“What is yon gentleman?”
Nurse. “The son and heir of old Tiberio.”
Juliet. “What’s he that follows there, that would not dance?”
Nurse. “Marry, I know not.”
_Romeo and Juliet._
The sun was just heaving up, out of the field of waters in which the
blue islands of Massachusetts lie, when the inhabitants of Newport were
seen opening their doors and windows, and preparing for the different
employments of the day, with the freshness and alacrity of people who
had wisely adhered to the natural allotments of time in seeking their
rests, or in pursuing their pleasures. The morning salutations passed
cheerfully from one to another, as each undid the slight fastenings of
his shop; and many a kind inquiry was made, and returned, after the
condition of a daughter’s fever, or the rheumatism of some aged
grandam. As the landlord of the “Foul Anchor” was so wary in protecting
the character of his house from any unjust imputations of unseemly
revelling, so was he among the foremost in opening his doors, to catch
any transient customer, who might feel the necessity of washing away
the damps of the past night, in some invigorating stomachic This
cordial was very generally taken in the British provinces, under the
various names of “bitters,” “juleps,” “morning-drams,” “fogmatics,”
&c., according as the situation of each district appeared to require
some particular preventive. The custom is getting a little into disuse,
it is true; but still it retains much of that sacred character which it
would seem is the concomitant of antiquity. It is not a little
extraordinary that this venerable and laudable practice, of washing
away the unwholesome impurities engendered in the human system, at a
time, when as it is entirely without any moral protector, it is left
exposed to the attacks of all the evils to which flesh is heir, should
subject the American to the witticisms of his European brother. We are
not among the least grateful to those foreign philanthropists who take
so deep an interest in our welfare as seldom to let any republican
foible pass, without applying to it, as it merits, the caustic
application of their purifying pens. We are, perhaps, the more sensible
of this generosity, because we have had so much occasion to witness,
that, so great is their zeal in behalf of our infant States, (robust,
and a little unmanageable perhaps, but still infant) they are wont, in
the warmth of their ardour, to reform Cis-atlantic sins, to overlook
not a few backslidings of their own. Numberless are the moral
missionaries that the mother country, for instance, has sent among us,
on these pious and benevolent errands. We can only regret that their
efforts have been crowned with so little success. It was our fortune to
be familiarly acquainted with one of these worthies, who never lost an
opportunity of declaiming, above all, against the infamy of the
particular practice to which we have just alluded. Indeed, so broad was
the ground he took, that he held it to be not only immoral, but, what
was far worse, ungenteel, to swallow any thing stronger than small
beer, before the hour allotted to dinner. After that important period,
it was not only permitted to assuage the previous mortifications of the
flesh, but, so liberal did he show himself in the orthodox indulgence,
that he was regularly carried to his bed at midnight, from which he as
regularly issued, in the course of the following morning, to discourse
again on the thousand deformities of premature drink. And here we would
take occasion to say, that, as to our own insignificant person, we
eschew the abomination altogether; and only regret that those of the
two nations, who find pleasure in the practice, could not come to some
amicable understanding as to the precise period, of the twenty-four
hours, when it is permitted to such Christian gentlemen as talk English
to get drunk. That the negotiators who framed the last treaty of amity
should have overlooked this important moral topic, is another evidence
that both parties were so tired of an unprofitable war as to patch up a
peace in a hurry. It is not too late to name a commission for this
purpose; and, in order that the question may be fairly treated on its
merits, we presume to suggest to the Executive the propriety of
nominating, as our commissioner, some confirmed advocate of the system
of “juleps.” It is believed our worthy and indulgent Mother can have no
difficulty in selecting a suitable opponent from the ranks of her
numerous and well-trained diplomatic corps.
With this manifestation of our personal liberality, united to so much
interest in the proper, and we hope final, disposition of this
important question, we may be permitted to resume the narrative,
without being set down as advocates for morning stimulants, or evening
intoxication; which is a very just division of the whole subject, as we
believe, from no very limited observation.
