FATHER AND DAUGHTER.
The brig _Gypsy_ lay in the Thames off Gravesend. She had been fast at
her mooring buoy for some days. She was now fully equipped for the sea,
and a very handsome boat, pierced for three guns of a side, with place
for a pivoted long nine-pounder forward or aft.
In those days the peaceful trader often sailed from the Thames with guns
run out. Especially did she need to give this hint if her course for
traffic carried her into the ways where the galley-pirate still
lingered, where the slave-ship troubled the waters with her hellish
keel, where, in short, there were numerous vessels afloat of very
doubtful respectability.
Here, then, lay the brig _Gypsy_, Captain Jackman's heirloom, and much
good had his worthy father hoped it would do him. Men in craft, pushing
slowly by in bows as round as a potato, gazed at the brig with
admiration. They would like to have such a little vessel to command. She
was going to make a pleasant voyage, bet your heart. She certainly
looked more like a pleasure craft rigged as a sham trader, than a vessel
of commerce, and many would have expected to see the dresses of ladies
fluttering on board of her, and a number of gentlemen, well dressed,
ready for the start, and for enjoyment.
It was the fifth day of the _Gypsy's_ detention. The river was running
rapidly and bearing all sorts of vessels seawards, whilst those forging
inwards had to strike with a forefoot of claws to catch the way the
breeze was giving them. It was a dull afternoon. The shipping showed
shabbily. The water flowed in lead, and the sky was a rainy brown,
sickly with the slow motion of unwholesome yellow cloud. A large man,
with a huge face made up as it might appear of pieces of putty, the
seams showing so as to render his mask of face extraordinary, overhung
the bulwark rail, with his foot on a carronade, and his gaze bent on a
boat that was approaching the brig almost athwart stream from the
Gravesend pier. The wrinkles grew deep in his brow as the boat neared
the vessel, until, giving a wild laugh, he cried to himself, 'Blow'd if
it ain't Commander Conway!'
The men got their boat alongside, and the commander handed himself up
the three or four steps which lay over the gangway. The huge putty-faced
man saluted him.
'I thought you'd know me, Hoey. Are they aboard?'
'You mean the master and wife, sir?'
'No one else,' said the commander.
'They are not, then, and we've been here fooling around this buoy five
days.'
'You're mate of this ship, aren't you?' said the commander.
'Yes, sir,' answered the man, with something of a lumpish grin.
'How many mates have you?'
'Myself and another.'
'I mean to remain on board until the arrival of my daughter, and then,'
said the commander firmly, almost to grimness, 'shall ask you, Bill
Hoey, to set me and her ashore at our home, which is a good way down
Channel, as of course you know.'
'I've signed articles under Captain Jackman. I can take no liberties, I
am afraid.'
'We shall see. I will bring you and the others to a right state of mind
before I've done with you,' said the commander, shooting sharp glances
in the direction of a number of seamen who were lounging on the
forecastle and smoking, and looking at the land, and apparently filling
their end of the little ship with their numbers.
'Can you give us any idea when the captain's coming off, sir?' said
Hoey.
'He may be here to-day, or to-morrow, or next day. He'll not long tarry.
I have hunted the docks for good purpose, and have gathered information
which I shall communicate to the crew in proper time. Where are you
bound to, do you think?'
The huge Bill Hoey made no answer, and looked sheepish.
'You are cleared for the port of Oporto,' continued the commander.
'For the land of romance, more likely,' answered Bill Hoey, who,
laughing respectfully, saluted and crossed the deck, his
dutifulness--which is one of the glories of the English seaman--being
alarmed by the commander's questions and his unrevealed knowledge.
The commander went to the side, paid the boatmen, received his valise,
dismissed the boat, and seeing a man approaching the little companion,
he gave him the valise and told him to take it below.
'Into the living room, sir?' said the man.
'Death and fire, has it come to a sailor not knowing what below means!'
'But what's your cabin?' said the fellow sulkily; 'that's what I meant.
There are but three; two's occupied, and one's the pantry.'
'Take that thing below!' repeated the commander, gesticulating with a
shovel-shaped hand, and speaking in that tone of voice to which the
blue-jacket is used when the naval officer's digestion is a little out
of repair. The commander then made the rounds of the brig. He gazed
first with astonishment and attention at the guns, the tompions of which
were in. He studied the little brig aloft, and secretly admired her.
'What a villain,' he said to himself, 'to marry my daughter, and then
put his ship to this use!'
'I beg your pardon, sir,' said Hoey the mate, coming over to him, 'but
is your honour sailing with us?'
