“This is he;
Who hath upon him still that natural stamp:
It was wise Nature’s end in the donation,
To be his evidence now.”
_Shakespeare._
That morrow came; and, with it, an entire change, in the scene and
character of our tale. The “Dolphin” and the “Dart” were sailing in
amity, side by side; the latter again bearing the ensign of England,
and the former carrying a naked gaff. The injuries of the gust, and the
combat, had so far been repaired, that, to a common eye, each gallant
vessel was again prepared, equally to encounter the hazards of the
ocean or of warfare. A long, blue, hazy streak, to the north,
proclaimed the proximity of the land; and some three or four light
coasters of that region, which were sailing nigh, announced how little
of hostility existed in the present purposes of the freebooters.
What those designs were, however, still remained a secret, buried in
the bosom of the Rover alone.
Doubt, wonder, and distrust were, each in its turn, to be traced, not
only in the features of his captives, but in those of his own crew.
Throughout the whole of the long night, which had succeeded the events
of the important day just past, he had been seen to pace the poop in
brooding silence. The little he had uttered was merely to direct the
movements of the vessel; and when any ventured, with other design, to
approach his person, a sign, that none there dared to disregard,
secured him the solitude he wished. Once or twice, indeed, the boy
Roderick was seen hovering at his elbow, but it was as a guardian
spirit would be fancied to linger near the object of its care,
unobtrusively, and, it might almost be added, invisible. When, however,
the sun came burnished and glorious, out of the waters of the east a
gun was fired, to bring a coaster to the side of the “Dolphin;” and
then it seemed that the curtain was to be raised on the closing scene
of the drama. With his crew assembled on the deck beneath, and the
principal personages among his captives beside him on the poop, the
Rover addressed the former.
“Years have united us by a common fortune,” he said: “We have long been
submissive to the same laws. If I have been prompt to punish, I have
been ready to obey. You cannot charge me with injustice. But the
covenant is now ended. I take back my pledge, and I return you your
faiths. Nay, frown not—hesitate not—murmur not! The compact ceases and
our laws are ended. Such were the conditions of the service. I give you
your liberty, and little do I claim in return. That you need have no
grounds of reproach, I bestow my treasure. See,” he added, raising that
bloody ensign with which he had so often braved the power of the
nations, and exhibiting beneath it sacks of that metal which has so
long governed the world; “see! This was mine; it is now yours. It shall
be put in yonder coaster: there I leave you, to bestow it, yourselves,
on those you may deem most worthy. Go; the land is near. Disperse, for
your own sakes: Nor hesitate; for, without me, well do ye know that
vessel of the King would be your master. The ship is already mine, of
all the rest, I claim these prisoners alone for my portion. Farewell!”
Silent amazement succeeded this unlooked-for address. There was,
indeed, for a moment, some disposition to rebel; but the measures of
the Rover had been too well taken for resistance. The “Dart” lay on
their beam, with her people at their guns, matches lighted, and a heavy
battery. Unprepared, without a leader, and surprised, opposition would
have been madness. The first astonishment had scarce abated, before
each freebooter rushed to secure his individual effects, and to
transfer them to the deck of the coaster. When all but the crew of a
single boat had left the “Dolphin,” the promised gold was sent, and
then the loaded craft was seen hastily seeking the shelter of some
secret creek. During this scene, the Rover had again been silent as
death. He next turned to Wilder; and, making a mighty but successful
effort to still his feelings, he added,—
“Now must we, too, part. I commend my wounded to your care. They are
necessarily with your surgeons. I know the trust I give you will not be
abused.”
“My word is the pledge of their safety,” returned the young de Lacey.
“I believe you.—Lady,” he added, approaching the elder of the females,
with an air in which earnestness and hesitation strongly contended, “if
a proscribed and guilty man may still address you, grant yet a favour.”
“Name it; a mother’s ear can never be deaf to him who has spared her
child.”
