University of Virginia Library

2. CHAPTER II.
THE HAPPY-GO-LUCKIES.

But a more famous ship, in her day, than ever floated muse of
Coleridge, was she, the “Happy-go-Lucky” of the Spanish seas
and the year of grace 1684. Of a remote period to ours, she
was yet not very unlike in build, nor perhaps inferior in performance,
to the famous Baltimore clippers of the present time.
“Long, low, rakish,” in her structure, she carries a cloud of canvass,
under which we have her seen leaping forward with an impulse
which, in a heavier sea and under a livelier breeze, would have
buried her bowsprit in a continual crush of foam. In the smooth
waters of the bay beneath her, she glides like some graceful sea-bird,
exulting in the consciousness only of a pleasurable excitement.
Yet, docile in her sports, she has only heard a shrill
whistle, and almost silently her white wings fold themselves up to
her sides, and with scarce a ripple of the wave, and without farther
effort of her own, she passes to her covert among the pines,
and her masts are lost among their shady tops of green.

She is a cruiser. You may guess that from her build, her
world of canvass, her speed, her size, if not from the long brass
cannon working upon a pivot amidships, and the six brass muzzles
that grin significantly with open jaws on either side. She
has the capacity for mischief, clearly, whatever be her character.
Gently rocking in the narrow lagune where she seeks her rest, it
is permitted us to behold something more than her simple outlines.
Her inhabitants now tumble into sight on every hand; a goodly

number of vigorous sea-dogs — somewhat more numerous, it would
seem, than are absolutely necessary to the working of so small a
craft. They constitute a crew, which, we may see at a glance,
are to be relied upon when blows are heavy. There are scarred
veterans among these fellows, motley enough — English, Irish,
Dutch, French — an amalgam of nations, which, elsewhere, are
rarely to be found working amicably together. Yet here, they
seem fused, as by one strong presiding will, into a congruous community.
The most casual eye may detect each national characteristic,
in shape, look, tone, gesture; yet here they blend together harmoniously,
under a common authority. They are docile enough,
most of them — nay submissive; yet there is a sort of freedom,
too, amounting to a social license, which forbids the idea that
either of these has sunk his individuality in his obedience to authority.
You hear them laugh and jest together; there are some
who sing out aloud, as if to test the healthy capacity of voice and
lungs; and, not unfrequently, a broad, corpulent, aggressive British
oath breaks upon the ear, like the roar of a bulldog, from the
lips of some surly islander, who fancies that unless he swears, and
can hear himself and make others hear, he forfeits something of
the natural independence of his breed.

You see, next, that these fellows are all picked men. They are
rough sea-dogs, no doubt, but sturdy, cool, hardy, stubborn; capable
of good knocks; giving and receiving; who have been already
trained and tried in a severe apprenticeship. They are fit
fellows for a cruiser with a roving commission. And such is that
borne by the “Happy-go-Lucky.”

As we traverse the decks, we find proofs of a late visit to regions
farther south. There are piles of West India fruits strewn
about; pyramids of orange, guava, and pine, secured in the nettings
around the guns, showing a more innocent species of artillery
than belongs altogether to the other aspects of the ship. The
“Happy-go-Lucky” has probably looked very lately into Jamaica
and Barbadoes; has had a squint at Porto Bello, a bird's-eye
view of Havana; and may have enjoyed a loving wrestle with
some of the good brigantines of these latter places, in which they
have found more fruits than those which lie carelessly strewn on
deck. Quien sabe?

But these piles of fruit implied, in the present case, neither

want of cleanliness nor confusion. In a twink, our cruiser will be
cleared for action; and, in the matter of cleanliness, never were
decks kept under “Holy Stone” regimen more rigidly than hers.
Her captain, be sure, is something of a martinet; and the nice,
trim condition of his ship would, we fancy, have seemed a very
idle object to the bluff, less fastidious sailors of the previous generation
— the days of Van Tromp, and Drake, and Cavendish.
It needs but a glance to assure yourself that our cruiser is under
the management of one who is no mere sailor; who brings some
taste into exercise along with his duties; who has grace as well as
valor; and can, doubtless, dance a galliard with courtly ease, in
the very next hour after making the dons of Mexico foot it to
the most vexatious sort of music.

