THE ENGLISHMAN'S DILEMMA.
Morgianna Lane was the brightest gem in the little Maryland village. The
romantic mystery which enshrouded her birth seemed only to add to the
charm about her. Of course Fernando could not long be in the village
without learning that she was not the daughter of Captain Lane, but
a sea waif.
Frequently foundlings have some birth mark or scar about them, or there
is some letter or significant mark about their clothing by which in
after years they may be identified and their parentage made known; but
in the case of Morgianna there was no probability of her identity ever
being discovered. Her plump little arms were utterly devoid of scar or
mark; the clothes found upon the infant had no initial whatever, and
were cast aside, just as other worn-out garments.
Fernando Stevens, in due time, called on Captain Lane, whom he found to
be as jolly an old Jack Tar as lives. He was greatly amused at the
escapade of the student, but cautioned him against his Irish friend.
"I have no doubt this Terrence Malone is a good, noble young fellow; but
he has too much native mischief in his composition, and will get you
from one scrape into another with marvellous regularity. I don't mean
that you should cut him adrift; but though you sail in company with him,
do not allow him to get too far windward of you. When you see he's going
to fly right into the teeth of some rash fate, get on the other tack,
that's all. You did honorably, however, in fighting the duel with
Lieutenant Matson, even if he is my friend."
"Is he your friend?"
"Yes; his father and I shipped afore the mast when we were boys
together. When the war broke out, he entered the British navy while I
went aboard a Yankee privateer. I am glad to say we never met
in battle."
Fernando felt himself growing just a little bit uneasy. He did not like
this friendship between the captain and Lieutenant Matson; and he could
see that the old seaman was glad the lieutenant's wound was not fatal.
What strange emotion stirred the Ohio student's soul, when he met the
soft eyes of Morgianna, words cannot express. She talked on a variety of
subjects, and at times Fernando flattered himself that she was pleased
to have him with her; but the next moment he reasoned that it might be
only her good breeding which made her appear to tolerate him. Fernando
was not foolish enough to be conceited. He lived in hope and doubt and
was the happiest man at times, and at others the most miserable. Though
he took Sukey into his confidence, Fernando was a little shy
of Terrence.
The reader will remember that Terrence had, on entering the village,
suggested the propriety of going under assumed names. Fernando had
forgotten, if he ever knew, that he was registered at the tavern as Mr.
Phil. Magrew of Hartford, and that good, innocent Sukey was George
Molesworth, while Terrence was Larry O'Connor, a name quite in keeping
with his nationality. A ludicrous mistake, which came near being fatal
to Fernando's respectability at Mariana, resulted from this incident.
They had been a week at the tavern, and Fernando, who had lived a
thousand years of alternating bliss and agony in that short period, was
sitting in the bar-room in front of a great roaring fire, which the
chill evening of early autumn made comfortable, utterly oblivious of the
grumbling of the landlord, who was saying:
"When people stay a whole week 'thout any luggage, it be high time they
pay up. I wonder Mr. Magrew don't take notice on't."
The supposed Mr. Magrew, however, did not hear what he said. He was
gazing into the blazing fire, weaving bright pictures from which the
eyes of Morgianna seemed gazing at him. Fernando had forgotten the
academy, home, parents and all in this new inspiration. Terrence and
Sukey entered while the landlord was still grumbling and looking hard at
Fernando, who was utterly oblivious of his wrath.
"Mister Magrew, be ye a man o' honor?" demanded mine host; but "Mr.
Magrew" was as indifferent as a statue of stone. "The wagabond sits
there an' hears himself abused an' be too heedless to answer. By the
mass, I will even tweak his nose! Magrew--Magrew--I'll wake you!"
All the while Terrence, Sukey, and everybody else was wondering whom the
enraged landlord meant. Suddenly Terrence recollected that he had
registered Fernando under the name of Philip Magrew. He hastened to meet
the landlord before he reached Fernando, and thus prevented a collision,
which would have been violent indeed.
"Me frind, the honorable Misthur Magrew, is hard o' hearing," explained
the Irishman in an undertone.
