7. VII.
FERGUS RIDES.
With the first light of dawn Fergus
was in the saddle, and riding in the direction
of James River, where, at the
nearest wharf, he expected to find some
bark bound for England.
He saw two vessels, and was soon
making inquiries.
“You are outward bound soon?” he
said to the captain of one.
“No,” was the reply; “just arrived
from Portsmouth.”
“And that other bark yonder?”
“From the Bermudas — hugged me
close all the way—came up the river together.”
“There is no outward-bound ship?”
“None.”
Fergus rode back and reported the
result to his master, who received the
information in gloomy silence.
“Bring the last number of the Gazette,”
he said, at length.
Fergus descended, procured the Virginia
Gazette from the landlord, and returned.
“This paper brought me ill-fortune
but the other day,” Lord Ruthven muttered,
with a painful smile; “perhaps
'twill bring good fortune to-day—let us
see.”
He opened the paper, and his eyes
fell upon the lines:
“Port of York.—The Charming Sally,
Captain Fellowes, intends for England in
six days from this date. Passage secured
by applying to Captain Fellowes.”
Lord Ruthven read this announcement
to Fergus, and said:
“This vessel sails to-morrow; I will
go in her.”
Fergus nodded, went to the stable,
mounted, and took his way toward Yorktown,
where he found Captain Fellowes
standing on the wharf, and superintending
the efforts of his crew to drag the
Charming Sally on shore by means of
cables.
“What is the matter?” said Fergus.
Captain Fellowes turned round, surveyed
Fergus attentively, and said:
“The matter is, my friend, that the
Charming Sally has scraped a hole in her
sheathing, and that the young lady is
going to be laid up, neither more nor
less than happens on certain other occasions
with the interesting sex.”
And Captain Fellowes winked, rolled
the quid of tobacco in his ruddy cheek
under his tongue, and uttered a jovial
laugh.
“Then the ship will not sail?” said
Fergus, cool and unimpressed.
“Can't, my friend,” said the captain.
“She'd spring a leak in the very middle
of the Atlantic, mayhap; then good-by
to the Charming Sally.”
“Is any other vessel in port outward
bound?”
“There is no other.”
“And how long will it take to repair
your vessel?”
“Well, it may take three weeks, and
it may take three months. To tell you
the truth, my friend, I begin to think we
have made our last voyage this year.”
Fergus rode back to Williamsburg,
and reported this second failure to Lord
Ruthven. A bitter smile this time greeted
the return of the old servant.
“Fate seems to have assumed the
direction of affairs,” said Lord Ruthven;
“but I shall make one more effort.
Rest to-day, Fergus; to-morrow ride to
St. Mary's, on the Potomac. If you fail
to engage a passage there, proceed northward,
if necessary, to the port of New
York. I have no choice; any species of
vessel will content me, seaworthy or
unseaworthy. This may end as it will.”
And Lord Ruthven, leaning back in
his chair, was silent. Fergus looked at
him fixedly, shook his head, but made
no reply, and quietly left the apartment.
On the next morning he ordered his
horse to be saddled, put a change of
clothes in a small valise, and then, hat
in hand, said to Lord Ruthven, who was
gazing upon the floor in a fit of gloomy
abstraction:
“I am about to set out; has your
lordship any further orders?”
“None.”
“I must engage passages for your
lordship and myself, either at St. Mary's
or at New York?”
“Yes.”
Fergus bowed, and went toward the
door. As he did so, steps were heard
ascending the stairs, and a knock came
at the door. The old body-servant
opened it. A man, wearing the livery
of the governor, appeared, holding in
his hand a letter.
“For his lordship,” he said.
