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THE PILOT
A Tale of the Sea
By J. Fenimore Cooper
TO
WILLIAM BRANFORD SHUBRICK, ESQ.,
U. S. NAVY.
MY DEAR SHUBRICK,
Each year brings some new and melancholy chasm in what is now the brief
list of my naval friends and former associates. War, disease, and the
casualties of a hazardous profession have made fearful inroads in the
limited number; while the places of the dead are supplied by names that
to me are those of strangers. With the consequences of these sad changes
before me, I cherish the recollection of those with whom I once lived
in close familiarity with peculiar interest, and feel a triumph in their
growing reputations, that is but little short of their own honest pride.
But neither time nor separation has shaken our intimacy: and I know that
in dedicating to you this volume, I tell you nothing new, when I add
that it is a tribute paid to an enduring friendship, by
Your old Messmate,
THE AUTHOR.
* * * * *
PREFACE.
It is probable a true history of human events would show that a far
larger proportion of our acts are the results of sudden impulses and
accident, than of that reason of which we so much boast. However true,
or false, this opinion may be in more important matters, it is certainly
and strictly correct as relates to the conception and execution of this
book.
The Pilot was published in 1823. This was not long after the appearance
of “The PIRATE,” a work which, it is hardly necessary to remind the
reader, has a direct connection with the sea. In a conversation with a
friend, a man of polished taste and extensive reading, the authorship of
the Scottish novels came under discussion. The claims of Sir Walter were
a little distrusted, on account of the peculiar and minute information
that the romances were then very generally thought to display. The
Pirate was cited as a very marked instance of this universal knowledge,
and it was wondered where a man of Scott's habits and associations could
have become so familiar with the sea. The writer had frequently observed
that there was much looseness in this universal knowledge, and that the
secret of its success was to be traced to the power of creating that
_resemblance_, which is so remarkably exhibited in those world-renowned
fictions, rather than to any very accurate information on the part of
their author. It would have been hypercritical to object to the Pirate,
that it was not strictly nautical, or true in its details; but, when the
reverse was urged as a proof of what, considering the character of other
portions of the work, would have been most extraordinary attainments,
it was a sort of provocation to dispute the seamanship of the Pirate, a
quality to which the book has certainly very little just pretension. The
result of this conversation was a sudden determination to produce a work
which, if it had no other merit, might present truer pictures of the
ocean and ships than any that are to be found in the Pirate. To this
unpremeditated decision, purely an impulse, is not only the Pilot due,
but a tolerably numerous school of nautical romances that have succeeded
it.
The author had many misgivings concerning the success of the
undertaking, after he had made some progress in the work; the opinions
of his different friends being anything but encouraging. One would
declare that the sea could not be made interesting; that it was tame,
monotonous, and without any other movement than unpleasant storms, and
that, for his part, the less he got of it the better. The women very
generally protested that such a book would have the odor of bilge
water, and that it would give them the _maladie de mer_. Not a single
individual among all those who discussed the merits of the project,
within the range of the author's knowledge, either spoke, or looked,
encouragingly. It is probable that all these persons anticipated a
signal failure.
So very discouraging did these ominous opinions get to be that the
writer was, once or twice, tempted to throw his manuscript aside, and
turn to something new. A favorable opinion, however, coming from a very
unexpected quarter, put a new face on the matter, and raised new
hopes. Among the intimate friends of the writer was an Englishman, who
possessed most of the peculiar qualities of the educated of his country.
He was learned even, had a taste that was so just as always to command
respect, but was prejudiced, and particularly so in all that related to
this country and its literature. He could never be persuaded to admire
Bryant's Water-Fowl, and this mainly because if it were accepted as good
poetry, it must be placed at once amongst the finest fugitive pieces of
the language. Of the Thanatopsis he thought better, though inclined
to suspect it of being a plagiarism. To the tender mercies of this
one-sided critic, who had never affected to compliment the previous
works of the author, the sheets of a volume of the Pilot were committed,
with scarce an expectation of his liking them. The reverse proved to
be the case;--he expressed himself highly gratified, and predicted a
success for the book which it probably never attained.