But let us see him more nearly. He is the same person who
first welcomed our solitary, Jack Belcher, at the moment of their
mutual recognition. The latter personage has bounded on board
the vessel, the moment her sides grazed the shores, and we see
that the hand of his superior is extended him, with a frank and
hearty freedom that speaks quite as much for friendship as authority.
Our solitary wrings it with warm affection. There is some
love between the two, be sure. The superior speaks good humoredly:
“Well! tired out, Jack, eh?”

“Tired enough, your honor — but only of the waiting, not of
the work.”

“What! you 'd rather be dancing fandangoes with the Cuban
barefoots, eh?”

And there was a momentary flash of merriment in the blue eyes
of the speaker — but momentary only, for the next instant a cloud
seemed to pass across his face.

This was a handsome one, of the genuine English mould; perhaps,
for manhood, the most beautiful of all living models. His
features were all noble, decided, and symmetrical. The tout ensemble
exhibited boldness, freedom, sensibility; a prompt courage;
an eager temper; a generous, though perhaps irritable mood. It
was full of blood as well as character; big veins swelling on his
forehead, while the sanguine temperament declared itself, in warm
flushes, through a skin somewhat deeply bronzed with the intense
fervor of the tropical sun. He had the light brown hair and blue
eyes of the Saxon; the great frame, large as well as vigorous;

the erect carriage, the fearless look and demeanor of the Norman;
and just enough of thought and care in the general expression of
his face, as to lift the merely physical manhood into the dignity
of intellect and authority.

Some care sate upon his cheek, and might be guessed from the
gradually growing lines about the mouth; which was nevertheless
distinguished equally by its youth and beauty. The broad and
elevated brow, large but not massive; the quick, intelligent, and
frequent kindling of the eye, looking out blue and lively; but,
like an April sky, subject to very sudden changes; the prominent
Roman nose; the full, round chin; sweetly expressive, yet very
decisive mouth; — all declared for characteristics, which, whether
we regard the opinions of Lavater or Gall, impress us, through
the features, with the conviction that we stand in the presence of
a brave, manly soul, having truthful sympathies, and a will that
must everywhere assert command.

His person, as we have intimated, was framed in the very prodigality
of nature — tall of height, broad of shoulder, and equally
athletic and symmetrical. He was probably thirty years old, may
have been thirty-five; but, if we make due allowance for the
effects of care, strife, and authority, in situations of great responsibility,
we shall be more safe in assuming him to be no more than
thirty. He was clad very simply in loose duck trowsers, and
wore a sailor's jacket, but these were of very fine materials. His
bosom was ruffled in fine linen, curiously embroidered; a scarf of
blue, worn loosely, and secured by the sailor-knot, was wrapped
about his neck. A white Panama hat of ample rim and high
conical crown, of the time of Charles the First, covered his head,
and was encircled with a light-blue sash. He wore boots of yellow
tanned Spanish leather. A baldric of blue silk, hanging over
his shoulders, contained a brace of pistols, of rather long barrel,
wide mouth, and richly-wrought stocks, inlaid with silver. He
carried, at this moment, no other weapons.

You have the man before you, as he appears to us, shaking the
hands of one whose approach, address, tone of voice, and general
manner, show him to be a personal retainer, a faithful follower,
an old long-tried friend, no less than a subordinate.

“And so, Jack, you have had a taste of the maroon? How
long have you been here waiting?”

“But thirteen days, your honor; but it seems an age — more
than a month, certainly. I left Charleston—”

“Not yet, Jack — wait a little longer.”

And, as he spoke, the face of the superior was overcast with
a graver expression. He was approached, at that moment, by
another person, who will demand our special attention, even as
she coerced his.

“She! a woman!” Yes. Our rover, the “Happy-go-Lucky,”
is richly freighted. Feast your palate upon the choice fruits of
summer and the sun, which you see about you; your cupidity
upon the choice bales of silk and merchandises of East and West,
which are hoarded in the hold below; but let your eyes feed upon
the beautiful creature who now challenges our attention.

Very beautiful, indeed, is she, after the Spanish fashion. We
said something of Cleopatra in the preceding chapter. That name
is suggestive of but one ideal; and she who glides before us, and
lays her hand intimately upon the captain's shoulder, and looks
up with such a brilliant tenderness into his eyes, embodies that
model in perfection. She is not a large creature as Cleopatra
may have been — nay, petite rather — but full bosomed, with every
look speaking passion — music's passion; the sun's passion; the
passion of storm and fire upon occasion, ready to burst forth
without warning and spoil the sky's face, and rage among the
flowers.

