“Are you so brave! I’ll have you talked with anon.”
_Coriolanus._
The good people of the town of Newport sought their rest at an early
hour. They were remarkable for that temperance and discretion which,
even to this day, distinguish the manners of the inhabitants of
New-England. By ten, the door of every house in the place was closed
for the night; and it is quite probable, that, before another hour had
passed, scarcely an eye was open, among all those which, throughout the
day, had been sufficiently alert, not only to superintend the interests
of their proper-owners, but to spare some wholesome glances at the
concerns of the rest of the neighbourhood.
The landlord of the “Foul Anchor,” as the inn, where Fid and
Nightingale had so nearly come to blows, was called, scrupulously
closed his doors at eight; a sort of expiation, by which he endeavoured
to atone, while he slept, for any moral peccadillos that he might have
committed during the day. Indeed it was to be observed as a rule, that
those who had the most difficulty in maintaining their good name, on
the score of temperance and moderation, were the most rigid in
withdrawing, in season, from the daily cares of the world. The
Admiral’s widow had given no little scandal, in her time, because
lights were so often seen burning in her house long after the hour
prescribed by custom for their extinction. Indeed, there were several
other little particulars in which this good lady had rendered herself
obnoxious to the whispered remarks of some of her female visitants. An
Episcopalian herself, she was always observed to be employed with her
needle on the evenings of Saturdays, though by no means distinguished
for her ordinary industry. It was, however, a sort of manner the good
lady had of exhibiting her adherence to the belief that the night of
Sunday was the orthodox evening of the Sabbath. On this subject there
was, in truth, a species of silent warfare between herself and the wife
of the principal clergyman of the town. It resulted, happily, in no
very striking marks of hostility. The latter was content to retaliate
by bringing her work, on the evenings of Sundays to the house of the
dowager, and occasionally interrupting their discourse, by a diligent
application of the needle for some five or six minutes at a time.
Against this contamination Mrs de Lacey took no other precaution than
to play with the leaves of a prayer book, precisely on the principle
that one uses holy water to keep the devil at that distance which the
Church has considered safest for its proselytes.
Let these matters be as they would, by ten o’clock on the night of the
day our tale commences, the town of Newport was as still as though it
did not contain a living soul. Watchmen there were none; for roguery
had not yet begun to thrive openly in the provinces. When, therefore,
Wilder and his two companions issued, at that hour, from their place of
retirement into the empty streets, they found them as still as if man
had never trod there. Not a candle was to be seen, nor the smallest
evidence of human life to be heard. It would seem our adventurers knew
their errand well; for, instead of knocking up any of the drowsy
publicans to demand admission, they held their way steadily to the
water’s side; Wilder leading, Fid coming next, and Scipio, in
conformity to all usage, bringing up the rear, in his ordinary, quiet,
submissive manner.
At the margin of the water they found several small boats, moored under
the shelter of a neighbouring wharf. Wilder gave his companions their
directions, and walked to a place convenient for embarking. After
waiting the necessary time, the bows of two boats came to the land at
the same moment, one of which was governed by the hands of the negro,
and the other by those of Fid.
“How’s this?” demanded Wilder; “Is not one enough? There is some
mistake between you.”
“No mistake at all,” responded Dick, suffering his oar to float on its
blade, and running his fingers into his hair, as if he was content with
his achievement “no more mistake than there is in taking the sun on a
clear day and in smooth water. Guinea is in the boat you hired; but a
bad bargain you made of it, as I thought at the time; and so, as
‘better late than never’ is my rule, I have just been casting an eye
over all the craft; if this is not the tightest and fastest rowing
clipper of them all, then am I no judge; and yet the parish priest
would tell you, if he were here, that my father was a boat-builder, ay,
and swear it too; that is to say, if you paid him well for the same.”
“Fellow,” returned Wilder, angrily, “you will one day induce me to turn
you adrift. Return the boat to the place where you found it, and see it
secured in the same manner as before.”
“Turn me adrift!” deliberately repeated Fid, “that would be cutting all
your weather lanyards at one blow, master Harry. Little good would come
of Scipio Africa and you, after I should part company. Have you ever
fairly logg’d the time we have sailed together?”
“Ay, have I; but it is possible to break even a friendship of twenty
years.”
