University of Virginia Library

12. CHAPTER XII.

Glengonar's Wassail.

As Albert Verheyden approached nearer to the
light that had broken upon his view and cheered his
footstep, he was able to discern the dim outline of a
building of ample dimensions, obscurely traced on the
eastern horizon, now relieved of that back-ground of
forest which had hitherto circumscribed his vision.
The rain still continued to fall in a soft and steady
drizzle, through which a feeble, diffused light barely
sufficed to show that the moon, now entering on her
second quarter, struggled to assert her dominion over
the night. The wave rolling in upon the sand with
a ceaseless and sharp monotony, apprised him of the
proximity of a broad expanse of water, and he had
accordingly little doubt that he had now reached the
shore of the Potomac—somewhere, as he conjectured,
in the neighbourhood of the cabin of Simon
Fluke, whither he supposed his steps had unknowingly
tended through the long and perplexed circuit
of his bewildered journey.

When within an hundred paces of the light, he
found his further progress on horseback embarrassed
by a somewhat precipitous bank, which induced him
to alight and make the rest of his way on foot, leaving
his horse attached to the drooping limb of the
tree under which he had dismounted. With eager
step he advanced to the house and on reaching the
door, knocked loudly for admission.

“Good people,” he exclaimed as he repeated his
knocks, “arouse for the sake of a benighted wanderer
who has lost his way in the wood. Pray you, give
me admittance.”

There was no answer; and finding that upon touching
the latch the door yielded to his thrust, he entered
without farther ceremony. The embers of a large
fire glowed on the hearth: a solitary iron lamp, supplied
with the fat of some animal, instead of oil,
burned, with a bickering flame, upon the middle of a
coarse table, over which cups and cans, glasses and
bottles were strewed in disorder; pipes lay scattered
around, and the coarse hempen covers of bales and
cordage of broken packages lumbered up the corners
of the room. As the Secretary raked up the glowing
coals and warmed himself before the welcome fire, it
was with an air of wonderment, not unmixed with
apprehension, that he cast his eyes around this strange
and uncouth place, and lost himself in the attempt to
conjecture whither his erring fortune had conducted
him.

“Here have been dwellers,” he said, “and recently;
but whither have they fled? Can I have so far

lost my way as to have straggled to the Patuxent,
instead of the Potomac? Faith, I believe it; for I
have heard my Lord has a store-house there, where
he collects his customs—and this, by what I see
around me, must be some such place. Well, Patuxent
or Potomac, I care not which;—most heartily is
the roof welcome; for, beyond this I venture not
again to-night. I would I might see the keepers
here! Surely they are not far off, since their flagons
are left behind—and not drained, neither, by the
mark! for here I find good drinking ware, which, to
my poor, spent frame is no boon to be despised. I
greet you, honest nectar,” he said, as he poured out
some wine and drank it off; “thou com'st at a good
time, and with a smack that your dainty wine-bibbers
wot not of.—Heigho! was ever man so weary? I
shall stretch me down on these coarse wrappings.
And there, good cassock, thou hast done me faithful
service to-night: before the fire I spread thee out to
dry, and in this corner make my bed.”

As these muttered ruminations escaped the Secretary's
lips, he collected the remnants of bags and the
rough cloths that had formerly served to envelope
items of merchandise, into a heap on one side of the
fire-place near the wall; and spreading his wet surcoat
in front of the live embers which he had now renovated
with some billets of wood that lay at hand, he
flung his exhausted frame upon his hastily-gathered
bed, and in a few moments was locked in a sleep
that might have defied the clamour of a marching
host.

Here we leave him, whilst we turn to the hut of
the Cripple.