"Be hard o' hearin'? then he be hard o' payin' too," answered the
landlord. "He 'ave been a whole veek in my 'ouse and not one pickyunne
'ave paid."
"Lave all to me," said the Irishman in his conciliatory manner, gently
leading the landlord to another part of the room. "Ye see me frind,
knowing his infirmity, asked mesilf to pay all bills for Misthur Magrew,
and he gave me the money, I clear forgot it, or I should have paid you."
Then Terrence drew forth a well-filled purse, which greatly mollified
the landlord, and when all differences were squared, he was completely
satisfied, smiling and agreeable.
Thus Fernando passed over a dangerous period in his life and never knew
how near he came having his nose pulled; nor did the landlord ever know
how near he came to being knocked down for such an attempt.
Morgianna had spoken on one occasion of the beauty of moonlight on the
seashore, and Fernando was bold enough to ask the pleasure of rowing
herself and father to the headlands some evening. She assented. The old
sailor had a friend visiting at his house, an old ex-sea-captain like
himself, and the four decided to make the voyage across the little bay
and sit for an hour on the rocky promontory and listen to the "dashing
waves." Fernando willingly welcomed the acquaintance as a fourth to the
party, for he was shrewd enough to see that the old sailors would be so
wholly engrossed with each other, that they would scarcely notice the
young people, and Morgianna and he would be left quite to themselves.
Fernando, though an amateur at the oar, would on no account be dissuaded
from rowing the small boat to the promontory; and, having helped
Morgianna, who was lightest, into a seat in the bow (inexpressible
happiness) he cheerfully took his seat at the oars with the old men in
the stern facing each other. Then the little craft was cast loose, and
the young westerner bent to his oars and sent the boat swiftly through
the water. Of course Fernando's back was toward Morgianna, and he could
not see her, save when he twisted his head "quite off," which he did
frequently; but he could hear her silvery voice humming snatches of a
song, or her dimpled hand playing in the phosphorescent water which
sparkled like flashes of fire in their wake. The old men kept up a
continual talk, for which Fernando was exceedingly grateful. Finally the
promontory was gained, and in a quiet little cove Fernando beached his
boat and, springing out, took the small, white hand of Morgianna and
assisted her to the dry sands, so gallantly that her dainty little
slippered foot did not touch the water.
Then the whole party ascended the hill to the opposite side of the
promontory where the sea was beating furiously. Fernando was almost
beside himself with joy to find Morgianna clinging to his arm in the
ascent, and to hear her sweet voice in low, gentle tones breathing in
his ear. It was a fine, clear night, and for all her lowness of spirits,
Morgianna kept looking up at the stars in a manner so bewitching that
Fernando was clear out of his senses, and plainly showed that, if ever a
man were over head and ears in love, that man was himself. The path they
were ascending was quite steep, and Fernando could not help glancing at
the pretty little hand, encased in a cream-colored kid glove, resting on
his arm. If Fernando had known that an executioner were behind him with
an axe raised, ready to cut off his head if he touched that hand, he
could not have helped doing it. From putting his own right hand upon it
as if by chance, and taking it away again after a minute or so, and then
putting it back again, he got to walking along without taking it off at
all, as if he, the escort, were bound to do that as an important duty,
and had come for that purpose. The most curious thing about this little
incident was, that Morgianna did not seem to know it. She looked so
innocent and unconscious when she turned her eyes on Fernando, that it
was quite provoking.
She talked about the sea, the hills, the rocks, the sky, the stars,
while the old men went on ahead, and when she slipped on the verge of a
precipice three feet high and came near falling into a pool of dirty
water, and he saved her from the fall by his coolness and daring, she
thanked him and told him how grateful she was that he was near, and he
said something about how happy he would be to be always near her, to
guard her footsteps along life's rugged pathway. Then she said something
to the effect that it would be pleasant if one could always have one's
friends near, and that she hoped they would always be friends from that
time forth. And when Fernando said, "not friends" he hoped, Morgianna
was quite surprised and said not enemies she hoped; and when Fernando
suggested that they might be something better than either, Morgianna,
all of a sudden, found a star, which was brighter than all the other
stars, and begged to call his attention to the same, and was ten times
more innocent and unconscious than ever.