“Saving your presence, master Harry, I’ll be d——d if I believe any such
thing. Here is Guinea, who is no better than a nigger, and therein far
from being a fitting messmate to a white man; but, being used to look
at his black face for four-and-twenty years, d’ye see, the colour has
got into my eye, and now it suits as well as another. Then, at sea, in
a dark night, it is not so easy a matter to tell the difference. No,
no, I am not tired of you yet, master Harry; and it is no trifle that
shall part us.”
“Then, abandon your habit of making free with the property of others.”
“I abandon nothing. No man can say he ever knowed me to quit a deck
while a plank stuck to the beams; and shall I abandon, as you call it,
my rights? What is the mighty matter, that all hands must be called to
see an old sailor punished? You gave a lubberly fisherman, a fellow who
has never been in deeper water than his own line will sound you gave
him, I say, a glittering Spaniard, just for the use of a bit of a skiff
for the night, or, mayhap, for a small reach into the morning. Well,
what does Dick do? He says to himself—for d——e if he’s any blab to run
round a ship grumbling at his officer—so he just says to himself,
‘That’s too much;’ and he looks about, to find the worth of it in some
of the fisherman’s neighbours. Money can be eaten; and, what is better,
it may be drunk; therefore, it is not to be pitched overboard with the
cook’s ashes. I’ll warrant me, if the truth could be fairly come by, it
would be found that, as to the owners of this here yawl, and that there
skiff, their mothers are cousins, and that the dollar will go in snuff
and strong drink among the whole family—so, no great harm done, after
all.”
Wilder made an impatient gesture to the other to obey, and walked up
the bank, while he had time to comply. Fid never disputed a positive
and distinct order, though he often took so much discretionary latitude
in executing those which were less precise. He did not hesitate,
therefore, to return the boat; but he did not carry his subordination
so far as to do it without complaint. When this act of justice was
performed, Wilder entered the skiff; and, seeing that his companions
were seated at their oars, he bade them to pull down the harbour,
admonishing them, at the same time, to make as little noise as
possible.
“The night I rowed you into Louisbourg, a-reconnoitring,” said Fid,
thrusting his left hand into his bosom, while, with his right, he
applied sufficient force to the light oar to make the skiff glide
swiftly over the water—“that night we muffled every thing even to our
tongues. When there is occasion to put stoppers on the mouths of a
boat’s crew, why, I’m not the man to gainsay it; but, as I am one of
them that thinks tongues were just as much made to talk with, as the
sea was made to live on, I uphold rational conversation in sober
society. S’ip, you Guinea where are you shoving the skiff to? hereaway
lies the island, and you are for going into yonder bit of a church.”
“Lay on your oars,” interrupted Wilder; “let the boat drift by this
vessel.”
They were now in the act of passing the ship, which had been warping
from the wharfs to an anchorage and in which the young sailor had so
clandestinely heard that Mrs Wyllys and the fascinating Gertrude were
to embark, on the following morning, for the distant province of
Carolina. As the skiff floated past, Wilder examined the vessel, by the
dim light of the stars, with a seaman’s eye. No part of her hull, her
spars, or her rigging, escaped his notice, and, when the whole became
confounded, by the distance, in one dark mass of shapeless matter, he
leaned his head over the side of his little bark, and mused long and
deeply with himself. To this abstraction Fid presumed to offer no
interruption. It had the appearance of professional duty; a subject
that, in his eyes, was endowed with a species of character that might
be called sacred. Scipio was habitually silent. After losing many
minutes in the manner, Wilder suddenly regained his recollection and
abruptly observed,—
“It is a tall ship, and one that should make a long chase!”
“That’s as may be,” returned the ready Fid. “Should that fellow get a
free wind, and his canvas all abroad, it might worry a King’s cruiser
to get nigh enough to throw the iron on his decks; but jamm’d up close
hauled, why, I’d engage to lay on his weather quarter, with the saucy
He—”
“Boys,” interrupted Wilder, “it is now proper that you dhould know
something of my future movements. We have been shipmates, I might
almost say messmates, for more than twenty years. I was better than an
infant, Fid, when you brought me to the commander of your ship, and not
only was instrumental in saving my life, but in putting me into a
situation to make an officer.”
“Ay, ay, you were no great matter, master Harry as to bulk; and a short
hammock served your turn as well as the captain’s birth.”
“I owe you a heavy debt, Fid, for that one generous act, and something,
I may add, for your steady adherence to me since.”