“When you petition Heaven for that child, then forget not there is
another being who may still profit by your prayers!—No more.—And now,”
he continued looking about him like one who was determined to be equal
to the pang of the moment, however difficult it might prove, and
surveying, with an eye of painful regret, those naked decks which were
so lately teeming with scenes of life and revelry; “and now—ay—now we
part! The boat awaits you.”
Wilder had soon seen his mother and Gertrude into the pinnace; but he
still lingered on the deck himself.
“And you!” he said, “what will become of you?”
“I shall shortly be—forgotten.—Adieu!”
The manner in which the Rover spoke forbade delay. The young man
hesitated, squeezed his hand, and left him.
When Wilder found himself restored to his proper vessel, of which the
death of Bignall had left him in command, he immediately issued the
order to fill her sails, and to steer for the nearest haven of his
country. So long as sight could read the movements of the man who
remained on the decks of the “Dolphin” not a look was averted from the
still motionless object. She lay, with her maintop-sail to the mast,
stationary as some beautiful fabric placed there by fairy power, still
lovely in her proportions, and perfect in all her parts. A human form
was seen swiftly pacing her poop, and, by its side, glided one who
looked like a lessened shadow of that restless figure. At length
distance swallowed these indistinct images; and then the eye was
wearied, in vain, to trace the internal movements of the distant ship
But doubt was soon ended. Suddenly a streak of flame flashed from her
decks, springing fiercely from sail to sail. A vast cloud of smoke
broke out of the hull, and then came the deadened roar of artillery. To
this succeeded, for a time, the awful, and yet attractive spectacle of
a burning ship. The whole was terminated by an immense canopy of smoke,
and an explosion that caused the sails of the distant “Dart” to waver,
as though the winds of the trades were deserting their eternal
direction. When the cloud had lifted from the ocean, an empty waste of
water was seen beneath; and none might mark the spot where so lately
had floated that beautiful specimen of human ingenuity. Some of those
who ascended to the upper masts of the cruiser, and were aided by
glasses, believed, indeed, they could discern a solitary speck upon the
sea; but whether it was a boat, or some fragment of the wreck, was
never known.
From that time, the history of the dreaded Red Rover became gradually
lost, in the fresher incidents of those eventful seas. But the mariner,
long after was known to shorten the watches of the night, by recounting
scenes of mad enterprise that were thought to have occurred under his
auspices. Rumour did not fail to embellish and pervert them, until the
real character, and even name, of the individual were confounded with
the actors of other atrocities. Scenes of higher and more ennobling
interest, too, were occurring on the Western Continent, to efface the
circumstances of a legend that many deemed wild and improbable. The
British colonies of North America had revolted against the government
of the Crown, and a weary war was bringing the contest to a successful
issue. Newport, the opening scene of this tale, had been successively
occupied by the arms of the King, and by those of that monarch who had
sent the chivalry of his nation to aid in stripping his rival of her
vast possessions.
The beautiful haven had sheltered hostile fleets, and the peaceful
villas had often rung with the merriment of youthful soldiers. More
than twenty years, after the events just related, had been added to the
long record of time, when the island town witnessed the rejoicings of
another festival. The allied forces had compelled the most enterprising
leader of the British troops to yield himself and army captives to
their numbers and skill. The struggle was believed to be over, and the
worthy townsmen had, as usual, been loud in the manifestations of their
pleasure. The rejoicings, however, ceased with the day; and as night
gathered over the place, the little city was resuming its customary
provincial tranquillity. A gallant frigate, which lay in the very spot
where the vessel of the Rover has first been seen, had already lowered
the gay assemblage of friendly ensigns, which had been spread in the
usual order of a gala day. A flag of intermingled colours, and bearing
a constellation of bright and rising stars, alone was floating at her
gaff. Just at this moment, another cruiser, but one of far less
magnitude, was seen entering the roadstead, bearing also the friendly
ensign of the new States. Headed by the tide, and deserted by the
breeze, she soon dropped an anchor, in the pass between Connanicut and
Rhodes, when a boat was seen making for the inner harbour, impelled by
the arms of six powerful rowers. As the barge approached a retired and
lonely wharf, a solitary observer of its movements was enabled to see
that it contained a curtained litter, and a single female form. Before
the curiosity which such a sight would be apt to create, in the breast
of one like the spectator mentioned, had time to exercise itself in
conjectures, the oars were tossed, the boat had touched the piles, and,
borne by the seamen, the litter, attended by the woman, stood before
him.