She is brown with a summer's sun; her beauty is of the dark;
like a night without a cloud, far up in the sky, flecked with solitary
stars. Her features are not regular, but, in their very
caprice, they harmonize. Her large black eye dilates at every
glance, reveals every emotion, however slight, and passes, with
the rapidity of lightning, from smiles to tears; from tenderness to
a passion, which may easily be rage as well as love! It is keen,
restless, jealously watchful, intense in every phase. The nose is
small, but capable of sudden dilation; the lips voluptuous, pale,
and soon shaken with a tremulous quiver, whenever the feelings
are touched. The brow, whiter than the rest of the face, is
marked by two blue veins above the eyes, that become swollen at
a moment's warning. It is not high, nor massive, nor yet narrow;
the eyebrows are thick and black, the lashes long; and when the
orbs droop, in the languor of satisfied emotions, they form a beautiful

and glossy fringe fit for hiding the fiery jewels that burn
beneath.

An easy susceptibility to all emotions; a sleepless intensity of
mood, whatever the direction of the will; great energy of passion;
an ever-watchful jealousy; feelings that have never learned to
brook control or denial; a temper not often accustomed to restraint;
these are traits, all visible at a glance, to him who can
look through the features, in partial repose at present, to their natural
susceptibilities, and the moral atmosphere in which the owner
has grown to womanhood.

Her person, though small, is perfect, well rounded, neither too
full nor slender; a model, in short, for that style of beauty which
was hers. And every movement was graceful. She swam rather
than walked. Her little feet were never heard, in the thin, open
slippers which she wore. Her costume was of a light, gay green
silk; her bodice of the finest texture, embroidered openly in front,
and leaving the large, well-formed bosom to its own free swell,
under the pressure of perpetually striving emotions. Her dress,
though embroidered, and decorated besides with little cords of
gold and purple, that crossed the white openings in the silken
dress, was worn loosely, rather after a Grecian than an Italian or
Spanish fashion; sufficiently showing the perfection of the form,
without absolutely defining it; certainly without embarrassing, or
tending in the slightest degree to curb its movements.

Hair — such a mass, all raven black, which, loosed, would
sweep the earth behind her as she went — eyes, mouth, form,
complexion, — all seemed to carry you back to the gay season
when, in the halls of Zegri and Abencerrage, the maidens of Granada
borrowed lustre from the sun to light up the darkness, and
made the moon and stars tributary to passions which could tolerate
no stronger light, but which luxuriated in such as theirs.

Verily, she was of Moresco, quite as much as Spanish blood;
and you are sure of this when you hear her called “Zulieme.”
A little poniard in a sheath of green embossed leather, with richly-jewelled
hilt, worn in her girdle, seems to help the faith in her
Moorish origin. She is dark, but comely, like the beauty sung by
Solomon; and that wise person was understood to have quite an
eye for a fine woman. She was evidently of the order which he
preferred to crown with flowers and music.

But — but! ah! — but hereafter. There will be a time for the
qualifications — to-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow!

Now! We see nothing but the beautiful; a sensuous beauty —
a thing solely for the eye: such as Canova makes of that exquisite
idiot whom he calls “The Venus.”

And, in all her beauty, costumed as we have shown her, Zulieme
approaches her lord, and, with one hand on his shoulder, and her
great black eyes peering into his, she exclaims, in tolerable English,
just sufficiently broken and imperfect to show that she is of
another nation, and to occasion a pleasant interest by the discovery
— she exclaims: —

“Why, Harry, how is this? Molyneaux tells me that this is
not Charleston!'

“I should say not, Zulieme. This is a wild region, uninhabited
almost, except by savages.”

“But why have you put in here, Harry?”

“It is necessary,” he answered, somewhat coldly.

“But why necessary? What is to be done here? Molyneaux
says that there is nothing to be done here; that there is nobody
to see, nobody to trade with, and I want to go to Charleston. I
would n't have come this voyage had you not promised me I should
go to Charleston. Molyneaux tells me—”

“Tell me no more, if you please, of what Mr. Molyneaux has
told you; and if you are wise, Zulieme, you will take your future
information, as to my purposes and conduct, from no other lips
than my own.”

“But I am not wise, Harry, and you sha' n't make me wise;
and how, if nobody tells me anything but you, and you never tell
me anything!”