“Why, yes, I’ve been pretty steady in my conduct master Harry, in this
here business, more particularly seeing that I have never let go my
grapplings, though you’ve so often sworn to turn me adrift. As for
Guinea, here, the chap makes fair weather with you, blow high or blow
low, whereas it is no hard matter to get up a squall between us, as
might be seen in that small affair about the boat;”—
“Say no more of it,” interrupted Wilder, whose feelings appeared
sensibly touched, as his recollections ran over long-past and
bitterly-remembered scenes: “You know that little else than death can
part us, unless indeed you choose to quit me now. It is right that you
should know that I am engaged in a desperate pursuit, and one that may
easily end in ruin to myself and all who accompany me. I feel reluctant
to separate from you, my friends, for it may be a final parting, but,
at the same time, you should know all the danger.”
“Is there much more travelling by land?” bluntly demanded Fid.
“No; the duty, such as it is, will be done entirely in the water.”
“Then bring forth your ship’s books, and find room for such a mark as a
pair of crossed anchors, which stand for all the same as so many
letters reading ‘Richard Fid.’”
“But perhaps, when you know”——
“I want to know nothing about it, master Harry Haven’t I sailed with
you often enough under sealed orders, to trust my old body once more in
your company without forgetting my duty? What say you Guinea? will you
ship? or shall we land you at once, on yonder bit of a low point, and
leave you to scrape acquaintance with the clams?”
“’Em berry well off, here,” muttered the perfectly contented negro.
“Ay, ay, Guinea is like the launch of one of the coasters, always
towing in your wake, master Harry; whereas I am often luffing athwart
your hawse, or getting foul, in some fashion or other, on one of your
quarters. Howsomever, we are both shipped, as you see, in this here
cruise, with the particulars of which we are both well satisfied. So
pass the word among us, what is to be done next, and no more parley.”
“Remember the cautions you have already received returned Wilder, who
saw that the devotion of his followers was too infinite to need
quickening, and who knew, from long and perilous experience, how
implicitly he might rely on their fidelity, notwithstanding certain
failings, that were perhaps peculiar to their condition; remember what
I have already given in charge; and now pull directly for yon ship in
the outer harbour.”
Fid and the black promptly complied; and the boat was soon skimming the
water between the little island and what might, by comparison, be
called the main. As they approached the vessel, the strokes of the oars
were moderated, and finally abandoned altogether, Wilder preferring to
let the skiff drop down with the tide upon the object he wished well to
examine before venturing to board.
“Has not that ship her nettings triced to the rigging?” he demanded, in
a voice that was lowered to the tones necessary to escape observation,
and which betrayed, at the same time, the interest he took in the
reply.
“According to my sight, she has,” returned Fid; “your slavers are a
little pricked by conscience, and are never over-bold, unless when they
are chasing a young nigger on the coast of Congo. Now, there is about
as much danger of a Frenchman’s looking in here to-night, with this
land breeze and clear sky, as there is of my being made Lord High
Admiral of England; a thing not likely to come to pass soon, seeing
that the King don’t know a great deal of my merit.”
“They are, to a certainty, ready to give a warm reception to any
boarders!” continued Wilder, who rarely paid much attention to the
amplifications with which Fid so often saw fit to embellish the
discourse. “It would be no easy matter to carry a ship thus prepared,
if her people were true to themselves.”
“I warrant ye there is a full quarter-watch at least sleeping among her
guns, at this very moment, with a bright look-out from her cat-heads
and taffrail. I was once on the weather fore-yard-arm of the Hebe, when
I made, hereaway to the south-west, a sail coming large upon us,”—
“Hist! they are stirring on her decks!”
“To be sure they are. The cook is splitting a log; the captain has sung
out for his night-cap.”
The voice of Fid was lost in a summons from the ship, that sounded like
the roaring of some sea monster which had unexpectedly raised its head
above the water. The practised ears of our adventurers instantly
comprehended it to be, what it truly was, the manner in which it was
not unusual to hail a boat. Without taking time to ascertain that the
plashing of oars was to be heard in the distance. Wilder raised his
form in the skiff, and answered.
“How now?” exclaimed the same strange voice; “there is no one
victualled aboard here that speaks thus. Whereaway are you, he that
answers?”
“A little on your larboard bow; here, in the shadow of the ship.”
“And what are ye about, within the sweep of my hawse?”
“Cutting the waves with my taffrail,” returned Wilder, after a moment’s
hesitation.
“What fool has broke adrift here!” muttered his interrogator. “Pass a
blunderbuss forward, and let us see if a civil answer can’t be drawn
from the fellow.”