The landlord of the “Foul Anchor,” then, was early a-foot, to gain an
honest penny from any of the supporters of the former system who might
chance to select his bar for their morning sacrifices to Bacchus, in
preference to that of his neighbour, he who endeavoured to entice the
lieges, by exhibiting a red-faced man, in a scarlet coat, that was
called the “Head of George the Second.” It would seem that the
commendable activity of the alert publican was not to go without its
reward. The tide of custom set strongly, for the first half-hour,
towards the haven of his hospitable bar; nor did he appear entirely to
abandon the hopes of a further influx, even after the usual period of
such arrivals began to pass away. Finding, however, that his customers
were beginning to depart, on their several pursuits, he left his
station, and appeared at the outer door, with a hand in each pocket, as
though he found a secret pleasure in the merry jingling of their new
tenants. A stranger, who had not entered with the others, and who, of
course, had not partaken of the customary libations, was standing at a
little distance, with a hand thrust into the bosom of his vest, as if
he were chiefly occupied with his own reflections. This figure caught
the understanding eye of the publican who instantly conceived that no
man, who had had recourse to the proper morning stimulants, could wear
so meditative a face at that early period in the cares of the day, and
that consequently something was yet to be gained, by opening the path
of direct communication between them.
“A clean air this, friend, to brush away the damps of the night,” he
said, snuffing the really delicious and invigorating breathings of a
fine October morning. “It is such purifiers as this, that gives our
island its character, and makes it perhaps the very healthest as it is
universally admitted to be the beautifullest spot in creation.—A
stranger here, ’tis likely?”
“But quite lately arrived, sir,” was the reply.
“A sea-faring man, by your dress? and one in search of a ship, as I am
ready to qualify to;” continued the publican, chuckling, perhaps, at
his own penetration. “We have many such that passes hereaway; but
people mustn’t think, because Newport is so flourishing a town, that
births can always be had for asking. Have you tried your luck yet in
the Capital of the Bay Province?”
“I left Boston no later than the day before yesterday.”
“What, couldn’t the proud townsfolk find you a ship! Ay, they are a
mighty people at talking, and it isn’t often that they put their candle
under the bushel; and yet there are what I call good judges, who think
Narraganset Bay is in a fair way, shortly, to count as many sail as
Massachusetts. There, yonder, is a wholesome brig, that is going,
within the week, to turn her horses into rum and sugar; and here is a
ship that hauled into the stream no longer ago than yesterday sun-down.
That is a noble vessel and has cabins fit for a prince! She’ll be off
with the change of the wind; and I dare say a good hand wouldn’t go
a-begging aboard her just now. Then yonder is a slaver, off the fort,
if you like a cargo of wool-heads for your money.”
“And is it thought the ship in the inner harbour will sail with the
first wind?” demanded the stranger.
“It is downright. My wife is a full cousin to the wife of the
Collector’s clerk; and I have it straight that the papers are ready,
and that nothing but the wind detains them. I keep some short scores,
you know, friend, with the blue-jackets, and it behoves an honest man
to look to his interests in these hard times. Yes, there she lies; a
well-known ship, the ‘Royal Caroline.’ She makes a regular v’yage once
a year between the Provinces and Bristol, touching here, out and home,
to give us certain supplies, and to wood and water; and then she goes
home, or to the Carolinas, as the case may be.”
“Pray, sir, has she much of an armament?” continued the stranger, who
began to lose his thoughtful air, in the more evident interest he was
beginning to lake in the discourse.
“Yes, yes; she is not without a few bull-dogs, to bark in defence of
her own rights, and to say a word in support of his Majesty’s honour,
too; God bless him! Judy! you Jude!” he shouted, at the top of his
voice, to a negro girl, who was gathering kindling-wood among the chips
of a ship-yard, “scamper over to neighbour Homespun’s, and rattle away
at his bed-room windows: the man has overslept himself it is not common
to hear seven o’clock strike, and the thirsty tailor not appear for his
bitters.”
A short cessation took place in the dialogue, while the wench was
executing her master’s orders. The summons produced no other effect
than to draw a shrill reply from Desire, whose voice penetrated,
through the thin board coverings of the little dwelling as readily as
sound would be conveyed through a sieve. In another moment a window was
opened, and the worthy housewife thrust her disturbed visage into the
fresh air of the morning.