“I tell you all, in respect to myself and my proceedings, Zulieme,
which I deem it proper for you to know. Who undertakes
to tell you more, in this ship, assumes a privilege which I shall
certainly arrest at the earliest moment.”

The gravity had become severity.

“Oh! do n't blame Mr. Molyneaux, now; if anybody is at fault,
it 's me. I asked Mr. Molyneaux, and he answered; and there 's
no harm in that, Harry.”

“I do n't know that!” was the answer, slowly spoken, and with
the air of one who muses upon some other subject.

“Yes, but you do know, Harry; and when I want to know
something, I will ask, and somebody must answer.”

“Ask of me, then, Zulieme.”

“Well, but you won't answer me always.”

“Then, it is not proper that you should seek from another the
information that I refuse. You ought to know, in such cases, that
the knowledge you seek is withheld for some good reason.”

“But why — what reason? And why should Mr. Molyneaux
know things that I must n't know? I 'm your wife, Harry, am I
not?”

“You are my wife, Zulieme,” was the gravely-spoken answer;
and the manner did not show that there was any satisfaction felt
in making the acknowledgment; “and as my wife, Zulieme, you
must content yourself with what I am pleased to tell you of the
affairs of this ship. Mr. Molyneaux is an officer of this ship; and
my wife must learn to know, if he does not, that his duty is to
keep its secrets. If your business were the management of the
vessel, then it would be your right to know; but—”

“Oh! I do n't care about the ship's affairs, Harry; it 's my own
affairs; and I ask you why you put in here, in this wild place,
when we were to go to Charleston? It was to go to Charleston
that I agreed to leave New Providence. You told me that we
would go there; and you promised to stop at Cuba, yet you never
stopped, or only for a moment, and I never had a sight of Havana,
and you know what I wanted to see there. Ah, the dear Cuba!
the sights, and the bullfights, and the dances! And now, it seems,
we are not to go to Charleston—”

“Who says that, Zulieme?”

“Why, Mr. Molyneaux said—”

A stern, impatient look and gesture cut short the communication;
and the eyes of the captain glanced quickly and angrily
from the lady, in the direction of a person who stood near the
companion-way, and who seemed, at that moment, to have the
ship in charge.

This was Mr. or rather Lieutenant Molyneaux, so often referred
to by the lady. He was a young man, probably the youngest in
the vessel, of middle size, slight build, but apparently of great
activity. His face, which was turned toward the parties at the
moment, was effeminate, smooth, even boyish; but its expression

was that of careless daring, amounting to effrontery. He belonged
to the proverbial “order of the Bashful Irishmen.” There
was a half smile upon his countenance, as his eye met the glance
of his superior, which seemed significant with a peculiar meaning.

“Did you call, sir?” he asked, somewhat indifferently, as his
eye caught the expression in that of his superior.

“No, sir — no! — and yet I did call, Mr. Molyneaux. One
word, sir.”

The other approached at a moderate pace, though without any
apparent interest. As he drew nigh, the captain said: —

“Mr. Molyneaux, you will please understand that it is not by
any means necessary that you should communicate to anybody
but myself the courses and direction of this ship. She may steer
east, west, north, or south, and all on board must submit without
question, or expectation of answer, to the orders which I give on
this and all other subjects. No answer, sir, if you please. I have
no purpose to converse now; only to inform, that we may prevent
mistakes in future.”

The slightest possible smile might be seen upon the lips of the
lieutenant as he touched his hat and receded. But a fierce, passionate
stare on the part of the lady betrayed equal astonishment
and indignation, and threatened a sudden outbreak.

“How, Harry, do you mean that Mr. Molyneaux is not to
answer my questions?”

“Exactly! He is to answer no questions, of anybody, in relation
to the working of this ship, its course, objects, or interests.
These are sacred even from you, and do you not attempt to persuade
any officer to a neglect or breach of duty. Ask me what
you want to know, and if it be proper that you should know, I will
answer you.”

“Look you, Harry, none of your haughty ways with me. I
won't stand it. You sha' n't treat me as if I were only a child.
I must and will know, Harry. You said positively we were to
come to Charleston, and if you had n't said that, I never should
have consented to leave Providence. You promised me, Harry,
to carry me to Havana and Charleston both, and now you bring
me here to this wild heathen country, where there are wolves and
tigers, and the red savages. I say, I will know, Harry, whether
you mean to keep your word, and carry me to Charleston.”