'I am just doing what I blessed well please,' cried the commander,
blood-red with rage at being questioned by a man filling Hoey's post.
'You will do me the favour to leave me alone, merely sending the steward
to me, as I am going below.'
The habit of command was to be seen in the commander. Hoey read the taut
discipline of the quarter-deck in old Conway, from his white hair to his
buckled shoes. He touched his cap, as though the commander had been the
skipper himself. Conway went below, and in a few minutes a young seaman,
dressed in a camlet jacket, made his appearance. Conway had been looking
round the cabin. It was a comfortable little berth. A table equal to
dining two persons at a time was fixed amidship, and there were three
sleeping berths, one of which was the pantry and larder.
'I shall want to sleep here,' said the commander. 'That's my valise.
Where can I rest my head o' night down Channel?'
The young steward, recognising something very superior to the average
officer he was used to, in this square man of fighting aspect, said--
'The capt'n sleeps there, and his lady there, sir. And this 'ere's been
made a pantry of,' and he opened the little door.
There was an unnecessary variety of crockery, all of a much too
expensive sort for a common little trading brig. The commander stood
wrapped in contemplation. He then looked at a locker which ran along the
ship's side parallel with the table, and formed, so to speak, a bench.
'That'll make me all the bed I want,' said he. 'Which is my daughter's
berth?'
'The starboard one, sir.'
The commander walked into it, followed like a sentry by the steward,
who could not understand this severe square gentleman's cool procedure
on board a ship that did not belong to him.
Conway saw a little trunk belonging to his daughter. A handbag was
hanging under a looking-glass. Under the glass was a small oil-painting
of Captain Walter Jackman, stiff in high coat collars, his gift to his
love. The rest consisted of the ordinary fittings of a bunk to sleep in,
of a little washstand, and so forth.
The commander, taking no notice of the steward, walked on deck. He was
warmly clad in thick pilot. He made for the weather quarter-deck at
once, and Mr. Hoey, seeing him coming, edged forward, and trudged in the
waist with askant looks aft. It was something after two. The stream of
tide was slacking. The houses of Gravesend were faintly discernible
through a delicate drizzle of squall that was just then blowing over
them. The cold and melancholy waste, where now stand the civilising
signs of great docks and tall masts, made the scene that way soul
depressing. Hard by the fort lay a little cutter of sixty or seventy
tons. The pennant of the state flickered at her mast-head, and Commander
Conway frequently directed his attention at the little craft as he
stumped his few feet of deck.
Nobody seemed to notice that Conway usurped the quarter-deck. In fact,
it had been breezed abroad that he was the father-in-law of the master
of the brig, and Jack was therefore satisfied. For an hour or so things
remained as they were: Gravesend hung in squall; Tilbury ran off its
banks in gleams of mud; the little cutter, with her gaff mainsail
hoisted, strained at her cable; and all between were great ships and
little ships coming and going. Those who came were bound to London town,
and those who went were being steered down the noble stream to every
port in the world.
An hour after Commander Conway had arrived on board the _Gypsy_, a
wherry might have been seen putting off with feathering blade and smart
whip of oar in the direction of the brig.
'Here they come!' said the commander; and he knocked the ashes of his
pipe over the rail.
The boat rapidly glanced athwart the tide; the commander continued to
strut to and fro. Hoey stood at the open gangway ready to receive the
party. The boat hooked on, and swarmed through the rush of waters
abreast to alongside. Captain and Mrs. Jackman stepped on board. The
boat put off, and Hoey, turning to the commander, shouted--
'Are you going ashore, sir?'
'Yes, and with my daughter,' said the commander, advancing towards Ada,
who slightly shrank.
'Pray, sir, what business have you in this vessel?' demanded Captain
Jackman with a very dark face.
'My business is that lady whom you have feloniously removed from my
roof, and now intend to carry into some sort of calling--smuggling, they
call it--which may wholly ruin her.'
'Nonsense!' exclaimed the young lady. 'What I did was done entirely of
my own free will, and I will do it again. He is my husband. You cannot
separate us; you cannot take me ashore because you wish to see us
sundered.'
She stood all her inches as she said these words, and spoke with her
full strength of voice, and the sailors listened eagerly. Reckoned on
the whole, she was the finest girl out of the port of London.
'Weigh anchor!' shouted Captain Jackman to Hoey, whose voice instantly
went forward in the proper cow-like roar.