“Hold!” said a calm but authoritative voice from the most distant part
of the ship; “it is as it should be, let them approach.”
The man in the bows of the vessel bade them come along side, and then
the conversation ceased. Wilder had now an opportunity to discover,
that, as the hail had been intended for another boat, which was still
at a distance, he had answered prematurely. But, perceiving that it was
too late to retreat with safety, or perhaps only acting in conformity
to his original determination, he directed his companions to obey.
“‘Cutting the waves with the taffrail,’ is not the civillest answer a
man can give to a hail,” muttered Fid, as he dropped the blade of his
oar into the water; “nor is it a matter to be logged in a man’s memory,
that they have taken offence at the same. Howsomever, master Harry, if
they are so minded as to make a quarrel about the thing, give them as
good as they send, and count on manly backers.”
No reply was made to this encouraging assurance for, by this time, the
skiff was within a few feet of the ship. Wilder ascended the side of
the vessel amid a deep, and, as he felt it to be, an ominous silence.
The night was dark, though enough light fell from the stars, that were
here and there visible, to render objects sufficiently distinct to the
practised eyes of a seaman. When our young adventurer touched the deck,
he cast a hurried and scrutinizing look about him, as if doubts and
impressions, which had long been harboured, were all to be resolved by
that first view.
An ignorant landsman would have been struck with the order and symmetry
with which the tall spars rose towards the heavens, from the black mass
of the hull, and with the rigging that hung in the air, one dark line
crossing another, until all design seemed confounded in the confusion
and intricacy of the studied maze. But to Wilder these familiar objects
furnished no immediate attraction. His first rapid glance had, like
that of all seamen, it is true, been thrown upward, but it was
instantly succeeded by the brief, though keen, examination to which we
have just alluded. With the exception of one who, though his form was
muffled in a large sea-cloak, seemed to be an officer, not a living
creature was to be seen on the decks. On either side there was a dark,
frowning battery, arranged in the beautiful and imposing order of
marine architecture; but nowhere could he find a trace of the crowd of
human beings which usually throng the deck of an armed ship, or that
was necessary to render the engines effective. It might be that her
people were in their hammocks, as usual at that hour, but still it was
customary to leave a sufficient number on the watch, to look to the
safety of the vessel. Finding himself so unexpectedly confronted with a
single individual, our adventurer began to be sensible of the
awkwardness of his situation, and of the necessity of some explanation.
“You are no doubt surprised, sir,” he said, “at the lateness of the
hour that I have chosen for my visit.”
“You were certainly expected earlier,” was the laconic answer.
“Expected!”
“Ay, expected. Have I not seen you, and your two companions who are in
the boat, reconnoitring us half the day, from the wharfs of the town,
and even from the old tower on the hill? What did all this curiosity
foretel, but an intention to come on board?”
“This is odd, I will acknowledge!” exclaimed Wilder, in some secret
alarm. “And, then, you had notice of my intentions?”
“Hark ye, friend,” interrupted the other, indulging in a short, low
laugh; “from your outfit and appearance I think I am right in calling
you a seaman: Do you imagine that glasses were forgotten in the
inventory of this ship? or, do you fancy that we don’t know how to use
them?”
“You must have strong reasons for looking so deeply into the movements
of strangers on the land.”
“Hum! Perhaps we expect our cargo from the country. But I suppose you
have not come so far in the dark to look at our manifest. You would see
the Captain?”
“Do I not see him?”
“Where?” demanded the other, with a start that manifested he stood in a
salutary awe of his superior.
“In yourself.”
“I! I have not got so high in the books, though my time may come yet,
some fair day. Hark ye, friend; you passed under the stern of yonder
ship, which has been hauling into the stream, in coming out to us?”
“Certainly; she lies, as you see, directly in my course.”
“A wholesome-looking craft that! and one well found, I warrant you. She
is quite ready to be off they tell me.”
“It would so seem: her sails are bent, and she floats like a ship that
is full.”
“Of what?” abruptly demanded the other.
“Of articles mentioned in her manifest, no doubt. But you seem light
yourself: if you are to load at this port, it will be some days before
you put to sea.”
“Hum! I don’t think we shall be long after our neighbour,” the other
remarked, a little drily. Then, as if he might have said too much, he
added hastily, “We slavers carry little else, you know, than our
shackles and a few extra tierces of rice; the rest of our ballast is
made up of these guns, and the stuff to put into them.”