In this way, they journeyed up the steep ascent, talking very little
above a whisper, and wishing that the promontory was a dozen times
higher--at least, such was Fernando's wish--when they finally reached
the top and saw the two old men under the lee cliff listening to the
ocean's hollow roar.
Fernando carried a robe and some wraps for Morgianna, and he conducted
her to a sheltered spot below the first ledge of rocks, where he spread
a robe for her to sit on, and then, with loving fingers that thrilled
with each touch, adjusted the wraps about her shapely little shoulders.
For a long time they sat listening to the wild roar of the angry waters
below, gazing on the phosphorescent flashes, where the swelling waves
broke in crested splendor on the well-worn rocks.
He was first to break the silence.
"Miss Lane," he said, "had I known that Lieutenant Matson was your
personal friend, I would have suffered disgrace rather than
encountered him."
With a smile, she answered:
"It all turned out right. The lieutenant was scarcely injured at all."
"Have you heard of him?"
"I have heard from him," she answered, glancing slyly at Fernando from
the corners of her roguish eyes. "He wrote me a letter which I
received to-day."
Fernando felt a pain at his heart, but it was nothing to compare with
the shame and mortification which followed. She informed him that
Lieutenant Matson was so slightly wounded, that his seconds decided on a
second fire, and sent a boat to inform them as they had left the beach,
but that, although they chased the Americans for miles, they could not
bring them back. Fernando was stunned by the information, and filled
with mortification and chagrin.
"Do you think I am afraid to meet him again?" he asked, his voice
trembling with ill-suppressed excitement.
"I don't know; but you won't, anyway--you are both my friends, and my
friends shall not fight."
Fernando made no answer, but at that moment he would very much have
liked to knock her friend on the head. Of course a second meeting with
the Briton would now have been highly pleasing to the student; but it
was out of the question. The hour on the promontory was passed in
alternating bliss and misery, and when the time came to return, he was
no nearer the subject dearest of all subjects than before.
He hastened back to the tavern, where he found his Irish friend playing
cards with the landlord and winning several weeks' board in advance.
"Terrence, it is a fine fix you got me in by hurrying away from the
sands so soon that morning," he said angrily, when he got him to
his room.
"Why, me boy, what d'ye mane?"
"That lieutenant was only slightly wounded, and that boat was chasing us
to bring us back for another shot."
"So ye've heard it at last, me frind?"
"Certainly I have, and now I will be branded as a coward."
"Lave it all to me. The Britishers are in trouble enough. Sure, haven't
ye read the Baltimore papers? Captain Conkerall is to be tried by a
court-martial for gettin' bastely drunk and goin' abroad with no garment
but his shirt, and a sheet with a hole in it." Terrence laughed until
the tears trickled down his cheeks. Fernando could not see how he could
help fighting the lieutenant again if he demanded satisfaction; but the
Irishman was quite sure the lieutenant would have enough to do to keep
his captain out of his dilemma. Sukey, who had entered during their
conversation, said:
"Oh, Fernando, why didn't you aim higher and blow his head off?"
"Why did the lieutenant challenge me, when the captain was the injured
party?" asked Fernando.
Terrence explained that, while the Captain was really the injured party,
it was a matter of courtesy that his officer lower in rank should take
the quarrel upon himself, more especially as Fernando had been his
successful rival at the ball. From this, the conversation gradually led
to Morgianna herself, and Terrence laughed and winked; and called
Fernando a lucky dog.
"Go in, me boy, and if ye nade any help, I am at hand."
"I fear I have injured my prospects there," said Fernando.
"How?"
"By the duel. Lieutenant Matson is an old friend of the captain, and I
believe a suitor for the hand of his daughter. What show has a schoolboy
against a lieutenant in the English navy?--none."
"Yes he has," declared Terrence.
"What show can he have?"
"Lave it all to me, me frind, and I will bring ye out all right, see if
I don't."
"I have left too many things to you, Terrence, and you have a most
remarkable faculty for getting me into trouble."