It was an old-fashioned capstan, and it was worked with a song, and
there were thirty throats. By degrees those looking over the rail saw
the shore slipping by and inward-bound vessels coming along fast. Sail
floated to the masthead, and blew balloon-like at the topgallant mast.
Captain Jackman, after speaking a word with his wife, crossed the deck,
where Conway stepped, the picture of violated law, indignant father, and
horror of the whole proceedings.
'Is it your intention, sir, to make this cruise with us? If so, you are
very welcome; another nautical sabreur will please me vastly.'
'You are carrying me away at your own risk. You have stolen my
daughter. I mean that you shall set me ashore, and I intend that my
daughter shall accompany me home.'
'To what home?' cried Jackman.
'To the home you stole her from!' shouted Conway.
'She has a home of her own!' exclaimed Captain Jackman, drawing himself
up with the gravity and dignity of an earl who talks of a belt and
acres. 'As you are accompanying us, you shall visit us in that home, and
judge if your daughter is not perfectly comfortable.'
With that he turned scornfully on his heel, and crossed the deck to
speak to Mrs. Jackman.
Meanwhile, those who noticed anything had observed that the cutter lying
in shore had loosed her mainsail and was getting her anchor. The evening
gathered. The cutter was manifestly giving chase. The brig floated in
lofty and silent contempt through the wide reaches. At seven o'clock the
captain, followed by Ada, came out of the cabin, and found the
commander pacing the deck smoking a pipe. Captain Jackman, slightly
raising his hat, went up to him, and said--
'Since, sir, you are deliberately a guest of the brig's, you will allow
me to force her hospitality upon you.'
'Oh, presently! A biscuit, that will do, thank you,' answered the
commander, in his gruffest notes. 'I am an old sailor.'
The captain, making no answer, crossed into the gloom, where, he
perceived, stood the burly shape of Bill Hoey.
'Summon all hands aft; I have something to say to them,' said he, and
then rejoined his wife, who had remained silently watching her father
pacing the deck, and trying in vain to imagine what he intended to do.
There came aft, on the quarter-deck, a large number of men for so small
a craft, despite that vessels went very liberally handled in those days.
They filled the waist and all about the mainmast; and the commander,
poising his pipe at his mouth, stood watching them in something of a
posture of astonishment. The dusk rendered faces and figures imperfect.
It might be seen, however, that, in addition to her batteries of guns,
and stern and bow chasers, she carried a crew as powerful almost as a
man-of-war of small rating would have entered.
Captain Jackman, leaving his wife's side, stepped in front of the men,
and said, in a high note of exultation--
'Men, I have called you aft not to make you a speech, but to give you
two or three facts, all of which I know will warm you to the very roots
of your souls. I told you, for purposes of signing, that I had pretended
we were bound to the Portugal coast, but that, in reality, we were bound
away in search of a treasure, the particulars of which I gave you. That
was a lie. We are no treasure-seekers, unless it lie in the holds of
others. Men,' he cried, now beginning to gesticulate, and to warm up
with his fancies, 'this beautiful little brig has been fitted up as a
pirate'--the commander's pipe dropped with his hand--'and a smuggler,'
continued Jackman. 'I have a date for a ship sailing from Lisbon. She
will make your fortune; and I swear you will go in no risk. That is
what I have to say to you, men. Turn it over, and consider how
magnificently it must work, seeing that in the south of Cornwall I
already possess a splendid estate of smuggling steps and caves, and a
little house in which my wife will live till we have completed our
business, in which time Commander Conway may be glad to prove one of the
party. He will be welcome.'
A curious murmur rose from amongst the crew. No man could clearly catch
the exact word or groan.
The cutter astern was leaning over to the damp evening blast, which was
now beginning to breeze up; and her wake went astern of her as though it
was the shimmer of her canvas.
'Bear a hand in making sail, Mr. Hoey,' shouted Jackman; and the great
fellow answered with a roar, and the sailors sprang about.
Swift as was the brig, however, the cutter proved a swifter keel, and by
half-past ten o'clock that night she had ranged within easy hail of the
_Gypsy_.
'Brig ahoy!' came a loud voice through the moist dissembling gloom.
'What ship are you, and where are you bound to?'
'We are the brig _Gypsy_, of and from London, and bound to the coast of
Portugal,' answered Captain Jackman, who had sprung on the rail of his
vessel when the other had hailed him.
The commander rushed to the ship's side. 'Nothing of the sort, sir. He's
no honest ship; he's going for a pirate and a smuggler. I am
Commander----'
He had shouted this in a voice like a speaking trumpet, when Captain
Jackman rounded upon him, fiercely levelling a pistol at his head as he
did so.
