University of Virginia Library

13. CHAPTER XIII.

Joanna Baillie.

Cocklescraft had not communicated to his men
the exact nature of the expedition in which they had
embarked. They were only aware that their leader
had conceived a deep and mortal hatred to certain
individuals in the port; that he had fled from it as
an outlaw; and that their services were required in
some daring enterprise which was designed to inflict
chastisement upon his enemies: they cared to know
no more. Bred to rapine and aggression, knowing
no law but the law of their own fraternity; unpitying
and unsparing in their violence; the greater portion
of them strangers to the port,—for Cocklescraft
had recruited more than half of his band amongst
the islands of the Gulf, on his last voyage—these
desperate men were ready to do the behests of their

chief in any act of outrage to which he might command
them.

In an hour they had doubled Cape Look-Out and
were making dextrous speed up the Potomac. The
refreshing breeze gradually swept away the clouds
and whistled, as it came directly a head upon the
course of the voyagers; the moon was just sinking
below the horizon and the stars shone forth through
a crisp and frosty atmosphere: the waving forest
murmured with a rushing sound from the land; the
billows of the wide estuary of the river, under the
impulse of the suddenly-changed wind, came in conflict,
with a sharp concussion that sometimes gave
forth a note resembling the scream of the human
voice: no friendly light was seen glimmering from
the shore nor from wandering craft upon the river:
the marauders were alone upon the water, plying
the lusty stroke to give a more fatal speed to their
purpose of crime, and the hour was beguiled with
ribald jests and obscene ballads, with wild and
drunken laughter, and the meditation of horrid outrage.

Cocklescraft himself was moody and silent. His
thoughts dwelt upon the past scenes of the night, and
upon his present long-revolved purpose, which, during
the last twenty-four hours, scarce left him leisure to
think of other matters. Even the accidental capture
of his enemy at the Chapel, and the escape of that
enemy from the fate allotted to him, lost their power
to move him, whilst he gloated upon the cherished
design of this night.

In another hour the boat had weathered the headland

at the mouth of St. Mary's river. As the Skipper
entered the river the first of the Heron islands
lay upon his left, and he anxiously surveyed the
localities, to regulate the course of his retreat to his
brigantine, which by his order was to be in waiting
for him abreast the outer shore. “The blessed sun,”
he muttered to himself—“shall light me with his first
rays to-morrow, on my seaward track, with my vengeance
satisfied to the last scruple. Ay, by St.
Iago,” he added, as he shook his clenched hand, and
gnashed his teeth with the energy of his resolve,—
“to the last doit of the debt!”

Another interval of silent labour at the oar, and
the dim light in the windows of the Chapel attached
to the House of St. Inigoe's, yet far off, upon the
narrow strip of land which jutted entirely across the
direct line of the boat's course, as she hugged the
shore, showed the mariners that some one of the
officials of the house was at the service of early
matins on the vigil of the Feast of All Souls; and
their familiarity with the watches of the night apprised
them, that the hour approached four of the
morning.

And now the creek of St. Inigoe's is opened upon
their view; and on the further bank, the house of
the Rose Croft, with its embowering trees, is distinctly
traced against the clear starlit sky. A solitary
taper glimmering through an upper window,
denotes a lady's bower, where, under the protection
of the friendly ray, Blanche Warden, perchance,
reposes in innocent slumber,—her fancy sporting in

dreams of him who day and night lives in her
thoughts.

This reflection flashed across the brain of Cocklescraft
as he directed the head of the boat into the
creek.

“Pull, with a long sweep and a quick,” he said in
a low but stern voice. “These watch dogs of the
fort may catch a glimpse of us.” Then having advanced
far enough to interpose the bluff bank of the
Rose Croft between him and the fort, he commanded
the men to cease rowing, whilst they muffled their
oars.

“Not a word above your breath,” he now added
in giving the orders which were to guide his followers
through the enterprise for which they had been
brought hither. “Listen to me: we land under
yonder bank—creep in silence to the dwelling you
see above, and pluck from her bed the fairest damsel
of this Western world. Mark me, comrades,—you
have sacked towns and spoiled many an humble
roof; you have torn children from the breasts of
their mothers, and wives from the arms of their husbands;
you have dragged maidens from the inmost
chambers of their dwelling and laughed at their
prayers for safety,—and you have rioted over all,
with the free license of the Bloody Brothers—but
take it to your souls this night, that if, in the assault
of yonder house, one unnecessary blow be struck, a
war cry be raised or deed of violence done, the man
who offends dies by my hand. And further, when
the maiden is brought into your presence let no rude
speech assail her ear. I go to seek a bride, not to

plunder; and I command you all, on the duty you
owe your leader, as Brethren of the Coast, that you
do her all honour as mistress of the Escalfador. My
sweetest revenge,”—he muttered without intending
to be heard by the crew—“is to marry the worshipful
Collector's daughter without his leave—or her
own, by St. Iago! The rose shall consort with the
sea nettle, Anthony Warden!—though it be not to
your liking. Do ye heed me, messmates? Roche
del Carmine, to you I look to see this order enforced?”