The Skipper, intending to meet his men as soon as
they should despatch the business upon which they
were sent, and desirous to snatch a short repose in
the interval of their absence, had thrown himself,
immediately after entering Rob's cabin, upon a couch
of the skins of wild animals, which the woman of
Warrington had spread for him; Rob had withdrawn
into his own apartment, and the crone, having now
discharged her household cares, hastened over the
bank to her solitary lodge. For some time the Cripple
remained in an abstracted self-communion, whispering
to himself bitter taunts upon his own folly in
consorting with the ruffians of the Chapel, and occasionally
chuckling with his customary sneer, at the
profligate arts by which they collected their wealth,
and the dissolute liberality with which it was squandered.
After this, according to a usage which was
observed with singular exactness for one of his habits
of life, he addressed himself to his devotions, with the
apparent fervour of a sincere penitent, and scrupulously
performed the offices of prayer and meditation
appointed by the ordinances of the church to which
he belonged. When, at length, he was about to retire
to rest, he was not able contentedly to do so,
until, with that characteristic solicitude which belonged
equally to his temper and the period of his
life, he gave a few parting moments to the computation
of the gains of the day.

“Dotard!” he exclaimed, as he began to cast up

this account, “I have left my wallet in yonder Chapel,
with all my papers. Oh these cup-riots—these
heady revels, made for hot-brained fools and prodigal
unthrifts! What fellowship should my white hairs
and hollow wrinkles find with them, that I must needs
turn herdsman to these bears? Folly goeth armed
with a scourge, and layeth on roundly, good faith!
How have I been whipped by that most wise fool in
my time! Well, for a penance, get thee back, thou
curtailed and misshapen sinner! get thee back the
weary way to the Chapel. Ha! should these night-birds
make prize of my written memorials!—Hasten
—hasten thee, Rob!—The lantern—the lantern! and
then away.”

The lantern was lighted and swung by a small
chain across his shoulder, and taking his crutches,
he was soon beyond his threshold, making good
speed to the Wizard's Chapel.

This sudden motion had so far roused his spirit
and altered his mood—which was ever fitful and
subject to rapid change—that as he swung briskly
onward, he found himself humming a tune; and when
he had reached the door of the Black House, he was
engaged in audibly singing the words of the song
which had been so unceremoniously suspended by
the interposition of Kate of Warrington:

“Marry, I can troll it with the best of them yet!” he

said, evidently proud of his performance, as he pushed
the door open and entered the apartment. His
first movement was towards the corner where he had
been sitting before he was lifted to the table; here he
discovered the leather pouch as he had left it. His
eagerness to find what he sought in this spot, rendered
him for the moment unobservant of every thing
else; but, now, on casting his eyes around him, he
perceived the coat of the Secretary hanging in front
of the fire and, in the next instant, the figure of Albert
Verheyden himself prostrate on his rude pallet,
breathing the long and audible inspirations of profound
sleep. It was apparent to the Cripple, at a
glance, that the person who lay stretched before him
was not of the crew of the Skipper. With an instinctive
motion he drew his long knife, or dagger, from
its sheath, and swayed himself forward to the very
side of the sleeping man. The dagger was uplifted,
and about to descend with the impulse of a brawny
muscle that would have pinned the victim to the floor,
when the Cripple suspended the blow, only to make
more sure, by the flash of the light of his lantern
across the sleeper's face, that the person he was
about to assail was one who had no claim, from acquaintance
or confederacy, to the privilege of entering
under this forbidden roof. When the secret of
the Black House was endangered by the rash curiosity
of prying eyes, or even by the involuntary
knowledge of the casual wanderer, no scruple of
conscience, nor shrinking reluctance to do a deed of
murder, might withhold the arm of the ruthless ascetic
who ruled unquestioned over this fearful domain.
A savage scowl lowered upon his sallow front as he
stretched forth his long arm and passed the lantern
across the quiet visage of his unconscious victim,
whilst his right hand still held the dagger in act to
strike. The scowl suddenly changed, as he stooped
forward more narrowly to scan the countenance of
the sleeping man,—and a strange expression of instant
terror took its place. For some seconds his
gaze was riveted upon Albert Verheyden's beautiful
features, as heaving his head upward, in a casual
motion of his slumber, the Secretary threw the whole
contour of his face into the full blaze of the light and
disclosed his glossy and almost womanish ringlets,
which now straggled over his ear and upon his
beardless cheek.