“What next! what next!” demanded the offended and, as she was fain to
believe, neglected wife, under the impression that it was her truant
husband, making his tardy return to his domestic allegiance, who had
thus presumed to disturb her slumbers. “Is it not enough that you have
eloped from my bed and board, for a long night, but you must dare to
break in on the natural rest of a whole family, seven blessed children,
without counting their mother! O Hector! Hector! an example are you
getting to be to the young and giddy, and a warning will you yet prove
to the unthoughtful!”
“Bring hither the black book,” said the publican to his wife, who had
been drawn to a window by the lamentations of Desire; “I think the
woman said something about starting on a journey between two days; and,
if such has been the philosophy of the good-man, it behoves all honest
people to look into their accounts. Ay, as I live, Keziah, you have let
the limping beggar get seventeen and sixpence into arrears, and that
for such trifles as morning-drams and night-caps!”
“You are wrathy, friend, without reason; the man has made a garment for
the boy at school, and found the”—
“Hush, good woman,” interrupted her husband returning the book, and
making a sign for her to retire; “I dare say it will all come round in
proper Time, and the less noise we make about the backslidings of a
neighbour, the less will be said of our own transgressions. A worthy
and hard-working mechanic, sir,” he continued, addressing the stranger
“but a man who could never get the sun to shine in at his windows,
though, Heaven knows, the glass is none too thick for such a blessing.”
“And do you imagine on evidence as slight as this we have seen, that
such a man has actually absconded?”
“Why, it is a calamity that has befallen his betters!” returned the
publican, interlocking his fingers across the rotundity of his person,
with an air of grave consideration. “We inn-keepers—who live, as it
were, in plain sight of every man’s secrets; for it is after a visit to
us that one is apt truly to open his heart—should know something of the
affairs of a neighbourhood. If the good-man Homespun could smooth down
the temper of his companion as easily as he lays a seam into its place,
the thing might not occur, but——Do you drink this morning, sir?”
“A drop of your best.”
“As I was saying,” continued the other, while he furnished his
customer, according to his desire, “if a tailor’s goose would take the
wrinkles out of the ruffled temper of a woman, as it does out of the
cloth; and then, if, after it had done this task, a man might eat it,
as he would yonder bird hanging behind my bar—Perhaps you will have
occasion to make your dinner with us, too, sir?”
“I cannot say I shall not,” returned the stranger, paying for the dram
he had barely tasted; “it greatly depends on the result of my inquiries
concerning the different vessels in the port.”
“Then would I, though perfectly disinterested, as you know, sir,
recommend you to make this house your home, while you sojourn in the
town. It is the resort of most of the sea-faring men; and I may say
this much of myself, without conceit—No man can tell you more of what
you want to know, than the landlord of the ‘Foul Anchor.’”
“You advise an application to the Commander of this vessel, in the
stream, for a birth: Will she sail so soon as you have named?”
“With the first wind. I know the whole history of the ship, from the
day they laid the blocks for her keel to the minute when she let her
anchor go where you now see her. The great Southern Heiress, General
Grayson’s fine daughter, is to be a passenger she, and her overlooker,
Government-lady, I believe they call her—a Mrs Wyllys—are waiting for
the signal, up here, at the residence of Madam de Lacey; she that is
the relict of the Rear-Admiral of that name, who is full-sister to the
General; and, therefore, an aunt to the young lady, according to my
reckoning. Many people think the two fortunes will go together; in
which case, he will be not only a lucky man, but a rich one, who gets
Miss Getty Gray son for a wife.”
The stranger, who had maintained rather an indifferent manner during
the close of the foregoing dialogue appeared now disposed to enter into
it, with a degree of interest suited to the sex and condition of the
present subject of their discourse. After waiting to catch the last
syllable that the publican chose to expend his breath on, he demanded,
a little abruptly,—
“And you say the house near us, on the rising ground, is the residence
of Mrs de Lacey?”
“If I did, I know nothing of the matter. By ‘up here,’ I mean half a
mile off. It is a place fit for a lady of her quality, and none of your
elbowy dwellings like these crowded about us. One may easily tell the
house, by its pretty blinds and its shades. I’ll engage there are no
such shades, in all Europe, as them very trees that stand before the
door of Madam de Lacey.”