“If it be but the taking of a single damsel,” murmured
Roche, “it was hardly worth leaving the
warm fire and the bottle of the Chapel. Ha! it will
be a story to tell in the Keys that our last frolic in
St. Mary's was at the Captain's wedding!”

“Dost thou prate, sirrah?” demanded Cocklescraft.
“By my sword, I am in earnest in what I
say—I will shoot down the man that disobeys my
order.”

“I will answer for the crew,” said Roche de
Carmine; “the lady shall be handled as gently as a
child in the arms of its nurse.”

“Ay,” responded several of the sailors; “the
Captain shall not complain of us.”

The oars were muffled and the boat was once
more in full progress towards her destination. A few
minutes sufficed to bring the voyagers to the small
wharf beneath the cliff of the Rose Croft, and in a
moment all were ashore, except a single mariner
who was left to guard the boat.

“Peace!” whispered Cocklescraft; “peace with

that rattling of pikes. Form under the bank and
remain quiet until I ascend and examine the place.”

The leader now crept, with noiseless footstep, up
the pathway which terminated upon the plain in front
of the dwelling. He walked across the lawn, by the
very spot where, scarce a fortnight gone by, he had
had his hostile interview with Albert Verheyden.
The little rustic temple of St. Therese yet stood,
with its faded foliage, upon the grass-plot: the flower
stands were still there, although the plants were removed
to their shelter from the frost: nothing met
the eye of the foul-purposed rover but the images of
content and innocence which marked the abode of a
happy family: even the house dog, who at first
growled as with show of battle, changed his threat
into greeting as the Skipper proffered his hand and
claimed acquaintance. The tokens of confiding security
were all around him, and as he recalled the
last time he had visited this place, and remembered
the incidents of the festival of St. Therese—the
maiden's coldness, her father's disdain, and the Secretary's
favour, he laughed with the thought of the
mastery he now held over the fate of the household.
He could scarcely withdraw himself from the luxury
of his present rumination, but wandered to and fro
in front of the dwelling,—then made a circuit around
it, and, returning again to the front, stood beneath
the window through which the feeble taper shone
with that steady but subdued ray which of itself was
a symbol of the deep repose of the tenant of the
chamber.

“I could wake thee, lady gay,” he said, “with as
blithe a serenade as ever tuned thy dream to pleasant

measures—but that I lack the instrument. And
though I be not the cavalier of thy fancy, Blanche
Warden, pretty Rose of St. Mary's,—yet, by my
soul, I love thee well enough to put myself to some
pains to teach thee how thou shalt love me. We
dance together on the green wave to-morrow, lass!
—little as you dream of such merriment now. And
as I would not have thy blushes seen, I must e'en
lead thee forth before the day.”

With this sally, he returned to his comrades, and
commanded them to ascend the bank. Three men
were detached around the house to keep a look-out,
and the other eight, following Cocklescraft himself,
approached the hall door.

“What, ho! Fire, thieves, robbers!” shouted
Cocklescraft, aided, in raising a clamour, by his
men, at the same time striking loudly with the butt
of a pike against the door. “Rouse ye, rouse ye,
or you will have a house about your ears! Fire,
Master Warden, thieves, rovers and savages!”

A scream was first heard in the chamber from the
window of which the light had been seen—and
Cocklescraft putting his hand to his ear, laughed as
he recognised the voice of the maiden.

“By our lady,” he said—“our gentle mistress
sings well!”

In the next instant a window was thrown open on
the opposite side of the house, and the figure of
Anthony Warden, in his night gown, with a candle
in his hand, was partially thrust out, whilst he exclaimed—

“What is this pother? Who comes at this hour

to alarm the family? Who are ye, I say, that seek
to disturb the rest of my household with your villainous
shoutings?”

“Answer him, Roche,” whispered Cocklescraft;
“I dare not.”

“Open your doors, Collector,” said Roche; “we
have business with you.”

“Get you hence, drunken knaves!” returned Mr.
Warden. “I will call my servants and drive you off
the ground.”

“By my hand, if you do not open your doors,
Master Warden,” said Cocklescraft, finding that he
could not trust the conduct of the assault to his mate,
“we will break them open, and quickly—”

“Who are you that speak so saucily?” demanded
the Collector.

“Richard Cocklescraft—an old friend, Master Anthony,
who being about to put to sea, would make his
last visit to the officer of the Port. Throw wide your
doors and let us in, old man, or it may be the worse
for thy grey hairs.”