Terrence assured him that he would yet aid him to outgeneral the
Englishman, and he only wished that he might come into port during
their stay.
"Terrence, you must take no advantage of the public hatred of the
English to accomplish your purpose. Remember, Lieutenant Matson is the
son of Captain Lane's friend. You might raise a mob and have him driven
away; but I will not consent to it."
"Indade, I don't mane it, me boy. Lave it to me. If he comes ashore,
faith, we'll out-gineral him, sure."
Next day there came letters for the runaways. Terrence's father, being
wealthy and influential, had gone to Baltimore, interceded with the
faculty and had the runaway scapegraces retained. There were also
letters from the parents of the young men, condemning, but at the time
forgiving and warning them to be more careful in the future.
It was some distance by the road to Baltimore, and the boys decided to
take passage in a coasting schooner which was loading with barley and
would be ready to go in three days.
One morning, two days before their intended departure, Fernando, on
going out upon the street, was surprised and really alarmed to see an
English man-of-war anchored in the little harbor of Marianna. His
uneasiness was greatly increased on reading the name _Xenophon_ on the
broad pennant floating from the main mast. His enemy was in port, and he
could guess his object, especially when he saw Captain Lane's carriage
waiting on the sands while Lieutenant Matson was being rowed ashore.
Fernando gnashed his teeth and there were some ugly thoughts in
his heart.
Sukey who had come out hastened to his side and reading his thoughts
said:
"Now don't you wish you had aimed higher?"
The citizens, noticing the approach of an English war vessel, began to
congregate in a large body on the north side of the village, and their
demonstrations were decidedly hostile to the landing of the Briton.
Suddenly Captain Lane appeared among them, waving his staff and
shouting. Having gained their attention, the old sea-captain mounted the
stile near the village store and said:
"Shipmates and friends, the man coming ashore is the son of a man whom I
loved. I have sent my carriage down to bring him to my house where he is
to be my guest. You have all heard me tell how his father saved my life.
Would you injure him now, when he comes to pay me a friendly visit?" In
a short time the crowd dispersed, and Lieutenant Matson landed, entered
the carriage and was driven to the house of Captain Lane.
From the street, Fernando, with bitter feelings in his heart, saw the
carriage ascend the hill. He turned about and entered the tavern, went
to his room and shut himself up. Here he remained until the middle of
the afternoon, when there came a knock at the door, and, on opening it,
he was astonished to find one of the negroes of Captain Lane's house. He
was dressed in livery and held a note in his hand, which he gave to
"Mistah Stevens," bowed politely and awaited his answer.
The utter amazement of Fernando can better be imagined than described
at finding the note from Miss Morgianna Lane inviting himself and his
friends to tea that evening with themselves, Lieutenant Matson and
ensign Post of his majesty's ship _Xenophon_. Had Fernando been summoned
to a command in his majesty's navy, he could not have been more
astonished. He hesitated a moment and then decided to accept. This
Englishman should neither out-do him in generosity nor affrontery.
Besides, the invitation came from Morgianna, and he could not refuse. He
wrote a polite answer, accepting the kind invitation and went to find
Sukey and Terrence. Sukey thought it would be a little odd for Fernando
to meet a man with whom he had exchanged shots; but Terrence declared it
was the only "dacint" thing to do. They were not "haythin," to
bear grudges.
Consequently they went. The minds of the Americans were filled with
doubt and perplexity, while the Irishman was chuckling at a plan his
cunning brain was evolving, and which he determined to put in execution.
The Englishmen met the Americans very cordially, and Lieutenant Matson,
who was every inch a gentleman, did not dare be other than genteel in
the presence of the lady he loved; for he was as passionately in love
with Morgianna as was Fernando. The lieutenant was of a romantic turn of
mind, and the mystery of the sea waif had interested him. He was quite
sure she was the daughter of some nobleman. He had read in romances so
many cases similar to hers, that he could not believe this would turn
out otherwise.
When Fernando and the lieutenant had shaken hands and mutually agreed to
bury all past differences, had they not been rivals they might have
become friends, for each recognized in the other some qualities that
were admirable.