Thus encouraged, one more experiment was made, a seaman being selected
for the critic. A kinsman, a namesake, and an old messmate of the
author, one now in command on a foreign station, was chosen, and a
considerable portion of the first volume was read to him. There is no
wish to conceal the satisfaction with which the effect on this listener
was observed. He treated the whole matter as fact, and his criticisms
were strictly professional, and perfectly just. But the interest he
betrayed could not be mistaken. It gave a perfect and most gratifying
assurance that the work would be more likely to find favor with nautical
men than with any other class of readers.
The Pilot could scarcely be a favorite with females. The story has
little interest for them, nor was it much heeded by the author of the
book, in the progress of his labors. His aim was to illustrate vessels
and the ocean, rather than to draw any pictures of sentiment and
love. In this last respect, the book has small claims on the reader's
attention, though it is hoped that the story has sufficient interest to
relieve the more strictly nautical features of the work.
It would be affectation to deny that the Pilot met with a most
unlooked-for success. The novelty of the design probably contributed a
large share of this result. Sea-tales came into vogue, as a consequence;
and, as every practical part of knowledge has its uses, something has
been gained by letting the landsman into the secrets of the seaman's
manner of life. Perhaps, in some small degree, an interest has been
awakened in behalf of a very numerous, and what has hitherto been a sort
of proscribed class of men, that may directly tend to a melioration of
their condition.
It is not easy to make the public comprehend all the necessities of a
service afloat. With several hundred rude beings confined within the
narrow limits of a vessel, men of all nations and of the lowest habits,
it would be to the last degree indiscreet to commence their reformation
by relaxing the bonds of discipline, under the mistaken impulses of
a false philanthropy. It has a lofty sound, to be sure, to talk about
American citizens being too good to be brought under the lash, upon the
high seas; but he must have a very mistaken notion who does not see that
tens of thousands of these pretending persons on shore, even, would be
greatly benefited by a little judicious flogging. It is the judgment
in administering, and not the mode of punishment, that requires to be
looked into; and, in this respect, there has certainly been a great
improvement of late years. It is seldom, indeed, that any institution,
practice, or system, is improved by the blind interference of those who
know nothing about it. Better would it be to trust to the experience
of those who have long governed turbulent men, than to the impulsive
experiments of those who rarely regard more than one side of a question,
and that the most showy and glittering; having, quite half of the time,
some selfish personal end to answer.
There is an uneasy desire among a vast many well-disposed persons to get
the fruits of the Christian Faith, without troubling themselves about
the Faith itself. This is done under the sanction of Peace Societies,
Temperance and Moral Reform Societies, in which the end is too often
mistaken for the means. When the Almighty sent His Son on earth, it was
to point out the way in which all this was to be brought about, by
means of the Church; but men have so frittered away that body of divine
organization, through their divisions and subdivisions, all arising from
human conceit, that it is no longer regarded as the agency it was so
obviously intended to be, and various contrivances are to be employed as
substitutes for that which proceeded directly from the Son of God!
Among the efforts of the day, however, there is one connected with the
moral improvement of the sailor that commands our profound respect. Cut
off from most of the charities of life for so large a portion of his
time, deprived altogether of association with the gentler and better
portions of the other sex, and living a man in a degree proscribed, amid
the many signs of advancement that distinguish the age, it was time
that he should be remembered and singled out, and become the subject
of combined and Christian philanthropy. There is much reason to believe
that the effort, now making in the right direction and under proper
auspices, will be successful; and that it will cause the lash to be
laid aside in the best and most rational manner,--by rendering its use
unnecessary.
COOPERSTOWN, _August_ 20, 1829.
THE PILOT
CHAPTER I
“Sullen waves, incessant rolling,
Rudely dash'd against her sides.”
_Song_
A single glance at the map will make the reader acquainted with the
position of the eastern coast of the Island of Great Britain, as
connected with the shores of the opposite continent. Together they form
the boundaries of the small sea that has for ages been known to the
world as the scene of maritime exploits, and as the great avenue through
which commerce and war have conducted the fleets of the northern nations
of Europe. Over this sea the islanders long asserted a jurisdiction,
exceeding that which reason concedes to any power on the highway
of nations, and which frequently led to conflicts that caused an
expenditure of blood and treasure, utterly disproportioned to the
advantages that can ever arise from the maintenance of a useless and
abstract right. It is across the waters of this disputed ocean that
we shall attempt to conduct our readers, selecting a period for our
incidents that has a peculiar interest for every American, not only
because it was the birthday of his nation, but because it was also the
era when reason and common sense began to take the place of custom and
feudal practices in the management of the affairs of nations.