“Blessed St. Romuald, shield me from this sight!”
murmured Rob, with a slow utterance and whispered
voice, whilst with still fixed eyes and a frame trem
bling in every fibre, he stared upon the image before
him. “Is it a spectre conjured hither from the grave,
or the juggling cheat of a fiend, that reads to me, in that
face, the warning of a life of sin? Oh God!—I cannot
strike thee, whatsoe'er thou art! So, in very
truth, she looked whilst slumbering on her pillow:
that same fair forehead—that silken eye-lash, that
curling lip. Who art thou, and whence comest?
What witchcraft hath thrown thee into this foul
abode? Sure, I am awake! I have not closed mine
eye to-night. There stand the tokens of this night's
debauch;—these cups, these flasks, and this familiar
den of villany, all bear testimony that I do not wander
in my sleep. These limbs are flesh and blood.”

he added, as he raised Albert's yielding hand from
his bosom; “and that brow is warm with the heat of
healthful action. Holy saints of Heaven! can it be?
—What is here?” he suddenly demanded, as his eye
caught a glimpse of a jewelled trinket which, as the
sleeper lay, was disclosed in the inner folds of his
vest, and which the Cripple drew forth by the chain
to which it was attached. “`To Louise!”' he exclaimed,
when his eye fell upon the simple inscription
on the back of the richly mounted miniature—“God
of Heaven, by what miracle am I haunted with this
sight! Louise—Louise—poor girl! that little portraiture
of thyself I gave thee with mine own hand
—'tis now two and twenty years ago:—it was a
stolen effort of the painter's skill, and thou wert then
an angel of light that shed a blissful radiance upon
my path. And is it then true, that this Verheyden,
upon whose head I have heard ruffian curses heaped
and pledged in maddening draughts by devils at their
carouse, is thy child, Louise? Mine, I would fain
confess, after a long and stubborn life of passionate
denial and scornful hate. Oh, Louise!” he groaned
aloud, as tears coursed down his withered cheek,
whilst he bent over the Secretary and parted the
hair from the forehead, upon which he imprinted a
kiss; “hapless was thy fate, but doubly wretched
mine. William Weatherby, thou hast been the fool
and dupe of that devilish disease of thy blood which
hath brought showered curses upon thee and thine!
There, sleep on the bosom of thy child, mother of an
unhappy destiny!” he said, as he quietly replaced the
miniature. “This is no place for thee, unwary boy!
I must rouse him ere these blood-hounds fall upon
his track—”

“A soaking night, by St. Anthony!” ejaculated the
boatswain of the Escalfador, who, at this instant,
thrust open the door and, with four or five of the seamen,
came clamorously towards the fire. “Push us
yon bottle, and let us see if there be any of the stuff
left.”

“And let us have fire, Master Boatswain; I am
chilled to the marrow. Pipe thy best whistle for the
Captain: he told thee to pipe it roundly, as soon as
the brigantine was out of the creek.”

“I warrant you, I will wake him,” replied the
boatswain, as he went to the door and blew his shrill
note.

“Ho, old boy of the bowl! what i' the devil makes
thee here?” demanded one of the crew, when his eye
fell upon Rob, who had, at the entrance of the men,
extinguished his light.

“Knave!” returned the Cripple; “who gave thee
license to huff and swagger under this roof? Where
is Roche?”

“Aboard the brigantine with five of our messmates.
They have her at hand ready to take in the stowage
the Captain spoke of.”

“We heard as we came across the field,” said the
boatswain, “the snort of a runaway horse, which this
fool Francis must take to be a devil in earnest—and
he falls to crossing himself like an old monk in a
battle with Belzebub.”