“Ho, Michael Mossbank, Nicholas, Tomkin!”
shouted Mr. Warden, as he withdrew his head from
the window; “up, get up—bring me my blunderbuss
—we are beset—stir yourselves, my trusty fellows!”

The house was now lighted in various parts, and
every one was on foot. Blanche at the first summons
sprang from her bed, and ran to her sister
Alice, screaming in a paroxysm of alarm; but whilst
the invaders parleyed with her father, she had sufficiently
resumed her self-possession to make a hasty
toilet, and then to repair to the protection of Mr.

Warden's presence. The old man, not coolly—for
he was wrought into excessive rage—but with all
necessary discretion and forecast, made his arrangements
for the coming struggle. Two or three servants
had gathered around him, as he descended the
staircase to meet the assailants who were still battering
at the door; and it was with difficulty that he
could shake off the females, who clung around his
step with piteous intreaties that he would not venture
into collision with the band who, it was now evident,
must, in a few moments, make good their entrance
into the house.

“Leave me, daughters—get thee back to thy chamber,”
he cried, as he forced his way through their
feeble impediment, with a blunderbuss in his hand,
and, followed by the servants, took a station midway
in the hall, whence he was able to direct his defence
to either the front or the rear.

The precautions to which the inhabitants of the
province were accustomed to resort for the purpose
of guarding their dwellings against the attacks of the
Indians, had rendered, in fact, every house almost a
castle, and it was no easy matter, without the proper
tools, to force an admission against the will of the
owner. The stubborn character of the defences of
Mr. Warden's dwelling detained the assailants longer
than they expected, and gave time to the small garrison
within to take all measures for guarding themselves
that the condition of the house afforded.

The door at length yielded to the vigour of the attack,
and as it flew wide open, the veteran master of
the mansion stood with dauntless front, in full view

of the eager seamen;--in the same instant his piece
was discharged with such effect, that the two foremost
men reeled and fell across the threshold.

“Give me thy gun, Michael,” he exclaimed, as he
turned to the gardener and seized the long Spanish
fowling-piece with which my reader has already had
some acquaintance; “I will teach these ruffians good
manners! Back knaves!—unhand me, villains!—
Michael, Nicholas!”

“Stay that blow, coward!” roared Cocklescraft at
the height of his voice, in the exertion of his full command
over the crew, as they had, immediately upon
receiving the Collector's fire, rushed forward and
overcome the old man by the press of numbers,—the
servants having fled at this onset. “Strike him, and
you shall fall by my own sword!” he continued, as
with his cutlass he turned aside the pike of a seaman
who had aimed it at the Collector's breast. “Is it for
men to war against grey hairs?”—

“Save my father—oh God, spare his life!” screamed
Blanche, as she now sprang, wild with terror, half
way down the stair. “Men of blood, have mercy on
his age!—he is old—too old to do you harm. Oh,
save him!”

“By the blessed Virgin, gentle mistress, I swear
not one hair upon his head shall suffer harm,--for thy
sake, dainty lady, if for no other!” exclaimed Cocklescraft,
as with one bound he placed himself beside
the maiden; and raising her aloft on his arm, he
leaped back to the hall and thence out upon the lawn.
“Follow me, comrades!” he shouted, as he bore the

screaming maiden stoutly on his shoulder down the
bank, and laid her senseless upon the seat of the boat.
Here he threw his cloak over her person, and summoned
his men immediately to their posts,—having
taken care to bring away the two wounded seamen.—
The boat was about to be shoved off from the wharf,
when the figure of a female was descried coming, at
a rapid flight, from the direction of the dwelling, and
uttering a shrill note of lamentation, as she begged
them to stop:

“For the love of God, leave her behind! Oh, have
pity, good men, and do not tear away the Collector's
daughter, our young mistress! Christian men, spare
her to us! She will die of cold—she will perish on
the water—her blood will be on your heads!”

“Thou 'rt a good nurse, Mistress Coldcale,” said
the Skipper with a sportive tone which mocked the
distress of the sufferers; “and as our queen will want
an attendant, thou shalt even go with us. Put the
old woman aboard, comrades!” he added, speaking
to some of the men, who, almost before the housekeeper
could utter the shriek which now rose from
her lips, was lifted over half a dozen heads, and deposited
beside her young lady.

“Cheerily, now to your oars!” shouted Cocklescraft,
exulting in the success of his inroad. “Lay
your sinews to it, lads, until we get clear of the
creek, and then up with your sail!—we have a fair
wind and a merry voyage before us. Speed thee! I
scent the coming dawn.”

Almost in as brief space as we have taken to relate

it, the boat had shot forth into the middle of the
creek, and now glided over the waters like an imp of
darkness flying homeward to his ocean cave freighted
with the spoils of some evil errand.