Soon after the events of the revolution had involved the kingdoms of
France and Spain, and the republics of Holland, in our quarrel, a group
of laborers was collected in a field that lay exposed to the winds
of the ocean, on the north-eastern coast of England. These men were
lightening their toil, and cheering the gloom of a day in December, by
uttering their crude opinions on the political aspects of the times. The
fact that England was engaged in a war with some of her dependencies on
the other side of the Atlantic had long been known to them, after the
manner that faint rumors of distant and uninteresting events gain on the
ear; but now that nations, with whom she had been used to battle, were
armed against her in the quarrel, the din of war had disturbed the quiet
even of these secluded and illiterate rustics. The principal speakers,
on the occasion, were a Scotch drover, who was waiting the leisure of
the occupant of the fields, and an Irish laborer, who had found his
way across the Channel, and thus far over the island, in quest of
employment.
“The Nagurs wouldn't have been a job at all for ould England, letting
alone Ireland,” said the latter, “if these French and Spanishers hadn't
been troubling themselves in the matter. I'm sure its but little reason
I have for thanking them, if a man is to kape as sober as a praist at
mass, for fear he should find himself a souldier, and he knowing nothing
about the same.”
“Hoot! mon! ye ken but little of raising an airmy in Ireland, if ye mak'
a drum o' a whiskey keg,” said the drover, winking to the listeners.
“Noo, in the north, they ca' a gathering of the folk, and follow the
pipes as graciously as ye wad journey kirkward o' a Sabbath morn. I've
seen a' the names o' a Heeland raj'ment on a sma' bit paper, that ye
might cover wi' a leddy's hand. They war' a' Camerons and M'Donalds,
though they paraded sax hundred men! But what ha' ye gotten here! That
chield has an ow'r liking to the land for a seafaring body; an' if the
bottom o' the sea be onything like the top o't, he's in gr'at danger o'
a shipwreck!”
This unexpected change in the discourse drew all eyes on the object
toward which the staff of the observant drover was pointed. To the utter
amazement of every individual present, a small vessel was seen moving
slowly round a point of land that formed one of the sides of the little
bay, to which the field the laborers were in composed the other. There
was something very peculiar in the externals of this unusual visitor,
which added in no small degree to the surprise created by her appearance
in that retired place. None but the smallest vessels, and those rarely,
or, at long intervals, a desperate smuggler, were ever known to venture
so close to the land, amid the sand-bars and sunken rocks with which
that immediate coast abounded. The adventurous mariners who now
attempted this dangerous navigation in so wanton, and, apparently,
so heedless a manner, were in a low black schooner, whose hull seemed
utterly disproportioned to the raking masts it upheld, which, in their
turn, supported a lighter set of spars, that tapered away until their
upper extremities appeared no larger than the lazy pennant, that in vain
endeavored to display its length in the light breeze.
The short day of that high northern latitude was already drawing to a
close, and the sun was throwing his parting rays obliquely across the
waters, touching the gloomy waves here and there with streaks of pale
light. The stormy winds of the German Ocean were apparently lulled
to rest; and, though the incessant rolling of the surge on the shore
heightened the gloomy character of the hour and the view, the light
ripple that ruffled the sleeping billows was produced by a gentle
air, that blew directly from the land. Notwithstanding this favorable
circumstance, there was something threatening in the aspect of the
ocean, which was speaking in hollow but deep murmurs, like a volcano
on the eve of an eruption, that greatly heightened the feelings of
amazement and dread with which the peasants beheld this extraordinary
interruption to the quiet of their little bay. With no other sails
spread to the action of the air than her heavy mainsail, and one of
those light jibs that projected far beyond her bows, the vessel glided
over the water with a grace and facility that seemed magical to the
beholders, who turned their wondering looks from the schooner to each
other in silent amazement. At length the drover spoke in a low solemn
voice:
“He's a bold chield that steers her! and if that bit craft has wood in
her bottom, like the brigantines that ply between Lon'on and the Frith
at Leith, he's in mair danger than a prudent mon could wish. Ay! he's
by the big rock that shows his head when the tide runs low, but it's
no mortal man who can steer long in the road he's journeying and not
speedily find land wi' water a-top o't.”