“It is very probable,” muttered the stranger, who, not appearing quite
as sensitive in his provincial admiration as the publican, had already
relapsed into his former musing air. Instead of pushing the discourse,
he suddenly turned the subject, by making some common-place remark; and
then, repeating the probability of his being obliged to return, he
walked deliberately away, taking the direction of the residence of Mrs
de Lacey. The observing publican would, probably, have found sufficient
matter for observation, in this abrupt termination of the interview,
had not Desire, at that precise moment, broken out of her habitation,
and diverted his attention, by the peculiarly piquant manner in which
she delineated the character of her delinquent husband.
The reader has probably, ere this, suspected that the individual who
had conferred with the publican, as a stranger, was not unknown to
himself. It was, in truth, no other than Wilder. But, in the completion
of his own secret purposes, the young mariner left the wordy war in his
rear; and, turning up the gentle ascent, against the side of which the
town is built, he proceeded towards the suburbs.
It was not difficult to distinguish the house he sought, among a dozen
other similar retreats, by its “shades,” as the innkeeper, in
conformity to a provincial use of the word, had termed a few really
noble elms that grew in the little court before its door. In order,
however, to assure himself that he was right, he confirmed his surmises
by actual inquiry and then continued thoughtfully on his path. The
morning had, by this time, fairly opened with every appearance of
another of those fine bland, autumnal days for which the climate is, or
ought to be, so distinguished. The little air there was, came from the
south, fanning the face of our adventurer as he occasionally paused, in
his ascent, to gaze at the different vessels in the harbour, like a
mild breeze in June. In short, it was just such a time as one, who is
fond of strolling in the fields, is apt to seize on with rapture, and
which a seaman sets down as a day lost in his reckoning.
Wilder was first drawn from his musings by the sound of a dialogue that
came from persons who were evidently approaching. There was one voice,
in particular, that caused his blood to thrill, he knew not why, and
which appeared unaccountably, even to himself, to set in motion every
latent faculty of his system. Profiting, by the formation of the
ground, he sprang, unseen, up a little bank, and, approaching an angle
in a low wall, he found himself in the immediate proximity of the
speakers.
The wall enclosed the garden and pleasure-grounds of a mansion, that he
now perceived was the residence of Mrs de Lacey. A rustic summer-house
which, in the proper season, had been nearly buried in leaves and
flowers, stood at no great distance from the road. By its elevation and
position, it commanded a view of the town, the harbour, the isles of
Massachusetts to the east, those of the Providence Plantations to the
west, and, to the south, an illimitable expanse of ocean. As it had now
lost its leafy covering, there was no difficulty in looking directly
into its centre, through the rude pillars which supported its little
dome. Here Wilder discovered precisely the very party to whose
conversation he had been a listener the previous day, while caged, with
the Rover, in the loft of the ruin. Though the Admiral’s widow and Mrs
Wyllys were most in advance, evidently addressing some one who was,
like himself, in the public road, the quick eye of the young sailor
soon detected the more enticing person of the blooming Gertrude, in the
background. His observations were, however, interrupted by a reply from
the individual who as yet was unseen. Directed by the voice, Wilder was
next enabled to perceive the person of a man in a green old age, who,
seated on a stone by the way side, appeared to be resting his weary
limbs, while he answered to some interrogations from the summer-house.
Though his head was white, and the hand, which grasped a long
walking-staff, sometimes trembled, as its owner sought additional
support from its assistance, there was that in the costume, the manner,
and the voice of the speaker, which furnished sufficient evidence of
his having once been a veteran of the sea.
“Lord! your Ladyship, Ma’am,” he said, in tones that were getting
tremulous, even while they retained the deep characteristic intonations
of his profession, “we old sea-dogs never stop to look into an almanac,
to see which way the wind will come after the next thaw, before we put
to sea. It is enough for us, that the sailing orders are aboard, and
that the Captain has taken leave of his Lady.”