“Tell me, I pray you,” said a voice, in whose tones grief and
resignation were singularly combined, “if Captain Henry de Lacey, of
the continental marine, has a residence in this town of Newport?”
“That has he,” answered the aged man addressed by the female; “that has
he; or, as one might say, two; since yonder frigate is no less his than
the dwelling on the hill, just by.”
“Thou art too old to point us out the way; but, if grandchild, or idler
of any sort, be near, here is silver to reward him.”
“Lord help you, Lady!” returned the other, casting an oblique glance at
her appearance, as a sort of salvo for the term, and pocketing the
trifling piece she offered, with singular care; “Lord help you, Madam!
old though I am, and something worn down by hardships and marvellous
adventures, both by sea land, yet will I gladly do so small an office
for one of your condition. Follow, and you shall see that your pilot is
not altogether unused to the path.”
The old man turned, and was leading the way off the wharf, even before
he had completed the assurance of his boasted ability. The seamen and
the female followed; the latter walking sorrowfully and in silence by
the side of the litter.
“If you have need of refreshment,” said their guide, pointing over his
shoulder, “yonder is a well known inn, and one much frequented in its
time by mariners. Neighbour Joram and the ‘Foul Anchor’ have had a
reputation in their day, as well as the greatest warrior in the land;
and, though honest Joe is gathered-in for the general harvest, the
house stands as firm as the day he first entered it. A goodly end he
made, and profitable is it to the weak-minded sinner to keep such an
example before his eyes!”
A low, smothered sound issued from the litter but, though the guide
stopped to listen, it was succeeded by no other evidence of the
character of its tenant.
“The sick man is in suffering,” he resumed; “but bodily pain, and all
afflictions which we suffer in the flesh, must have their allotted
time. I have lived to see seven bloody and cruel wars, of which this,
which now rages, is, I humbly trust, to be the last. Of the wonders
which I witnessed, and the bodily dangers which I compassed, in the
sixth, eye hath never beheld, nor can tongue utter, their equal!”
“Time hath dealt hardly by you, friend,” meekly interrupted the female.
“This gold may add a few more comfortable days to those that are
already past.”
The cripple, for their conductor was lame as well as aged, received the
offering with gratitude, apparently too much occupied in estimating its
amount, to give any more of his immediate attention to the discourse.
In the deep silence that succeeded, the party reached the door of the
villa they sought.
It was now night; the short twilight of the season having disappeared,
while the bearers of the litter had been ascending the hill. A loud rap
was given on the door by the guide; and then he was told that his
services were no longer needed.
“I have seen much and hard service,” he replied, “and well do I know
that the prudent manner does not dismiss the pilot, until the ship is
safely moored. Perhaps old Madam de Lacey is abroad, or the Captain
himself may not”——
“Enough; here is one who will answer all our questions.”
The portal was now, in truth, opened; and a man appeared on its
threshold, holding a light. The appearance of the porter was not,
however, of the most encouraging aspect. A certain air, which can
neither be assumed nor gotten rid of, proclaimed him a son of the
ocean, while a wooden limb, which served to prop a portion of his still
square and athletic body, sufficiently proved he was one who had not
attained the experience of his hardy calling without some bodily risk.
His countenance, as he held the light above his head, in order to scan
the persons of the groupe without, was dogmatic, scowling, and a little
fierce. He was not long, however, in recognizing the cripple, of whom
he unceremoniously demanded the object of what he was pleased to term
“such a night squall.”