The beauty of a lovely woman is like music, rich in cadence and sweet in
rhythm; but that beauty must be for one alone. It cannot, like music, be
shared with others. The best of friends may, as rivals, become the
bitterest foes. Fernando did not like the Englishman, for, with all his
blandness, he thought he could observe a pompous air and
self-consciousness of superiority, disgusting to sensible persons. This
might have been prejudice or the result of imagination, yet he realized
that he was in the presence of an ambitious rival, who would go to any
length to gain his purpose.
The most careful and disinterested observer could not have discovered
any preference on the part of Morgianna. When they came to the table,
she had the lieutenant on one side and Fernando on the other. The old
captain at the head engrossed much of Lieutenant Matson's time talking
about his father, greatly to the annoyance of the officer. When Matson
came to take his seat at the table, Terrence, who sat on the opposite
side of the lieutenant, whispered:
"Aisy!"
The lieutenant bit his lips and his face flushed angrily, while Sukey,
who sat on the opposite side of the Irishman, snickered, and Morgianna
bit her pretty lip most cruelly in trying to conceal the merriment which
her roguish eyes expressed.
This was the only break made by the Irishman that evening. He played his
part with consummate grace and had such a way of winning the favor of
people, that, before the evening was over, the Englishman actually came
to like him. He praised the country about Mariana, and talked of the
harbors and islands, declaring he knew them all from Duck Island to the
Chesapeake. He found Lieutenant Matson somewhat of a sport, and soon
interested him in stories of duck shooting, all of which were inventions
of his own ingenious brain. Miss Morgianna praised the wild ducks of
Maryland and thought their flesh equal to English Capons. The
lieutenant, in his gallantry, vowed she should have half a dozen brace
of fowls before he left, and Terrence volunteered to assist him.
Fernando was amazed at the course of his friend. The man-of-war was to
sail the same day their schooner did, and he had just determined, by the
aid of Terrence, to bag five dozen brace of ducks for the belle of
Mariana, when his friend went boldly over to the enemy.
"I'll give it to him, when I get a chance," he thought.
There was only one more night in which they could shoot ducks, and
Terrence was engaged for that occasion. Fernando sighed and ground his
teeth in rage and disappointment, while Morgianna, with Sukey on one
side and Ensign Post on the other, went to a large Broadwood piano,
where she soon entertained all with her music.
As they went to their tavern that night, Fernando said:
"A nice way you have treated me, Terrence, you who profess to be my
friend."
"What the divil ails the boy?" asked Terrence.
"You have volunteered to aid the lieutenant go ducking--"
"Aisy me boy! While the lieutenant is after ducks, lose no time with the
girl. Don't ye see I'm getting him out of yer way?"
Fernando had not thought of it in that light. On the next evening, the
last they were to spend at Mariana, the lieutenant was rowed ashore
attired for sporting, with top-boots and a double-barrelled fowling
piece. Terrence, who claimed to be an experienced hunter, advised him to
"kape their intintions sacrit," as too many might want to go, and that
would spoil the sport. Ducks could best be hunted after night. He would
show him how it was done.
It was almost dark, when they set off in a small rowboat for Duck
Island, and twenty minutes later Fernando was on his way to his farewell
visit to Morgianna.
The sun had set, but it was not yet dark when Fernando reached the broad
piazza. He asked himself if she would be at home or away. He had said
nothing of his coming. This visit was wholly on his own account. He had
walked up and down the piazza two or three times, when through the open
door he caught the flutter of a garment on the stairway. It was
Morgianna's--to whom else could it belong? No dress but hers had such a
flow as that. He gathered up courage and followed it into the hallway.
His darkening the door, into which the sombre shadows of twilight were
already creeping, caused her to look around. "Oh that face! If it hadn't
been for that," thought Fernando, "I could never have faced the Briton.
She is twenty times handsomer than ever. She might marry a Lord!"
He didn't say this. He only thought it--perhaps looked it also.
Morgianna was glad to see him and was _so_ sorry her father was away
from home. Fernando begged she would not worry herself on any account.