“Ah! the very words of the poor lamented Admiral!” exclaimed Mrs de
Lacey, who evidently found great satisfaction in pursuing the discourse
with this superannuated mariner. “And then you are of opinion, honest
friend, that, when a ship is ready, she should sail, whether the wind
is”——
“Here is another follower of the sea, opportunely come to lend us his
advice,” interrupted Gertrude, with a hurried air, as if to divert the
attention of her aunt from something very like a dogmatical termination
of an argument that had just occurred between her and Mrs Wyllys;
“perhaps to serve as an umpire.”
“True,” said the latter. “Pray, what think you of the weather to-day,
sir? would it be profitable to sail in such a time, or not?”
The young mariner reluctantly withdrew his eyes from the blushing
Gertrude, who, in her eagerness to point him out, had advanced to the
front, and was now shrinking back, timidly, to the centre of the
building again, like one who already repented of her temerity. He then
fastened his look on her who put the question; and so long and riveted
was his gaze, that she saw fit to repeat it, believing that what she
had first said was not properly understood.
“There is little faith to be put in the weather, Madam,” was the
dilatory reply. “A man has followed the sea to but little purpose who
is tardy in making that discovery.”
There was something so sweet and gentle, at the same time that it was
manly, in the voice of Wilder, that the ladies, by a common impulse,
seemed struck with its peculiarities. The neatness of his attire,
which, while it was strictly professional, was worn with an air of
smartness, and even of gentility, that rendered it difficult to suppose
that he was not entitled to lay claim to a higher station in society
than that in which he actually appeared, added to this impression.
Bending her head, with a manner that was intended to be polite, a
little more perhaps in self-respect than out of consideration to the
other, as if in deference to the equivocal character of his appearance,
Mrs de Lacey resumed the discourse.
“These ladies,” she said, “are about to embark in yonder ship, for the
province of Carolina, and we were consulting concerning the quarter in
which the wind will probably blow next. But, in such a vessel, it
cannot matter much, I should think, sir, whether the wind were fair or
foul.”
“I think not,” was the reply. “She looks to me like a ship that will
not do much, let the wind be as it may.”
“She has the reputation of being a very fast sailer.—Reputation! we
know she is such, having come from home to the Colonies in the
incredibly short passage of seven weeks! But seamen have their
favourites and prejudices, I believe, like us poor mortals ashore. You
will therefore excuse me, if I ask this honest veteran for an opinion
on this particular point also. What do you imagine, friend, to be the
sailing qualities of yonder ship—she with the peculiarly high
top-gallant-booms, and such conspicuous round-tops?”
The lip of Wilder curled, and a smile struggled with the gravity of his
countenance; but he continued silent. On the other hand, the old
mariner arose, and appeared to examine the ship, like one who perfectly
comprehended the technical language of the Admiral’s widow.
“The ship in the inner harbour, your Ladyship,” he answered, when his
examination was finished, “which is, I suppose, the vessel that Madam
means, is just such a ship as does a sailor’s eye good to look on. A
gallant and a safe boat she is, as I will swear; and as to sailing,
though she may not be altogether a witch, yet is she a fast craft, or
I’m no judge of blue water, or of those that live on it.”
“Here is at once a difference of opinion!” exclaimed Mrs de Lacey. “I
am glad, however, you pronounce her safe; for, although seamen love a
fast-sailing vessel, these ladies will not like her the less for the
security. I presume, sir, you will not dispute her being _safe_.”
“The very quality I should most deny,” was the laconic answer of
Wilder.
“It is remarkable! This is a veteran seaman, sir, and he appears to
think differently.”
“He may have seen more, in his time, than myself Madam; but I doubt
whether he can, just now see as well. This is something of a distance
to discover the merits or demerits of a ship: I have been higher.”
“Then you really think there is danger to be apprehended sir?” demanded
the soft voice of Gertrude whose fears had gotten the better of her
diffidence.
“I do. Had I mother, or sister,” touching his hat, and bowing to his
fair interrogator, as he uttered the latter word with much emphasis, “I
would hesitate to let her embark in that ship. On my honour Ladies, I
do assure you, that I think this very vessel in more danger than any
ship which has left, or probably will leave, a port in the Provinces
this autumn.”