“Whisht! we have a traveller here,” said Rob,
whose restless eye and anxious motion had evinced

the disquiet of his mind, ever since the sailors had
burst into the room, and who had now placed himself
in such a position as to screen the Secretary
from their observation, “a traveller who has doubtless
lost his way and wandered into the Chapel.”

“Why dost not give him the knife?” interrupted
the boatswain, in a whisper; “'tis the old law of the
Black House.”

“Cut-throat!” ejaculated Rob, “am I to be schooled
by thee in the law of the Black House? The stranger
hath come at unawares, and is now asleep. He hath
seen nothing, heard nothing, and can report against
no one. Put a bandage across his eyes before he
awakes, and let two of the men bear him, in silence,
on their shoulders free of the Chapel, and set him
down in the woods. Thou hast stabbing enough,
John of Brazil, in thy proper calling, without doing
murder in sport.”

“Ha, ha! thou preachest, by Saint Longface!
Thou'rt growing tender-hearted, father Robert!”
said the boatswain, laughing.

“Caitiff! wolf! kite!—thou shark of the bloody
mouth!” exclaimed the Cripple, in a voice suppressed
by the fear of waking the sleeper, whilst his face
grew crimson with rage; “but that I have no limb
to reach thee, that taunt should be thy last. Here,
Francis! thou and Pedro, muffle this traveller in his
cassock and take him hence; when thou hast borne
him a quarter of a mile in the woods, set him down
to make his own way.”

Before the sailors could obey this order, and whilst
they hesitated to perform what seemed to them an

useless service of humanity, Cocklescraft entered the
apartment. At the same moment Albert Verheyden,
whose slumber had been disturbed by the clamour of
conversation, now awoke, and, startled by the first
impression which the inmates of the place made
upon him, sprang to his feet, retreated to the wall
and drew his sword.

“Where am I—and who are ye?” he exclaimed,
with a confused perception of the persons around
him, and of the spot he inhabited. “Your pardon,
friends,” he added, as gaining more self-possession,
he turned the point of his weapon to the ground, and
smiled; “I had an evil dream that awoke me. Will
your goodness let me know—for I am a benighted
traveller—what place this is, and to whom I am indebted
for this shelter?”

“Ha, by St. Iago, thou art most welcome, Master
Verheyden!” said the Skipper, as he recognised his
enemy in the person who had made this appeal to
the good-will of the company. 'Tis my house; make
free of it, master! I did not hope for the honour of
this courtesy;—thrice welcome! Thou hast been
abroad to-day to seek the man who made bold to
lodge a bullet in the brain of you caster of nets,
below St. Inigoe's; do I not guess well? Thou hast
had most marvellous good luck; for first, before all
the world, thou, his Lordship's Secretary, hast
chanced upon the very murderer. What will thou
do with him, Master Verheyden?”

“A misadventure has thrown me into the power
of banditti,” replied the Secretary, with quiet resignation.
“I have naught to say. I know you daring

to do the purpose of a wicked will, and can hope for
no mercy.”

“You guess me right,” replied Cocklescraft sternly.
“I dare do what I will to do. Thee and thine,
especially I hate—and have sworn against thy life.
No to-morrow's sun rises on my Lord's dainty and
darling minion. By the law of our brotherhood, thou
diest this night, Albert Verheyden. John of Brazil,
take him forth—and, by the lamp-light, discharge a
brace of pistols into his heart. His heart—be sure
of it! I would strike his heart:—it shall kill more
than one,” he muttered as he turned fiercely away.

“Dickon Cocklescraft,” said Rob, with a gathering
anger that was ill concealed under the show of
calmness which he now assumed, “have I lost my
authority under this roof—mine own roof, let me
tell thee,—that thou venturest to usurp my right to
ordain the fate of the rash fool who invades our
secret? At peril of your future peace and thriving
fortune, John of Brazil, dare to do the bidding of
your Captain! Would'st have the evidences of his
death rising up in judgment against us, in the blood
thou spill'st? Thou art but an apprentice, Dickon, to
thy devil's craft, and a halter will yet reward thee
for thy folly. I will pronounce the doom of this intruding
spy. Drown him! let the wide waters wash
away all trace of the deed:—let the ravening shark
devour him.”