Morgianna hesitated to lead the way into the parlor, for there it was
nearly dark. At the same time she hesitated to stand talking in the
hall, which was tolerably light from the open door. They still stood in
the hall in an embarrassing position, Fernando holding her hand in his
(which he had no right to do, for Morgianna had only given it to him to
shake), and yet both hesitated to go or stay anywhere.
"I have come," said Fernando, "to say good-bye--to say good-bye, for I
don't know how many years; perhaps forever. I am going away."
Now this was exactly what he should not have said. Here he was, talking
like a gentleman at large, who was free to come and go and roam about
the world at his pleasure, when he had expressed both in actions and
words that Miss Lane held him in adamantine chains.
Morgianna released her hand and said:
"Indeed!"
She remarked in the same breath that it was a fine night and, in short,
betrayed not the least emotion. With despair still settling over his
heart, Fernando said:
"I couldn't go without coming to see you. I hadn't the heart to."
Morgianna was more sorry than she could tell that he had taken the
trouble. It was a long walk up the hill, and as he was to sail next day,
he must have a deal to do; as if she did not know that he had not
brought even a trunk with him. Then she wanted to know how Mr. Winners
was and Mr. Malone. She thought the Irishman a capital good fellow, and
was sure no one could help liking him.
"Is this all you have to say?" Fernando asked.
All! Good gracious, what did the man expect? She was obliged to take her
apron in her hand and run her eyes along the hem from corner to corner,
to keep herself from laughing in his face;--not because his gaze
confused her--not at all.
This was Fernando's first experience in love affairs, and he had no idea
how different young ladies are at different times. He had expected a far
different scene from the one which was being enacted. All day long he
had buoyed himself up with an indistinct idea that she would certainly
say, "Don't go," or "Don't leave us," or "Why do you go?" or "Why do you
leave us?" or would give him some little encouragement of that sort. He
had even entertained the possibility of her bursting into tears, of her
throwing herself into his arms, or falling down in a fainting fit,
without previous word or sign; but any approach to such a line of
conduct as this was evidently so far from her thoughts, that he could
only look at her in silent wonder. The hated English rival had won her
heart, and she was even glad he was going; yet it was so hard to
give her up.
Morgianna, in the meanwhile, turned to the corners of her apron and
measured the sides, and smoothed out the wrinkles, and was as silent as
he. At last, after a long pause, he said good-bye.
"Good-bye," answered Morgianna with as pleasant a smile as if he were
only going for a row on the water and would return after supper;
"good-bye."
"Come," said Fernando, putting out his hands, "Morgianna, dear
Morgianna, let us not part like this. I love you dearly, with all my
heart and soul, with as much sincerity and truth as man ever loved
woman. I am only a poor student; but in this new world every thing is
possible. You have it in your power to make me a grand and noble man, or
crush from this heart every ambitious hope. You are wealthy, beautiful,
admired, loved by everybody and happy;--may you ever be so! Heaven
forbid I should ever make you otherwise; but give me one word of
comfort. Say something kind to me. I have no right to expect it of you,
I know; but I ask it because I love you, and I shall treasure the
slightest word from you all through my life. Morgianna, dearest, have
you nothing to say to me?"
No, nothing. Morgianna was a coquette by nature, and a spoilt child. She
had no notion of being carried off by storm in this way. Fernando had no
business to be going away. Besides, if he really loved her, why did he
not fall on his knees like lovers in romance or on the stage, and tug
wildly at his cravat, or talk in a wild, poetic manner?
"I have said good-bye twice," said Morgianna. "Take your arm away, or I
will call some one."
"I will not reproach you," Fernando sadly answered. "It's no doubt my
fault," he added with a sigh. "I have thought sometimes that you did not
quite despise me; but I was a fool to do so. Every one must, who has
seen the life I have led of late--you most of all, for it was he at
whose life I aimed. God bless you!"
He was gone, actually gone. She waited a little while, thinking he would
return, peeped out of the door, looked down the broad carriage drive as
well as the increasing darkness would allow, saw a hastily retreating
shadow melt into the general gloom, came in again, waited a little
longer, then went up to her room, bolted herself in, threw herself on
her bed and cried as if her heart would break.
