University of Virginia Library

6. CHAPTER VI.
CLEOPATRA IMPATIENT.

Prompt in execution as resolve, the captain of the “Happy-go-Lucky”
had ordered that, with the dawning, that clever little
cruiser should be got ready for sea.

Zulieme was awakened ere the dawn by the rattling of bolts
and chains, and the weighing of anchors. She started up from,
no doubt, very pleasant slumbers in that luxurious cabin, and
found herself alone.

That cabin! Cruisers, privateers, pirates, are all understood
to have luxurious cabins. This is the conventional understanding,
among your writers of prose fiction.

And there is reason in it. Such snuggeries as they must be, in
such long, low, dark-looking craft as these generally are, must
necessarily imply boxes for cabins, such as would better suit the
physical dimensions of elf and fairy than stalwart men of Saxon
brood. And, being thus small and snug, why not lavish upon
them the nice tastes which commend the cottage, and reconcile us,
through beauty and neatness, to the absence of vastness and magnificence?
Besides, having the wealth, why should not privateer,
or cruiser, have a taste? and these being their homes, why not
make them as cheerful and attractive as we are all apt to render
our cabins when dwelling on dry land? Something, too, of the
compensative must be sought, in this respect, for the absence of
many of the comforts, to say nothing of the ease and freedom,

which we can only seek upon the shores. There will, accordingly,
be found huddled together in the cabins of the merest seadogs a
variety of treasures, such as we rarely find, in any similar space,
in other situations. There will be luxuries at waste, gauds and
gems, toys of art and fancy, and appliances of enjoyment and
ostentation, such as will be apt to confound the sight of the landsman,
even when he shall happen to be born in the purple. The
privateers, quasi pirates, of the days of good Queen Bess were
famous for their ostentatious habits and indulgences. There was
Cavendish, for example, who entered the British ports with silken
sails, as well as streamers, and got himself knighted, just as he
showed himself a man of taste and splendor, as well as a man of
blood. Stars shine famously on a crimson ground, and the blending,
or with gules, has never mortified the pride of any nobility,
ancient or modern.

There is no difficulty in reconciling these anomalies of taste and
mood in the character of those who trace back to the northern
vikings. Enough, that most cruisers of the good old times, when
“there was no peace beyond the line,” found it easy to discover a
propriety in such combinations of voluptuous glitter with the most
savage outlawry.

And the taste has hardly died out in the present day. At all
events, our cruiser of the “Happy-go-Lucky” was sufficiently
familiar with the practice of the preceding generation, and sufficiently
approved it to continue its exercise: though, by the way,
we are to admit that much of his present display was due to the
simple fact that the fair Zulieme was his passenger. (Query —
why passenger? why not passager?) The magnificence was rather
hers than his. His cabin, hardly more than twelve feet square —
an empire to himself alone — was necessarily so decorated as to
be specially pleasant in the sight of his wife. He did not stop as
to the necessary expenditure. Everything, exquisitely little, in
that little domain, was exquisitely nice. The furniture, the fixtures,
were all of fine mahogany. There were two trim sleeping
places, panoplied with gliding and purple. Rich curtains of
crimson silk draped the chamber. There was a most exquisitely
nice divan, covered also, back and cushion, with silken draperies.
There was a pier-table of pearl-inlaid ebony, upon which, in a
wicker-work of gilt wire, stood vases filled with flowers, that were

now no longer fresh. Bijouterie — chains, and clasps, and medallions
— lay confusedly on this table; and, something of a contrast,
poniards and pistols — enough for two — were oddishly among
them. And rich shawls of silk, and fine workmanship, were scattered
over couch and sofa in rare confusion, mocking taste with
mere exuberance and splendor. And there were gay shining
weapons, cimeters and pistols, that hung in racks against the wall;
and a lamp, feebly striving to give forth its fires, swung suspended
from the ceiling, the glasses that environed it being of thick cut
crystal. Altogether, the snuggery, if small enough for the fairies,
was richly enough garnished and decorated for the more voluptuous
genii of Eastern fable — the djinns of Gog and Magog
dimensions.

And there, starting from sleep as the heavy chains falls upon the
deck, Zulieme found herself alone.

She did not conjecture that the cabin had, that night, entertained
no other inmate than herself. Her lord had strode the
decks, or slept upon them, through all the watches of the night.
But you are not to suppose that this occasioned her any concern.

To wrap a morning-gown of silk about her shoulders; to fling
a silken turban over her head; and thus in dishabille, with black
hair dishevelled, to dart up the steps of the companion-way, and
hurry to the quarter-deck, was the work of but a moment, calling
for no single interval of reflection, with any creature so childishly
impulsive.

Harry Calvert, with arms folded, eyes half shut, and looking
inward rather than outward, sombre as a thunder-cloud — hardly
conscious of anything but that he was obeyed — did not see her
approach, till he felt her arm on his shoulder. He acknowledged
her presence with a start, then turned away, and strode to the
opposite side of the vessel. She followed him.

“Why, what 's the matter, Harry?”

“Matter! what matter! Nothing's the matter! Don't you
see we 're at sea?”

“Yes: but where bound for, Harry?”