“Ha, ha!” ejaculated Cocklescraft, with a sneer,
“thou hast a conceit in thy humanity, Rob! Do it—
do it in thy own way; but, in the devil's name, be

quick about it. I have a merry sport for these lads
to-night, and little time to lose:—so, despatch.”

“Give me Francis and Pedro,” said Rob, “and
I will order the matter myself.”

“Away then, about it!” said Cocklescraft; “we
lose time in prating like women at this baby-play.
You have commodities to go aboard to-night—look
to it, John. Give a signal to the brigantine to send
the yawl ashore—briskly, boys; we must work: so,
to it!”

And in this strain of ordinary business occupation,
the Skipper turned from the horrible fate of his victim
with a careless indifference—almost forgetting, in the
concern of shipping some contraband merchandise,
(the rapine of his last voyage,) the dreadful tragedy
which, at his instance, was now in a course of acting.

Albert, calm and silent, like the victim of a Pagan
sacrifice, neither gave vent to the agony of his feelings
in sighs, nor offered resistance to the savage
hands that pinioned his arms. Under the direction of
the Cripple, the two sailors conducted their captive
towards the hut, Rob himself following with the coat
of the Secretary thrown over his own shoulder.

The rain still poured steadily down, and the faint
light of the moon had disappeared, leaving the scene
in almost perfect darkness. Albert Verheyden, his
arms bound with cords, moved at the bidding of his
ruthless conductors, at a brisk and firm pace, along
the beach, until the party arrived opposite the hut of
the Cripple. They approached the door, which being
thrown open, gave to their view the smouldering fire
that still threw forth a glimmering ray from the hearth.

A pine fagot soon kindled up a blaze, and cast a
broad, lurid light over the apartment. At Rob's
command the prisoner was brought in and stripped
of his doublet, his boots and his weapon, all which
were taken in charge by the master of the hut. A
deadly paleness was spread over the Secretary's face
whilst these preparations were making: but his lip
did not quiver, nor did his eye lose its lustre.

“Why not take my life at once? Why mock my
spirit with this horrible delay?” he asked, in a tone
that partook as much of anger as of grief. “I appeal
to stones—to brutes, more senseless than stones!
Holy martyrs, aid me in my extremity!” he added,
with a subdued and resigned temper. “God will
avenge this wrong.”

“Why dost falter, knaves?” exclaimed Rob, when
he saw the sailors retreat a pace and mutter inaudible
whisperings to each other. “Ha, thou must be
wrought, by thine accustomed devil, to this work.
There, go to it: there are strong waters to aid thy
lacking courage—drink your fill! I will help thee.”

Rob now gave to the seamen a bottle, which they
put alternately to their lips. “Fear it not, Pedro!
Stint not, Francis! 'Tis an ugly job at best, and
needs the countenance of a man's draught. Drink
again!”

“Ay, bravely will I, like a Bloody Brother!” replied
Pedro, making good his word by a second application
of the bottle. “I have been on the Coast,
Master Rob, with Mansvelt, before I ever saw Captain
Cocklescraft.”

“Ha!” said Francis, in a French accent, “and

wasn't Francois Le Grand at the taking of Maracaibo,
and in the fight with the three Spanish galleons?
Diavolo! give me the bottle!”

“Brave lads, both!” shouted Rob, with an attempt
to laugh; “brave lads, and worthy! We shall be late
with our work,—haste thee!”

“The necklace!—I had forgot the necklace!” said
Pedro, with a somewhat thick utterance; and leaving
the room for a moment, he returned with a large
round stone, which was expertly enveloped in cords
and fastened around the Secretary's neck.

