by thy own
captivity.”
“Then I see danger is before me in
all, for it is not good to be a captive.
“That will depend on him to whom
thou art a captive, and upon thyself.”
“My mind is not relieved by my visit
to you, Margaret,” said the maiden,
rising. “In giving too much thought
and weight to a mere dream, because it
was repeated thrice, and in coming to
thee about it, I have made myself superstitious,
and if I am in no otherwise
a captive, I am become a slave to thy
words. I shall be constantly in bondage
of fear to your interpretation, whether
I believe it or reject it, for you have
spoken so seriously, that I cannot throw
off the serious impression you have
fixed upon my mind, that your words
are true. But how is it that you have
set aside cards, and casting my nativity,
and examining the lines in my hand,
Margaret? If you had used these, common
have had less faith in what you have
revealed.”
“I use these toys,” answered Margaret,
with an expression of contempt on
her dark features, “because the common
mind asks for such visible marks
to pin its faith on, but with thee,
there is no need to resort to such follies,
fit only to take the vulgar eye. But
do not be troubled at my explanation of
your dream, for thy fate and happiness
will be in thine own hands. Hark,
what firing is that we hear?” she cried,
as the report of a cannon not far distant
shook the hut in which they stood.
“It is an English schooner-of-war
just arrived,” said Barbara, who threw
open the door and looked out, while in
rapid succession nine guns were fired,
falling on the ear like the continued
reverberations of peals of thunder.
“Yes, and may they all sink in the
depths of the sea! My curse and the
curse of the orphan and the oppressed
light on them all!” cried Margaret, her
eye flashing fire as she surveyed the
newly arrived schooner, as enveloped
in the smoke of her firing, she passed
up, saluting the man-of-war.
“Ah, Bab, you are here then,” cried
Mr. Frankland, approaching. “I hope
you have told her a good fortune, Margaret,
and the tea-grounds were all favorable,”
he said, laughing. “I see,
Margaret, you are looking at the schooner
with no loving eyes. There's more
than one in Newport, that loves her
presence as little as you ssem to do.”
“They have their reasons, and I mine,
sir,” responded Margaret. “Two of
them! was it not enough that one come,
but another should follow close to its
heels? My two-fold malediction be on
them! May the winds be foul and the
sea shoal to them, and the waves overwhelm
them!”
“Nay, Margaret, you should forgive
them.”
“Forgive?” repeated the woman
with a haughty look, “forgive?” she
continued with fierce scorn. “Yes,
when they bring me back my boy, and
God gives me back my reason.”
With these words she strode away
from them and re-entered her hut, closing
the door after her.
“A strange creature, Barbara,” said
Mr. Frankland.
“Yes, sir, and fearful. I never till
to-day had faith in her supernatural
powers.”
“And have you now?” asked her
father, with a look of surprise.
“She has told me—”
“And what has she told thee, child?
If of the past, thou knowest it as well
as she. If of the future, time has to
test the truth of her words. So if she
hath been working on thy fears, neither
heed her nor her words, for they are
vanity and air. She is a poor, mad
creature, with her brain full of phantasles,
and a pity it is people have persuaded
her that she hath the powers of
fortune-telling. Public credulity is all
the capital she ever had. But I forgot
to tell thee that a brig is below, coming
up, and which I believe to the Free
Trader; and if it turns out to be her, I
shall be pretty busy, so I have come
after thee to see thee home in saftey,
for you see it is within a few minutes
of sunset.”
“And, sir, do you resolve to evade
the duties to the crown, if this-should
be your brig coming up?”
she asked earnestly, her eyes following
the schooner, which having crossed un
der the stern of the sloop as if hailing
her, was moving ahead and nearer
the shoaler anchorage ground.
“These two armed vessels look menacing.”
“Their presence will not prevent
me from carrying out my purpose,
daughter. Resistance to the impost, is
a principle which no extraneous circumstances
should or can be allowed
to affect. Would you have me pay the
duty, and then acknowledge the right
of England to bind us by her tyrannical
laws?”
“No, father. But I tremble lest
you should be a sufferer.”
“I shall do my duty and leave the
event with Heaven. I know you are
too patriotic and brave, to wish me to
compromit my honor for fear of personal
consequences. But do not fear.
They will not touch my person. The
worst that can befall me, if I am detected
in smuggling my goods into town,
will be the loss of my vessel and cargo.
But I had rather risk these than be
false to my principles as a free-born
colonist. But let us return over the
hill, as I wish to give an order or two
to Finch, should the brig prove to be
the Free-Trader.”
They ascended the steep path-way to
the summit, which they had no sooner
came in sight of, than they heard the
mate hailing them.
“It is the brig, your honor. She has
hoisted her private signal. Look, sir,”
he added, as Mr. Frankland hastened
to meet him and receive the spy-glass
from his hand.
“Yes, three balls at her main,” cried
the merchant. “It is my brig! Get
ready the signal you brought with you
in the bag, master Finch. Now is the
revenue test nearer at hand than we
supposed, or than the commissioners and
the captain of the sloop imagine.”
The face of the merchant wore a
quiet smile of satisfaction, as he gazed
on the approaching brig, while his eye
brightened up with the resolute purpose
of his soul. Finch prepared the signals
and tied them to the halyards, and got
all ready to hoist, with his eye fixed on
Mr. Frankland, waiting for his orders.
“How far distant is she, sir?” asked
Barbara, who seemed to be almost as
deeply interested in the brig's approach
as her father and master Finch.
“About four miles now, nigh enough
for our purpose. Hoist away, Finch.”
“Hoist it is, sir,” answered the old
sailor, as hand over hand he sent the
fluttering blue and white flags, four in
number, to the truck of the signal staff.
“Don't belay, Finch, but hold on till
I watch her, and see if she answers it.”
The merchant then placed the glass
to his eye, and looked for some minutes
closely at the brig, which still stood on
as before.
“I fear she don't see it, your honor.”
“Yes, they lower and raise the three
balls. They have done it twice. It is
enough. Haul down the signals, for I
don't want to keep them flying there
long enough to attract the attention of
the sloop-of-war.”
“There, she hauls her wind, your
honor. She understands what the flags
say, as well as if it was print in a book.
She is going about.”
“Yes, all is as favorable as I could
have wished. Now, Barbara, let us
hasten home. I must change this dinner
costume for a working one, for this
will be a busy night with me.”
“Shall I knock off watch here, sir?”
“Yes. Roll up your flags and come
down to the house, Finch, and I will then
tell you what you are to do, for you are
to be my right-hand man to-night.”
Thus speaking the merchant drew his
from the summit, just as the sloop lowered
her ensign and fired her sunset
gun.
| CHAPTER V. The free-trader, or, The cruiser of Narragansett Bay | |