“Charleston.”

“Oh! I 'm so glad. So you were only plaguing me all the
while.”

“Plaguing you! I plague you? Why should I plague you,

Zulieme? Why plague anybody? Do I look like a man to
engage in monkey-tricks?”

And verily, none might reasonably think so, judging from his
brows at that moment.

“Oh, don't think to scare me, Harry, with such a face.”

“Scare you?”

“To be sure — scare me. If you do n't want to scare me, why
do you look so? Boo! There's for your sulky faces. I'm sure
I do n't mind 'em, Harry; and now that we 're really to go to
Charleston, you may blow yourself up into a thunder-storm as
soon as you please.”

And she hummed and lilted as usual, swept across the quarter-deck
on light fantastic toe, then darted back to him, and with hand
again on his shoulder, asked —

“But how long, Harry, before we get there?”

“It may be half a day, Zulieme — it may be never!

“Now, that 's too sulky. Why will you talk so? Half a day?
I must go and begin to get my things ready.”

And she disappeared under a new impulse. He gave her but
a single glance, then turned away, and looked out upon the dim
waste of sea, now growing white in the increasing light of morning,
as, shooting out between the green islets that guard the mouth
of the Edisto, our cruiser made her way into blue water.

With a fair wind, indeed, it needed but a few hours to bring the
ship to the Charleston entrance, and, in the case of one of such
light draft, into port. But, for the present, our cruiser kept the
offing, and hung off and on, under cover of the shores, her masts
hidden behind stripes of pine forest.

And so she kept till twilight.

Meanwhile the eager and giddy-souled Zulieme, with all the
impatience of a child bent upon its day of pleasure, had roused up
Sylvia, and set Phipps in motion, preparing to go on shore.

The cabin was soon a scene of wild confusion. Trunks were
rummaged and emptied. Silks and satins, gowns and garments,
skirts and laces, covered couch and cushion. She made her toilet
with care; sat in deliberation on each article of costume; chose
and rejected each in turn, until Phipps was beside himself, and
Sylvia in despair. More than two hours were thus consumed;
and when she ran again upon deck, to ask more questions, she left

to her Abigail the task of restoring to order a wardrobe, ample
enough for a princess of the blood, which, had she tried, could
scarcely have been thrown into a condition of more admirable
confusion. But Sylvia was more patient than her mistress; and
in two hours more she had contrived to render the little chamber
once more habitable. It was not long before our captain drove
her headlong from it; flying himself from the perpetual questioning
of the fair Zulieme on deck.

The restless señora had utterly failed to extract any satisfaction
from her lord. She next had recourse to Molyneaux. But,
whether he really knew nothing of the purposes of his superior, as
he alleged; or whether he had taken counsel of prudence from
the warning remonstrances of Eckles; or whether, as is more
probable, his impudence led him to adopt the policy of piquing
the lady into a better recognition of his own importance; he had
suddenly become exceedingly shy of his communications. She
could get nothing from him!

And so she petted and pouted through half the day; would eat
no dinner — a circumstance, we are constrained to say, that had
no sort of influence upon the appetites of either of the lieutenants.
Zulieme was somewhat consoled as she saw that her lord ate as
little as herself. She was soon again upon deck, especially as
she heard the ship in motion. But the prospect was as little
grateful as before. The “Happy-go-Lucky” seemed to be exercising
herself, simply in a purposeless progress; to and fro; in
the precincts of the port which she seemed coy to enter, yet wistful
of the approach. It lay inviting enough before her. Sullivan's
island, then well wooded, lay on one hand, and her eye
could trace, in the clear atmosphere, the white houses in the city,
some six miles off in the west. It needed not an hour to reach
the goal. And that hour — that six miles — were these to be
the barriers between her impatience and its object? And why, if
not to enter, had they come hither, and thus far? Who will answer?

The captain kept his cabin. He had already been employed
through certain weary hours, writing, reading, examining, and
preparing papers, with a wilderness of them spread upon the table
before him. A savage silence, save for the sounds made by his
pen, and the rustle of unfolding sheets, prevailed throughout the
chamber. He seemed vexed, wearied, uneasy, striving, it would

seem, to concentrate upon inferior objects those thoughts which
were marvellously willed to wander. While thus engaged, Zulieme
had sought him repeatedly, but in vain; failing to secure
his attention, and only provoking him to signs of impatience
which, with some effort — a fact she scarcely perceived — forbore
to express itself with harshness and severity. She failed entirely
to wear or worry him into a revelation of his objects.

“Tell me, Harry Calvert,” said she, after repeated intrusions,
“what's the use of all these foolish papers? And why can 't you
wait to do them till you get to Charleston? And why, now that
we 've got here, why do you wait at the door, as if wanting permission
to go in? What's to prevent? Molyneaux says there's
water a plenty and wind in the right quarter, and that it only
needs an hour to be at the docks. And do n't you see I 'm all
dressed and ready to go ashore? I shall die if you keep me
another night at sea. And I won't be kept. Do you hear me,
Harry?”

He had hardly heard a syllable; but he answered, “Yes, I
hear,” — but without once looking up.