“Now to the skiff, lads! get it ready upon the
beach—see that thou hast the oars.”

At this command the sailors went forth to make
their preparations.

“In God's name, boy!” eagerly demanded the
Cripple, the moment the seamen had left the room,
“cans't swim? Answer quickly; I would save thy
life.”

“I can.”

“Thanks for that word! Thou wilt sit beside me
in the boat—I will cut these cords. When I extinguish
my light, spring into the wave; make to this
shore. You will find your weapons and your garments
under the door-sill. These drunken knaves
I will detain from pursuit. Make your way northward,
along the beach. Four miles from here you
will reach the dwelling of one Jarvis—you will find
him friendly.”

“All ready, Master Rob!” shouted one of the seamen,
as he thrust his head within the door.

“Take more drink, Pedro—'tis a wet night,” said
Rob.

Whilst the sailor obeyed this command, the Cripple
took up a billet of resinous pine, which he lighted
at the fire, and, under the guidance of this flaming
torch, Albert was led to the boat.

The two mariners took their places at the oars;
the captive was seated alongside of the Cripple, who
assumed the helm, and all things made ready for their
eventful voyage. The surf ran high under the pressure
of an easterly wind, which blew in upon this
shore; and nothing was heard but the stunning sound
of the surge, whose foam sparkled as it broke on the
beach from the dark waste of waters of the bay.
The torch streamed aloft in the wind, flinging its light
full upon the faces of the sturdy oarsmen, and plainly
enough disclosed to Rob the stupefying effect of their
late debauch at the Chapel, redoubled as it was in
the recent potations which had been supplied at the
hut. Albert Verheyden, unable to account for the
sudden interest which the Cripple had so hurriedly
expressed in his fate, scarcely could persuade himself
to believe in its sincerity. But still, like one in
a dreadful hazard resolved to avail himself of every
chance, he inclined his body towards his companion,
anxiously waiting to find himself relieved of the
strictures that bound his limbs. From suspense,
doubt and almost despair, he was suddenly elevated
to the most exhilarating hope, when he found the
knife of the Cripple applied to sever the cord that
suspended the weight to his neck, and, in almost the

same instant, to set his arms free. The boatmen
were struggling to push the boat over the sand in
which she was partially imbedded, and having got
afloat waited the moment to go out upon the ebbing
surf.

“Steady! strike together, and briskly!” said Rob,
“You will bring home a lighter load than you take.
There—sturdily—as we ride the wave! Ha, the fiend
on that white cap! this salt sea is an unruly monster
—it has quenched my light. Pull away,—we have
shipped a hogshead of brine! A plague on thee for
handling an oar! thou hast left me never a dry thread
to my back:—mine eyes flash fire with this dripping
sea. In the name of the wizard! are we not too
light in our craft for such a heavy sea?”

“All free!” said Pedro. “A little salt water will
do no harm: we have good space before us. Keep
her head to it, Master Rob. You may throw the
landlouper over, now. If the tide should wash him
ashore, there's a berth to be found for him in the
sand.”

“Over with him!” said Francis; “I would not row
a cable's length in so dark a night to drown a king.”

“Ha! by my body, I believe that wave hath rid
us of the spy before we were willing to part with
him!” said Rob; “he is not in the boat—I can feel
nothing of him around me. Thou hast better eyes
than I, Francis: look under the seat. Seest thou
the prisoner?”

“I see nothing here,” replied the seaman.

“Nor I,” added his comrade; “these landsmen
have never a liking to a long voyage—ha, ha! Well,

he sleeps where no one will call to wake him in the
morning. Put about, Master Rob!”

“I know not right hand from left—north from
south, in this darkness,” returned the Man of the
Bowl, as he still kept the boat heading on her outward
course.

“Down to leeward!” cried Pedro. “Dost not
know when the wind is in your teeth?”