The little schooner, however, still held her way among the rocks and
sand-pits, making such slight deviations in her course as proved her to
be under the direction of one who knew his danger, until she entered as
far into the bay as prudence could at all justify, when her canvas was
gathered into folds, seemingly without the agency of hands, and the
vessel, after rolling for a few minutes on the long billows that hove in
from the ocean, swung round in the currents of the tide, and was held by
her anchor.
The peasants now began to make their conjectures more freely concerning
the character and object of their visitor; some intimating that she was
engaged in contraband trade, and others that her views were hostile, and
her business war. A few dark hints were hazarded on the materiality of
her construction, for nothing of artificial formation, it was urged,
would be ventured by men in such a dangerous place, at a time when even
the most inexperienced landsman was enabled to foretell the certain
gale. The Scotchman, who, to all the sagacity of his countrymen, added
no small portion of their superstition, leaned greatly to the latter
conclusion, and had begun to express this sentiment warily with
reverence, when the child of Erin, who appeared not to possess any very
definite ideas on the subject interrupted him, by exclaiming:
“Faith! there's two of them! a big and a little! sure the bogles of the
saa likes good company the same as any other Christians!”
“Twa!” echoed the drover; “twa! ill luck bides o' some o' ye. Twa craft
a sailing without hand to guide them, in sic a place as this, whar'
eyesight is na guid enough to show the dangers, bodes evil to a' that
luik thereon. Hoot! she's na yearling the tither! Luik, mon! luik!
she's a gallant boat, and a gr'at:” he paused, raised his pack from
the ground, and first giving one searching look at the objects of
his suspicions, he nodded with great sagacity to the listeners, and
continued, as he moved slowly towards the interior of the country, “I
should na wonder if she carried King George's commission aboot her:
weel, weel, I wull journey upward to the town, and ha' a crack wi' the
good mon; for they craft have a suspeecious aspect, and the sma' bit
thing wu'ld nab a mon quite easy, and the big ane wu'ld hold us a' and
no feel we war' in her.”
This sagacious warning caused a general movement in the party, for
the intelligence of a hot press was among the rumors of the times. The
husbandmen collected their implements of labor, and retired homewards;
though many a curious eye was bent on the movements of the vessels from
the distant hills, but very few of those not immediately interested in
the mysterious visitors ventured to approach the little rocky cliffs
that lined the bay.
The vessel that occasioned these cautious movements was a gallant ship,
whose huge hull, lofty masts, and square yards loomed in the evening's
haze, above the sea, like a distant mountain rising from the deep. She
carried but little sail, and though she warily avoided the near approach
to the land that the schooner had attempted, the similarity of their
movements was sufficiently apparent to warrant the conjecture that they
were employed on the same duty. The frigate, for the ship belonged to
this class of vessels, floated across the entrance of the little bay,
majestically in the tide, with barely enough motion through the water to
govern her movements, until she arrived opposite to the place where
her consort lay, when she hove up heavily into the wind, squared the
enormous yards on her mainmast, and attempted, in counteracting the
power of her sails by each other, to remain stationary; but the light
air that had at no time swelled her heavy canvas to the utmost began
to fail, and the long waves that rolled in from the ocean ceased to be
ruffled with the breeze from the land. The currents and the billows
were fast sweeping the frigate towards one of the points of the estuary,
where the black heads of the rocks could be seen running far into the
sea, and in their turn the mariners of the ship dropped an anchor to the
bottom, and drew her sails in festoons to the yards. As the vessel swung
round to the tide, a heavy ensign was raised to her peak, and a current
of air opening for a moment its folds, the white field and red cross,
that distinguish the flag of England, were displayed to view. So much
even the wary drover had loitered at a distance to behold; but when a
boat was launched from either vessel, he quickened his steps,
observing to his wondering and amused companions, that “they craft were
a'thegither mair bonny to luik on than to abide wi'.”
A numerous crew manned the barge that was lowered from the frigate,
which, after receiving an officer, with an attendant youth, left the
ship, and moved with a measured stroke of its oars directly towards the
head of the bay. As it passed at a short distance from the schooner a
light whale-boat, pulled by four athletic men, shot from her side, and
rather dancing over than cutting through the waves, crossed her course
with a wonderful velocity. As the boats approached each other, the men,
in obedience to signals from their officers, suspended their efforts,
and for a few minutes they floated at rest, during which time there was
the following dialogue:
“Is the old man mad!” exclaimed the young officer in the whale-boat,
when his men had ceased rowing; “does he think that the bottom of the
Ariel is made of iron, and that a rock can't knock a hole in it! or does
he think she is manned with alligators, who can't be drowned!”