“Here is a wounded mariner,” returned the female with tones so
tremulous that they instantly softened the heart of the nautical
Cerberus, “who is come to claim hospitality of a brother in the
service; and shelter for the night. We would speak with Captain Henry
de Lacey.”
“Then you have struck soundings on the right coast, Madam,” returned
the tar, “as master Paul here, will say in the name of his father, no
less than in that of the sweet lady his mother; not forgetting old
madam his grandam, who is no fresh-water fish herself, for that
matter.”
“That he will,” said a fine, manly youth of some seventeen years, who
wore the attire of one who was already in training for the seas, and
who was looking curiously over the shoulder of the elderly seaman. “I
will acquaint my father of the visit, and, Richard—do you seek out a
proper birth for our guests, without delay.”
This order, which was given with the air of one who had been accustomed
to act for himself, and to speak with authority, was instantly obeyed.
The apartment, selected by Richard, was the ordinary parlour of the
dwelling. Here, in a few moments, the litter was deposited; the bearers
were then dismissed and the female only was left, with its tenant and
the rude attendant, who had not hesitated to give them so frank a
reception. The latter busied himself in trimming the lights, and in
replenishing a bright wood fire; taking care, at the same time, that no
unnecessary vacuum should occur in the discourse, to render the brief
interval, necessary for the appearance of his superiors, tedious.
During this state of things an inner door was opened, the youth already
named leading the way for the three principal personages of the
mansion.
First came a middle-aged, athletic man, in the naval undress of a
Captain of the new States. His look was calm, and his step was still
firm, though time and exposure were beginning to sprinkle his head with
gray. He wore one arm in a sling, a proof that his service was still
recent; on the other leaned a lady, in whose matronly mien, but still
blooming cheek and bright eyes, were to be traced most of the ripened
beauties of her sex. Behind them followed a third, a female also, whose
step was less elastic but whose person continued to exhibit the
evidences of a peaceful evening to the troubled day of life. The three
courteously saluted the stranger, delicately refraining from making any
precipitate allusion to the motive of her visit. Their reserve seemed
necessary; for, by the agitation which shook the shattered frame of one
who appeared as much sinking with grief as infirmity, it was too
apparent that the unknown lady needed a little time to collect her
energies and to arrange her thoughts.
She wept long and bitterly, as though alone; nor did she essay to speak
until further silence would have become suspicious. Then, drying her
eyes, and with cheeks on which a bright, hectic spot was seated, her
voice was heard for the first time by her wondering hosts.
“You may deem this visit an intrusion,” she said; “but one, whose will
is my law, would be brought hither.”
“Wherefore?” asked the officer, with mildness, observing that her voice
was already choaked.
“To die!” was the whispered, husky answer.
A common start manifested the surprise of her auditors; and then the
gentleman arose, and approaching the litter, he gently drew aside a
curtain, exposing its hitherto unseen tenant to the examination of all
in the room. There was understanding in the look that met his gaze,
though death was but too plainly stamped on the pallid lineaments of
the wounded man. His eye alone seemed still to belong to earth; for,
while all around it appeared already to be sunk into the helplessness
of the last stage of human debility that was still bright, intelligent,
and glowing—might almost have been described as glaring.
“Is there aught in which we can contribute to your comfort, or to your
wishes?” asked Captain de Lacey, after a long and solemn pause, during
which all around the litter had mournfully contemplated the sad
spectacle of sinking mortality.
The smile of the dying man was ghastly, though tenderness and sorrow
were singularly and fearfully combined in its expression. He answered
not; but his eyes had wandered from face to face, until they became
riveted, by a species of charm, on the countenance of the oldest of the
two females. His gaze was met by a look as settled as his own; and so
evident was the powerful sympathy which existed between the two, that
it could not escape the observation of the spectators.
“Mother!” said the officer, with affectionate concern; “my mother! what
troubles you?”