“Ay,” responded Rob, “thou'rt a wise teacher,
master frize-jacket! So, now for the surf again—another
drenching! I am a mad-cap fool to be playing
the boy, in my old days, with these storm-chickens.
But, to your oars, lads! we must back to shore.”

Some time was taken up in manœuvring the boat
so as to bring her bow towards the shore, and a full
half hour elapsed before the voyagers had again
reached the hut.

As Rob made haste towards his dwelling, he heard
footsteps approaching from the direction of the
Chapel, and anxious to relieve his mind, on the instant,
from the doubt whether the Secretary had
been fortunate in his endeavour to reach the shore,
he swung himself the more rapidly forward, and
before he entered his door, thrust his arm beneath
the sill to ascertain if the clothes, to which he had
directed Albert's attention, were removed.

“Holy St. Romuald, my blessed patron, I thank
thee!” he ejaculated, upon assuring himself that the
articles deposited had been taken off; “and here, on
this threshold, in the sincerity of a godly vow, I
dedicate the remnant of a sinful life to penitence and
prayer! Is it you, Master Cocklescraft?” he demanded,

confusedly, as the footstep he had heard now
arrived at the gate of his enclosure. “A stormy
night we have had for this foul play.”

“Have you done it,—and well?” eagerly inquired
the Skipper. “Hast given that saucy jack to the
supper of the crabs? By my fellowship, I envy you,
Robert Swale!—and would have chosen to do the deed
myself, if it were not, that having made a miss in
my encounter with him with swords, it might be
taken cowardly in me to handle him in this fashion.
I was glad, Rob, you took it upon yourself. Didst
make a clear plunge of it? Did he pray for his life,
ha? Oh, it was a rare chance that gave him to us
this night! Tell me how he bore himself.”

The sailors coming up at this moment, Rob was
obliged to confess that neither he nor the oarsmen
had seen the prisoner go overboard; and thereupon
he related the extinguishment of his light, the heavy
surf, and the subsequent missing of the victim.

“A weight was fastened around him?” sharply
inquired the Skipper.

“It was.”

“And he did not shuffle it off?—Art sure of it?
A light there, Pedro! let me see the boat.”

The light was brought, and the boat examined,
and the stone which had been prepared to sink the
body found lying under the stern-seat.

“Ten thousand devils!—he has escaped,” roared
Cocklescraft. “Fool that I was, to trust this matter
to a deformed and unfurnished cripple!—how happened
he to be so weakly bound and lightly watched,

that in such brief time he could release his arms and
cast away this weight?”

Rob listened to the outpouring of the Skipper's
wrath and impatience, with an unaccustomed calmness.
Ordinarily his fretful and rebellious temper
would have broken out, at such rebuke, into imprecation
and defiance, and he would have spoken in a
tone which would have made the leader of the
pirate crew quail before him. There was, in the
countenance and bearing of the misshapen tenant of
the hut, an expression of command and harsh and
fiery resolve, which alone might master the rough
minds with whom he held his daily commerce; but
there was, besides, a personal awe of him, derived
from his secluded life and greater intelligence, approaching
to the fear inspired by a supernatural being,
which was sufficiently potent to disarm the
hostility and secure the obedience of the credulous
seamen who followed the fortunes of Cocklescraft.
An answer of defiance and reproof hesitated on his
tongue. His eye glistened like that of a basilisk, his
lip quivered, and his nostril began to distend,—but
the instant thought that it became him not at this
moment to quarrel with the Skipper, and that he
might only countervail the mischievous designs (as
he was now resolved to do to the utmost of his
power,) of this vengeful and merciless man, by the
coolest watch upon his motions, changed his mood
and prompted him to assume a milder tone.

“Thou must needs have a revel to-night, in the
Chapel, Dickon,” he said, with a laugh in which he
could not entirely disguise his scorn; “and these

tarred monsters of thine have grown muddy-brained
and thick-sighted; they have neglected to do their
work of breath-stopping so featly, as thou hast
taught them of old.”