A languid smile played for a moment round the handsome features of the
young man, who was rather reclining than sitting in the stern-sheets of
the barge, as he replied:
“He knows your prudence too well, Captain Barnstable, to fear either the
wreck of your vessel or the drowning of her crew. How near the bottom
does your keel lie?”
“I am afraid to sound,” returned Barnstable. “I have never the heart to
touch a lead-line when I see the rocks coming up to breathe like so many
porpoises.”
“You are afloat!” exclaimed the other, with a vehemence that denoted an
abundance of latent fire.
“Afloat!” echoed his friend; “ay, the little Ariel would float in air!”
As he spoke, he rose in the boat, and lifting his leathern sea-cap from
his head, stroked back the thick clusters of black locks which shadowed
his sun-burnt countenance, while he viewed his little vessel with the
complacency of a seaman who was proud of her qualities. “But it's close
work, Mr. Griffith, when a man rides to a single anchor in a place like
this, and at such a nightfall. What are the orders?”
“I shall pull into the surf and let go a grapnel; you will take Mr.
Merry into your whale-boat, and try to drive her through the breakers on
the beach.”
“Beach!” retorted Barnstable; “do you call a perpendicular rock of a
hundred feet in height a beach!”
“We shall not dispute about terms,” said Griffith, smiling, “but you
must manage to get on the shore; we have seen the signal from the land,
and know that the pilot, whom we have so long expected, is ready to come
off.”
Barnstable shook his head with a grave air, as he muttered to himself,
“This is droll navigation; first we run into an unfrequented bay that is
full of rocks, and sandpits, and shoals, and then we get off our pilot.
But how am I to know him?”
“Merry will give you the password, and tell you where to look for him.
I would land myself, but my orders forbid it. If you meet with
difficulties, show three oar-blades in a row, and I will pull in to your
assistance. Three oars on end and a pistol will bring the fire of my
muskets, and the signal repeated from the barge will draw a shot from
the ship.”
“I thank you, I thank you,” said Barnstable, carelessly; “I believe I
can fight my own battles against all the enemies we are likely to fall
in with on this coast. But the old man is surely mad, I would----”
“You would obey his orders if he were here, and you will now please to
obey mine,” said Griffith, in a tone that the friendly expression of his
eye contradicted. “Pull in, and keep a lookout for a small man in a drab
pea-jacket; Merry will give you the word; if he answer it, bring him off
to the barge.”
The young men now nodded familiarly and kindly to each other, and the
boy who was called Mr. Merry having changed his place from the barge
to the whale-boat, Barnstable threw himself into his seat, and making a
signal with his hand, his men again bent to their oars. The light vessel
shot away from her companion, and dashed in boldly towards the rocks;
after skirting the shore for some distance in quest of a favorable
place, she was suddenly turned, and dashing over the broken waves, was
run upon a spot where a landing could be effected in safety.
In the mean time the barge followed these movements, at some distance,
with a more measured progress, and when the whale-boat was observed to
be drawn up alongside of a rock, the promised grapnel was cast into the
water, and her crew deliberately proceeded to get their firearms in a
state for immediate service. Everything appeared to be done in obedience
to strict orders that must have been previously communicated; for
the young man, who has been introduced to the reader by the name of
Griffith, seldom spoke, and then only in the pithy expressions that
are apt to fall from those who are sure of obedience. When the boat had
brought up to her grapnel, he sunk back at his length on the cushioned
seats of the barge, and drawing his hat over his eyes in a listless
manner, he continued for many minutes apparently absorbed in thoughts
altogether foreign to his present situation. Occasionally he rose, and
would first bend his looks in quest of his companions on the shore, and
then, turning his expressive eyes toward the ocean, the abstracted
and vacant air, that so often usurped the place of animation and
intelligence in his countenance, would give place to the anxious and
intelligent look of a seaman gifted with an experience beyond his years.
His weather beaten and hardy crew, having made their dispositions for
offence, sat in profound silence, with their hands thrust into the
bosoms of their jackets, but with their eyes earnestly regarding every
cloud that was gathering in the threatening atmosphere, and exchanging
looks of deep care, whenever the boat rose higher than usual on one of
those long heavy groundswells, that were heaving in from the ocean with
increasing rapidity and magnitude.