* * * * *
Meanwhile, Terrence Malone and the lieutenant, Fernando's rival, were
rowing toward Duck Island fire or six miles away. The island was
reached. It was a dismal affair little more than an elevated marsh. When
the tide was out on Duck Island, its extended dreariness was potent. Its
spongy, low-lying surface, sluggish, inky pools and tortuous sloughs,
twisting their slimy way, eel-like, toward the open bay were all hard
facts. Occasionally, here and there, could be seen a few green tussocks,
with their scant blades, their amphibious flavor and unpleasant
dampness. And if you chose to indulge your fancy, although the flat
monotony of Duck Island was not inspiring, the wavy line of scattered
drift gave an unpleasant consciousness of the spent waters and made the
certainty of the returning tide a gloomy reflection, which sunshine
could not wholly dissipate. The greener salt meadows seemed oppressed
with this idea and made no positive attempt at vegetation. In the low
bushes, one might fancy there was one sacred spot not wholly spoiled by
the injudicious use of too much sea water.
The vocal expressions of Duck Island were in keeping with its general
appearance, melancholy and depressing. The sepulchral boom of the
bittern, the shriek of the curlew, the scream of the passing brent, the
wrangling of quarrelsome teal, the sharp, querulous protest of the
startled crane, were all beyond powers of written expression. The aspect
of these mournful fowls was not at all cheerful or inspiring, as the
boat containing the Irishman and lieutenant approached the island.
Through the gathering gloom of night could be seen a tall blue heron,
standing midleg deep in water, obviously catching cold in his reckless
disregard for wet feet and consequences. The mournful curlew, the
dejected plover and the low-spirited snipe, who sought to join him in
his suicidal contemplations, the raven, soaring through the air on
restless wings, croaking his melancholy complaints were not calculated
to add to the cheerfulness of the scene.
[ILLUSTRATION: He sat down on a broken mast.]
It was evident that even the inhabitants of Duck Island were not happy
in its possession and looked forward with pleasure to the season of
migration.
The boat touched the north shore, and Lieutenant Matson jumped out in
mud up to his knees, frightening some wild fowls which flew screaming
away. The Englishman gave vent to some strong language, and desired to
know if there was not a better landing place. Terrence assured him there
was not, and complained that ducks never sought a "dacint place" for
their habitation. Nothing but the glorious reflection that he was making
himself a martyr for Morgianna's sake could have induced the officer to
take the torches and wade to the low bushes, where he was instructed to
make a light and wait until his companion rowed around the island and
drove the ducks in great flocks to the light, which he assured the
Briton would attract them, and they would fall at his feet as if begging
to be bagged.
Slowly the officer waded through the dismal marsh to the higher land,
where grew the low bushes, and by the use of his tinder box kindled a
light and, wrapping his boat cloak about him, sat down on a broken mast,
which some storm had driven to the highest part of the island.
The minutes passed on, and neither the Irishman nor the expected flock
of birds came. Minutes grew into hours, and only the sobbing waves and
melancholy cries of birds broke the silence. Surely something had
happened to his companion. About midnight a dense fog settled over the
island, and the alarm and discomfiture of the Englishman became
supreme. At one moment he was cursing Terrence, and the next offering
prayer for his soul. Never did man pass a more dreary night.
At last dawn came, and he could see, far across the water, his ship but
a speck in the distance. It was to sail that forenoon, and he intended
to call on Morgianna and propose; but here he was on this infernal
island, hungry, damp and miserable. He knew the vessel would pass near
enough for him to hail it and have a boat sent for him; but then he
would miss his intended visit to Captain Lane's, and his future
happiness depended on that visit.
While he was indulging in these bitter reflections, a schooner suddenly
flew past the island, and, to his amazement, he saw the Irish student,
Terrence Malone, whom he had been alternately praying for and cursing
all night, standing on the deck apparently in the best of health and
spirits. The scoundrel even had the audacity to wave him an adieu as
he passed.