“And is it usual for ships in the trade to carry so heavy an armament?”
“Perhaps it is, perhaps not. To own the truth, there is not much law on
the coast, and the strong arm often does as much as the right. Our
owners, therefore, I believe, think it quite as well there should be no
lack of guns and ammunition on board.”
“They should also give you people to work them.”
“They have forgotten that part of their wisdom, certainly.”
His words were nearly drowned by the same gruff voice that had
brought-to the skiff of Wilder, which sent another hoarse summons
across the water, rolling out sounds that were intended to say,—
“Boat, ahoy!”
The answer was quick, short, and nautical; but it was rendered in a low
and cautious tone. The individual, with whom Wilder had been holding
such equivocating parlance, seemed embarrassed by the sudden
interruption, and a little at a loss to know how to conduct himself. He
had already made a motion towards leading his visiter to the cabin,
when the sounds of oars were heard clattering in a boat along side of
the ship, announcing that he was too late. Bidding the other remain
where he was, he sprang to the gangway, in order to receive those who
had just arrived.
By this sudden desertion, Wilder found himself in entire possession of
that part of the vessel where he stood. It gave him a better
opportunity to renew his examination, and to cast a scrutinizing eye
also over the new comers.
Some five or six athletic-looking seamen ascended from the boat, in
profound silence. A short and whispered conference took place between
them and their officer, who appeared both to receive a report, and to
communicate an order. When these preliminary matters were ended, a line
was lowered, from a whip on the main-yard, the end evidently dropping
into the newly-arrived boat. In a moment, the burthen it was intended
to transfer to the ship was seen swinging in the air, midway between
the water and the spar. It then slowly descended, inclining inboard
until it was safely, and somewhat carefully, landed on the decks of the
vessel.
During the whole of this process, which in itself had nothing
extraordinary or out of the daily practice of large vessels in port,
Wilder had strained his eyes, until they appeared nearly ready to start
from their sockets. The black mass, which had been lifted from the
boat, seemed, while it lay against the background of sky, to possess
the proportions of the human form. The seamen gathered about this
object After much bustle, and a good deal of low conversation, the
burthen or body, whichever it might be called, was raised by the men,
and the whole disappeared together, behind the masts, boats, and guns
which crowded the forward part of the vessel.
The whole event was of a character to attract the attention of Wilder.
His eye was not, however, so intently riveted on the groupe in the
gangway, as to prevent his detecting a dozen black objects, that were
suddenly thrust forward, from behind the spars and other dark masses of
the vessel. They might be blocks swinging in the air, but they bore
also a wonderful resemblance to human heads. The simultaneous manner in
which they both appeared and disappeared, served to confirm this
impression; nor, to confess the truth, had our adventurer any doubt
that curiosity had drawn so many inquiring countenances from their
respective places of concealment. He had not much leisure, however, to
reflect on all these little accompaniments of his situation, before he
was rejoined by his former companion, who, to all appearance, was again
left, with himself, to the entire possession of the deck.
“You know the trouble of getting off the people from the shore,” the
officer observed, “when a ship is ready to sail.”
“You seem to have a summary method of hoisting them in,” returned
Wilder.
“Ah! you speak of the fellow on the whip? Your eyes are good, friend,
to tell a jack-knife from a marling-spike, at this distance. But the
lad was mutinous; that is, not absolutely mutinous—but, drunk. As
mutinous as a man can well be, who can neither speak, sit, nor stand.”
Then, as if as well content with his humour as with this simple
explanation, the other laughed and chuckled, in a manner that showed he
was in perfect good humour with himself.
“But all this time you are left on deck,” he quickly added, “and the
Captain is waiting your appearance in the cabin: Follow; I will be your
pilot.”
“Hold,” said Wilder; “will it not be as well to announce my visit?”
“He knows it already: Little takes place aboard, here, that does not
reach his ears before it gets into the log-book.”
Wilder made no further objection, but indicated his readiness to
proceed. The other led the way to the bulkhead which separated the
principal cabin from the quarter-deck of the ship; and, pointing to a
door, he rather whispered than said aloud,—
“Tap twice; if he answer, go in.”
Wilder did as he was directed. His first summons was either unheard or
disregarded. On repeating it, he was bid to enter. The young seaman
opened the door, with a crowd of sensations, that will find their
solution in the succeeding parts of our narrative and instantly stood,
under the light of a powerful lamp, in the presence of the stranger in
green.