“This is extraordinary!” observed Mrs Wyllys. “It is not the character
we have received of the vessel, which has been greatly exaggerated, or
she is entitled to be considered as uncommonly convenient and safe. May
I ask, sir, on what circumstances you have founded this opinion?”
“They are sufficiently plain. She is too lean in the harping, and too
full in the counter, to steer. Then, she in as wall-sided as a church,
and stows too much above the water-line. Besides this, she carries no
head-sail, but all the press upon her will be aft, which will jam her
into the wind, and, more than likely, throw her aback. The day will
come when that ship will go down stern foremost.”
His auditors listened to this opinion, which Wilder delivered in an
oracular and very decided manner, with that sort of secret faith, and
humble dependence, which the uninstructed are so apt to lend to the
initiated in the mysteries of any imposing profession. Neither of them
had certainly a very clear perception of his meaning; but there were,
apparently, danger and death in his very words Mrs de Lacey felt it
incumbent on her peculiar advantages, however, to manifest how well she
comprehended the subject.
“These are certainly very serious evils!” she exclaimed. “It is quite
unaccountable that my agent should have neglected to mention them. Is
there any other particular quality, sir, that strikes your eye at this
distance, and which you deem alarming?”
“Too many. You observe that her top-gallant masts are fidded abaft;
none of her lofty sails set flying; and then, Madam, she has depended
on bobstays and gammonings for the security of that very important part
of a vessel, the bowsprit.”
“Too true! too true!” said Mrs de Lacey, in a sort of professional
horror. “These things had escaped me; but I see them all, now they are
mentioned. Such neglect is highly culpable; more especially to rely on
bobstays and gammonings for the security of a bowsprit! Really, Mrs
Wyllys, I can never consent that my niece should embark in such a
vessel.”
The calm, penetrating eye of Wyllys had been riveted on the countenance
of Wilder while he was speaking, and she now turned it, with
undisturbed serenity, on the Admiral’s widow, to reply.
“Perhaps the danger has been a little magnified,” she observed. “Let us
inquire of this other seaman what he thinks on these several
points.—And do you see all these serious dangers to be apprehended,
friend, in trusting ourselves, at this season of the year, in a passage
to the Carolinas, aboard of yonder ship?”
“Lord, Madam!” said the gray-headed mariner, with a chuckling laugh,
“these are new-fashioned faults and difficulties, if they be faults and
difficulties at all! In my time, such matters were never heard of; and
I confess I am so stupid as not to understand the half the young
gentleman has been saying.”
“It is some time, I fancy, old man, since you were last at sea,” Wilder
coolly observed.
“Some five or six years since the last time, and fifty since the
first,” was the answer.
“Then you do not see the same causes for apprehension?” Mrs Wyllys once
more demanded.
“Old and worn out as I am, Lady, if her Captain will give me a birth
aboard her, I will thank him for the same as a favour.”
“Misery seeks any relief,” said Mrs de Lacey, in an under tone, and
bestowing on her companions a significant glance. “I incline to the
opinion of the younger seaman; for he supports it with substantial,
professional reasons.”
Mrs Wyllys suspended her questions, just as long as complaisance to the
last speaker seemed to require and then she resumed them as follows,
addressing her next inquiry to Wilder.
“And how do you explain this difference in judgment, between two men
who ought both to be so well qualified to decide right?”
“I believe there is a well-known proverb which will answer that
question,” returned the young man, smiling: “But some allowance must be
made for the improvements in ships; and, perhaps, some little deference
to the stations we have respectively filled on board them.”
“Both very true. Still, one would think the changes of half a dozen
years cannot be so very considerable, in a profession that is so
exceedingly ancient.”
“Your pardon, Madam. They require constant practice to know them. Now,
I dare say that yonder worthy old tar is ignorant of the manner in
which a ship, when pressed by her canvas, is made to ‘cut the waves
with her taffrail.’”
“Impossible!” cried the Admiral’s widow; “the youngest and the meanest
mariner must have been struck with the beauty of such a spectacle.”