A very angry expression crossed for a moment the face of the
superior. You could see that it needed little for a storm — a
sudden burst of thunder; but he subdued the tempest with a
severe exertion of will, and in tones not merely sober, but even
gentle, though firm, he answered: —

“Zulieme, no more of this at present; whether I shall go to
Charleston or not, depends upon intelligence which I am to find
here.”

“And from whom, Harry, in this savage place? You are only
cheating me, I know.”

“You saw the person who met me from this shore? But, it
does not matter. It should not. It should be enough for you,
Zulieme, that I have answered you. I do not relish this too close
questioning. You must learn to believe what I tell you, and
submit.”

The lady pouted, and stamped her little feet impatiently; her
companion scarcely heeded it, as he went on: —

“No more of this impatience, Zulieme. Be content with the
assurance that I have duties to others, in fulfilling which, I am
obliged to put in here — which may carry me to Charleston —
probably will; but which may require that I shall steer in any
other direction. And, as my wife, you must understand that my
duties involve yours, and must learn to submit, without complaint
or question, to the necessities which I have to recognize. Go
below now, or amuse yourself on deck — do what you wish —
while I see Jack Belcher, and procure the information which shall
decide my course.”

“And I say again, Harry Calvert, that you treat me like a
child!” exclaimed the spoiled beauty, passionately.

“Ay, and you are a child, Zulieme! What else! what else!”
This was said very gravely and sadly, but gently, even tenderly.—
“But go below, and beware how you make me appear ridiculous
in the sight of these rude men. There are eyes upon us, which
must see in me nothing but the master. Do not let your folly
undo my authority!”

“But why may I not go on shore, Harry?” changing her tone
in an instant. “Why not have supper under those great trees,
and fruits, and music? Oh! it will be so pretty, and so nice,
Harry.”

“Yes, to be sure! — why not? Do so, Zulieme. Give the orders,
and set your maid to work. Call Phipps to help. Phipps!
Phipps!”

Phipps was the cabin-boy.

And, so speaking, Captain Calvert was moving away, when the
lady caught his arm:

“But is there no danger of the red savages, Harry? They
say your savages of Carolina are a fiercer race than ours. They
eat Christians, do n't they?”

“I have already got a scouting party in the wood, Zulieme,
under Lieutenant Eckles. There is no danger. Belcher has
been here, alone, for more than a week.”

“Oh! how frightful! and nobody with him! Oh! I should
prefer the savages to the silence of these lonely woods. But, go
'long, Harry. Go 'long, now; while I set Sylvia and Phipps to
work. We shall have such a nice supper, and music, and a
dance.”

And she lilted and warbled as she spoke. Then calling, “Sylvia,
Sylvia!” to the maid below, and clapping her hands, with a shrill
scream for Phipps, the lady, in a moment after, darted down the
companion-way, seeming altogether to forget, in her new fancies,
that she was the unhappy proprietor of one of those wretched
husbands who refuse to answer impertinent questions.

Mr. Molyneaux glanced at her retiring figure; his eyes then
followed that of the captain. The latter joined Jack Belcher on
the headlands, and proceeded with him into the thicket and out
of sight. Upon the lips of Mr. Molyneaux there sat the same
smile with which he had met the sudden and stern glance of his
principal. It was cool, quiet, full of effrontery and self-esteem.
Yet, how feminine were all his features. And how should he —
so seemingly effeminate, and evidently the youngest person in the
ship — how should he have risen to the rank of second officer?

That smile told the whole story. Girlish though he seemed,
he had that degree of audacity and resolution which could carry
him through scenes from which greater frames and tougher sinews,
and more hardy-looking persons, would have shrunk in dismay.
And he would go into the melée as to a feast. And the
very effeminacy of his person deceived his enemies. Under that
girlish and delicate exterior, he concealed powerful muscles and

well-knit limbs, and a lithe activity, which, in the moment of
danger, left nearly all others behind!

But why did he smile as his captain went from sight? What
is the secret in that sinister expression? And did his superior
feel, or fancy, the occult meaning which it seemed to cover?

It did not please him, evidently. There was an instinct at
work, no doubt, which made Captain Calvert feel that there was
something unpleasant in that smile of his second officer. But he
is not the man to brood over the occult. And he has other cares
on hand at this moment; and, forgetting the whole scene just
over, it was with some eagerness that he joined Jack Belcher on
the shore, and bade him lead into the thick cover of the forest.