“Harry Calvert, you are a great sulky cayman; and I 'm only
sorry that I ever saw you.”

He seemed to hear that, and answered, very soberly, while still
continuing to write —

“So am I, Zulieme, very sorry.”

“What do you mean by that? you great alligator man! I tell
you, Harry, I 'm sorry I ever nursed you, and made you well;
for you do n't care if I die here, in your vile vessel. Oh! you 've
cheated, and deceived me, and made a fool of me, Harry Calvert,
and I hate you! — I do, Harry, and I never did care about you;
and if I told you so, I lied. You hear me — I tell you, I never
loved you, and I lied when I said so.”

It is charity to suppose that the person thus addressed never
heard a syllable of this grateful assurance. He simply nodded
his head approvingly, and went on writing. She looked at him a
moment with a stronger expression of indignation than she had
yet shown, then rushed again on deck to the courtly lieutenant.

“Look you, Mr. Molyneaux, did n't you tell me there was nothing
to prevent our going to Charleston?”

“No, señora, I did not.”

“But I say you did!”

“You misunderstood me, señora. I said that neither wind nor
tide prevented.”

“Well, that 's the same thing.”

“No, ask the captain.”

“Ask the great bear and the grand cayman. He 's a brute and
monster, and won't hear a word I say. Now, I ask you, if the
wind and water serve, what's to keep us here — what prevents
our going in?”

“Nothing, but the captain. He says `no,' and the wind and
water must wait on him.”

“But I won't.”

“Ah, Zulieme, a beautiful woman like yourself may do what
she pleases.” And the lieutenant smiled very dutifully, as he
looked up and said these words in very subdued accents. “You
can will and others must wait.”

“How 's that, when here I can 't get any of you to stir and
carry me to Charleston? Do n't tell me such things, and do n't
you call me beautiful, when you do n't mind a word I say. Ah!
before I was married, everybody minded me. Now they all treat
me just as if I were a troublesome child. I wonder what I ever
got married for. I 'm sure I 'm sick of it.”

“You have reason,” said the courtly lieutenant, with tones of
sympathy, and looking into her face with the utmost tenderness.

“That I have; and I 'll never come with Harry again, though
he begs me on his bended knees. I 'd have died here, if I
had n't had you to amuse me. But tell me, Molyneaux, why
do n't Harry go up to Charleston? What 's the reason? Don't
you know?”

He answered her only with a very annoying, provoking smile,
which seemed to say, plainly enough —

“Well, yes, I do know, but you are not to know.”

So she understood the smile.

“But I will know, Mr. Molyneaux.”

He smiled still more knowingly, and shrugged his shoulders.

“Now do n't you make that impudent motion again. I won't
have it. You must n't treat me so, I tell you.”

Molyneaux was suddenly seized with a feeling of profound

duty, and grew busied with certain charts of the old Spanish
geographers.

Just as suddenly, she pulled the great sheets from his hands,
and scattered them about the deck.

“Now, I say, listen to me and answer.”

Stooping and picking up the charts, with great placidity,
Molyneaux looked up and said, in subdued tones, softly and
insinuatingly —

“Ah, señora, would you treat the captain so?”

“And why not, if he will not answer?”

The courtly lieutenant shook his head in denial.

“Better not try it, Zulieme, while he is in his present humor.”

“But I will try it! What do I care for his humors?”

“Nay, señora, I do not suppose that you do care much; but, I
know you would never dare do to him what you have just done
to the poor lieutenant of this ship.”

The wilful creature darted below on the instant. Looking
after her, with a cunning smile upon his countenance, Molyneaux
caught the eyes of Jack Belcher fixed steadily upon him.

“Did that fellow hear me?” quoth he to himself. Then, a
moment after, with a reckless air, and half aloud, “If he did, I
care not.”

He was not quite so indifferent as he said. Still less was he
indifferent to the events which were probably, even then, going on
in the captain's cabin; but he concentrated his whole regards now
upon the charts which he had gathered up from the deck, and
seemed heedless of everything besides.

Meanwhile, all below was silent to the ears of those above; and
yet, to those who had witnessed the scene, the feeling was one of
suspense and anxiety. The ears of Molyneaux, however seemingly
indifferent, were watchful. So were those of Jack Belcher.
He had heard every syllable. Though of coarser clay, and inferior
education, yet his instincts, improved by love for his master,
were just and sagacious. He could see — he suspected — the
mischievous purposes of Molyneaux. He could also suspect their
source. He would have given much to be able to go below, and
interpose, if necessary, in the scene which he anticipated. But
he dared not. He pitied the silly child, who, in a false relationship
to his and her superior, was thus made a tool for mischief in

the hands of one who could easily make it appear that his whole
course was natural enough, if not absolutely proper. We may
readily understand how he should be uneasy — how Molyneaux
himself should be anxious — about the result of this ridiculous
proceeding.

But no sounds reached them from below. Yet had Zulieme
kept the silly purpose for which she had darted down. She had
approached her lord without a word of premonition. With one
fell swoop she had swept the papers from the table to the floor,
exclaiming —

“You sha' n't bother with these papers any more, Harry. You
shall come on deck and talk with me, and answer me all my
questions.”