“Henry—Gertrude,” answered the venerable parent extending her arms to
her offspring, as if she asked support; “my children, your doors have
been opened to one who has a claim to enter them. Oh! it is in these
terrible moments, when passion is asleep and our weakness is most
apparent, in these moments of debility and disease, that nature so
strongly manifests its impression! I see it all in that fading
countenance, in those sunken features, where so little is left but the
last lingering look of family and kindred!”
“Kindred!” exclaimed Captain de Lacey: “Of what affinity is our guest?”
“A brother!” answered the lady, dropping her head on her bosom, as
though she had proclaimed a degree of consanguinity which gave pain no
less than pleasure.
The stranger, too much overcome himself to speak, made a joyful gesture
of assent, but never averted a gaze that seemed destined to maintain
its direction so long as life should lend it intelligence.
“A brother!” repeated her son, in unfeigned astonishment. “I knew you
had a brother: but I had thought him dead a boy.”
“’Twas so I long believed, myself; though frightful glimpses of the
contrary have often beset me; but now the truth is too plain, in that
fading visage and those fallen features, to be misunderstood. Poverty
and misfortune divided us. I suppose we thought each other dead.”
Another feeble gesture proclaimed the assent of the wounded man.
“There is no further mystery. Henry, the stranger is thy uncle—my
brother—once my pupil!”
“I could wish to see him under happier circumstances,” returned the
officer, with a seaman’s frankness; “but, as a kinsman, he is welcome.
Poverty, at least, shall no longer divide you.”
“Look, Henry—Gertrude!” added the mother, veiling her own eyes as she
spoke, “that face is no stranger to you. See ye not the sad ruins of
one ye both fear and love?”
Wonder kept her children mute, though both looked until sight became
confused, so long and intense was their examination. Then a hollow
sound, which came from the chest of the stranger, caused them both to
start; and, as his low, but distinct enunciation rose on their ears,
doubt and perplexity vanished.
“Wilder,” he said, with an effort in which his utmost strength appeared
exerted, “I have come to ask the last office at your hands.”
“Captain Heidegger!” exclaimed the officer.
“The Red Rover!” murmured the younger Mrs. de Lacey, involuntarily
recoiling a pace from the litter in alarm.
“The Red Rover!” repeated her son, pressing nigher with ungovernable
curiosity.
“Laid by the heels at last!” bluntly observed Fid stumping up towards
the groupe, without relinquishing the tongs, which he had kept in
constant use, as an apology for remaining in the presence.
“I had long hid my repentance, and my shame, together,” continued the
dying man, when the momentary surprise had a little abated; “but this
war drew me from my concealment. Our country needed us both, and both
has she had! You have served as one who never offended might serve; but
a cause so holy was not to be tarnished by a name like mine. May the
little I have done for good be remembered when the world speaks of the
evil of my hands! Sister—mother—pardon!”
“May that God, who forms his creatures with such fearful natures, look
mercifully on all our weaknesses!” exclaimed the weeping Mrs de Lacey,
bowing to her knees, and lifting her hands and eyes to heaven “O
brother, brother! you have been trained in the holy mystery of your
redemption, and need not now be told on what Rock to place your hopes
of pardon!”
“Had I never forgotten those precepts, my name would still be known
with honour. But, Wilder!” he added with startling energy, “Wilder!—”
All eyes were bent eagerly on the speaker. His hand was holding a roll
on which he had been reposing as on a pillow. With a supernatural
effort, his form arose on the litter; and, with both hands elevated
above his head, he let fall before him that blazonry of intermingled
stripes, with its blue field of rising stars, a glow of high exultation
illumining each feature of his face, as in his former day of pride.
“Wilder!” he repeated, laughing hysterically, “we have triumphed!”—Then
he fell backward, without motion, the exulting lineaments settling in
the gloom of death, as shadows obscure the smiling brightness of the
sun.
The End.