“Yes, yes,” returned the old tar, who wore the air of an offended man,
and who, probably, had he been ignorant of any part of his art, was not
just then in the temper to confess it; “many is the proud ship that I
have seen doing the very same; and, as the lady says, a grand and
comely sight it is!”
Wilder appeared confounded. He bit his lip, like one who was
over-reached either by excessive ignorance or exceeding cunning; but
the self-complacency of Mrs de Lacey spared him the necessity of an
immediate reply.
“It would have been an extraordinary circumstance truly,” she said,
“that a man should have grown white-headed on the seas, and never have
been struck with so noble a spectacle. But then, my honest tar, you
appear to be wrong in overlooking the striking faults in yonder ship,
which this, a—a—this gentleman has just, and so properly, named.”
“I do not call them faults, your Ladyship. Such is the way my late
brave and excellent Commander always had his own ship rigged; and I am
bold to say that a better seaman, or a more honest man, never served in
his Majesty’s fleet.”
“And you have served the King! How was your beloved Commander named?”
“How should he be! By us, who knew him well, he was called
Fair-weather: for it was always smooth water, and prosperous times,
under his orders; though, on shore, he was known as the gallant and
victorious Rear-Admiral de Lacey.”
“And did my late revered and skilful husband cause his ships to be
rigged in this manner?” said the widow, with a tremour in her voice,
that bespoke how much, and how truly, she was overcome by surprise and
gratified pride.
The aged tar lifted his bending frame from the stone, and bowed low, as
he answered,—“If I have the honour of seeing my Admiral’s Lady, it will
prove a joyful sight to my old eyes. Sixteen years did I serve in his
own ship, and five more in the same squadron. I dare say your Ladyship
may have heard him speak of the captain of his main-top, Bob Bunt.”
“I dare say—I dare say—He loved to talk of those who served him
faithfully.”
“Ay, God bless him, and make his memory glorious! He was a kind
officer, and one that never forgot a friend, let it be that his duty
kept him on a yard or in the cabin. He was the sailor’s friend, that
very same Admiral!”
“This is a grateful man,” said Mrs de Lacey, wiping her eyes, “and I
dare say a competent judge of a vessel. And are you quite sure, worthy
friend, that my late revered husband had all his ships arranged like
the one of which we have been talking?”
“Very sure, Madam; for, with my own hands, did I assist to rig them.”
“Even to the bobstays?”
“And the gammonings, my Lady. Were the Admiral alive, and here, he
would call yon ‘a safe and well-fitted ship,’ as I am ready to swear.”
Mrs de Lacey turned, with an air of great dignity and entire decision,
to Wilder, as she continued,—“I have, then, made a small mistake in
memory which is not surprising, when one recollects, that he who taught
me so much of the profession is no longer here to continue his lessons.
We are much obliged to you, sir, for your opinion; but we must think
that you have over-rated the danger.”
“On my honour, Madam,” interrupted Wilder laying his hand on his heart,
and speaking with singular emphasis, “I am sincere in what I say. I do
affirm, that I believe there will be great danger in embarking in
yonder ship; and I call Heaven to witness, that, in so saying, I am
actuated by no malice to her Commander, her owners, nor any connected
with her.”
“We dare say, sir, you are very sincere: We only think you a little in
error,” returned the Admiral’s widow, with a commiserating, and what
she intended for a condescending, smile. “We are your debtors for your
good intentions, at least. Come, worthy veteran, we must not part here.
You will gain admission by knocking at my door; and we shall talk
further of these matters.”
Then, bowing to Wilder, she led the way up the garden, followed by all
her companions. The step of Mrs de Lacey was proud, like the tread of
one conscious of all her advantages; while that of Wyllys was slow, as
if she were buried in thought. Gertrude kept close to the side of the
latter, with her face hid beneath the shade of a gipsy hat. Wilder
fancied that he could discover the stolen and anxious glance that she
threw back towards one who had excited a decided emotion in her
sensitive bosom though it was a feeling no more attractive than alarm.
He lingered until they were lost amid the shrubbery. Then, turning to
pour out his disappointment on his brother tar, he found that the old
man had made such good use of his time, as to be entering the gate,
most probably felicitating himself on the prospect of reaping the
reward of his recent adulation.