“Whither hath the slave fled?” exclaimed Cocklescraft,
as they returned to the hut. “Lurks he not
in the bush,—may he not yet be followed and retaken?”

“Oh, truly!” replied the Cripple; “it is the nature
of an escaped captive to lurk around his prison: an
eaglet that hath broken his cage will fret against the
wires for admittance—the wolf will dally upon the
footstep of the hunter. When thou can'st believe
these, Dickon, thou mayst hope to find the prisoner
still prowling in the neighbourhood of the Chapel.”

“The curse of the Brethren of the Coast upon
him! By St. Iago—I will have my vengeance yet!
Rob, as the fox hath scaped from your hand, I may
claim a service of you. I shall set forth instantly
for St. Mary's, with a dozen of my picked men. I
have doings on foot, old sinner, that shall delight
thee in the telling. Mischief, mischief, Master Rob
of the Trencher! which I shall keep secret until it
be done. I would put such of my crew as remain
behind—barely enough to sail the brigantine—
under your command. You will go aboard and direct
her to an anchorage on the outer side of the
Heron Islands nearest the mouth of St. George's
river. There will I join you soon after daylight.
Oh! but his Lordship's city shall ring with wailing
at my leave-taking! What say'st thou, Rob? Wilt
go aboard?”

“When dost thou set forth?” inquired Rob.

“Now, on the instant—as soon as I may gather
my cut-throats in the yawl.”

“And at what hour shall the brigantine sail?”

“By two o' the clock, at latest, as much sooner
as you choose.”

“Ha, ha! Thou wilt make me a limb to help thy
deviltry. Well, so be it, Dickon!” said the Cripple,
after a moment's pondering over the proposal. “I
will take on the office of Skipper for the nonce, as
thou takest on thy more accustomed garb of an incarnate
devil.”

“'Tis agreed,” cried Cocklescraft, turning around
to leave the cabin; “behind the first of the Heron
Islands, Master Rob—St. George's, I think it is called
—remember! And have a caution that, before you
cast anchor, you have got a position from which the
brigantine may not be observed from the town.”

“Ay, truly,” returned the Cripple, nodding his
head and smiling in derision, as the Skipper departed
and closed the door after him—“I will take good
care that the brigantine be not observed from the
town!”

It was now an hour past midnight. Cocklescraft
hurried to the Black House where he found his crew
awaiting his return. Francis and Pedro were directed
to take Rob on board of the brigantine, and
with two other seamen, who were appointed to go
before them, to await the Cripple's orders. The rest
of the crew, amounting to twelve men, were armed
with cutlasses, pikes and pistols, and, under the immediate
command of Cocklescraft, took possession

of the yawl. In brief space, the Captain himself
stepped on board. With the turn of the night the
rain began to abate; the wind was veering round
westwardly, and appearances seemed to indicate a
change of weather before morning.

The word being given, the boat was shoved off
from the strand; and the regular, sturdy and rapid
stroke of the oar was heard, long after she was lost
to view, as she laid her course towards Cape Look-Out.

Soon after this, Francis and Pedro knocked at
the door of Rob's cabin. “We are ready to put you
on board of the Escalfador, Master Swale,” said
the first, just thrusting his capped head and frize-clad
shoulders into the hut.

“I am with you, honest gentlemen,” returned the
Cripple, as he came forth and followed them to the
boat.

“Up with your anchor,” cried out Rob, when he
found himself on the deck of the brigantine. “Pedro,
make what sail thou think'st best, and stand out into
the bay.”

In less than half an hour the sailor waited on his
new captain for orders. “We have a fair berth up
and down, master. Whither do we steer?”

“To the Patuxent,” replied Rob.

“Ay, ay—our course is northward.” And the
brig was soon under easy sail with the wind abeam,
as it blew moderately from the west, with here and
there a star twinkling through the breaking clouds,
as she made her way towards the headlands of the
Patuxent.