'Down, you old dog!' he cried, stepping close to Conway. 'Speak another
word, and even your daughter's presence sha'n't save your life! Go
below, sir, so as to be out of danger! Below, sir!--below, sir, I say!'
This he said, thrusting him towards the companion way.
'I'll square the yards yet with you, you scoundrel!' exclaimed the
commander; and with a lingering look at the cutter, that was whitening
the gloom with foam and canvas to windward, he vanished.
Shortly after he had descended into the cabin, his daughter arrived. A
bright lamp was swinging; the remains of supper were upon the table. The
girl looked fiercely under her black crooked brows at her father, and
said, in a voice of hot contempt--
'What right have you on board this ship?'
'The right of a father,' shouted the commander, 'to fetch his daughter
away from a pirate and a smuggler.'
'You cannot separate us,' she cried.
'You shall go ashore with me, or I shall stick to this ship,' he
answered.
She arched her mouth into a sneer, and said, 'I would advise you to
leave us to our fate. You are never likely to hear of us; and your
reputation, of which you think highly, will be safe. If you
interfere---- But, as it is, you have already given the news to the
revenue cutter on our quarter, even whilst our own sailors may be
considering whether they shall sail in the ship or not.'
As she spoke these words, there was a sharp hail abeam, quite audible
in the cabin. It was not answered from the brig, which was now sheeting
through the sea under tall leaning heights, beating the water into
sifted snow with the drive of her round bows. The hail was repeated. A
minute later the _Gypsy_ was fired at; the glare of the gun illuminated
the little cabin port-hole. The shot made the old hull thrill, and she
broke off somewhat wildly to a sudden frightened whirl of smoke. The
commander, fully expecting that Captain Jackman would heave-to, rushed
on deck just in time to behold some men abaft the wheel of the _Gypsy_
bringing a nine-pounder to bear upon the little foaming hull. As he
rushed to the side, the gun was fired. A sharp sound of crackling
followed, and, more to the consternation than the gratification,
perhaps, of the brig's company, they beheld the fabric of mainmast cut
sheer in halves by the shot, and the whole litter and smother of gear
and canvas encumbering the deck. She came to a stand. The _Gypsy_ sped
on.
'Do you know what you have done, sir?' cried the commander.
'I have served him as I intend to serve others,' was the answer. 'You
stand in my way. I am an honest man; this is a clean ship. What law can
justify that scoundrel in firing at me?'
'Your refusal to answer the hail of a king's ship. What are you bringing
yourself into?' And with something frantic in his manner, the old fellow
went in long strides to the stern of the vessel.
He stood watching the cutter sending up signals. They might have been
colours of danger, hurried flashes of distress. No notice was taken on
board the brig--in fact, the crew seemed all too much afraid of what had
happened to be willing to stop the _Gypsy_, even had the order to back
her topsail been given. A king's cutter hulled, dismasted, placed _hors
de combat_ by an English brig which had impudently refused to heave-to
to legitimate demands! Who was this Captain Jackman, anyhow? It had got
mysteriously whispered about, through God knows what source, that he was
a little mad. It may have come from his last ship. It may have been
detected in the docks, and coolly noted and made nothing of by the
reckless seamen who had agreed to sail with him for fine pay and a good
share of the treasure.
The wide stretch of river looked melancholy with the black of the night
and the dimness of the stars, and the dull gleam of the heads of the
running sea. The commander, with folded arms, stood gazing in the
direction where the cutter was sunk in the gloom. His mind was
distracted. He had counted upon the civility and respect of Captain
Jackman; on the contrary, his life had been threatened, and he was now
being carried away to sea in spite of his protests. He could endure his
reverie no longer, and after looking about him in search of Captain
Jackman, and beholding no one aft but the huge figure of Bill Hoey, who
was keeping the watch, he went into the cabin.
There he found the captain and Ada, late as it was, in earnest
conversation. They broke off when he entered, and the captain stood up;
but the girl stared at her father with angry looks of impatience.
'We are pleased that you have come below, sir,' said the captain
respectfully, indicating a chair, and brandy and other materials, in as
many flourishes of his hand. 'We should like a good understanding to
exist between us.'
'I am very wishful that that should be,' said the commander, who
understood that this lover of good understandings carried loaded pistols
in his pockets, and that he had one in his breast then.
'You are on board my brig,' said Captain Jackman, 'without invitation.
Do not you think you are guilty of a gross act of rudeness?'
The commander pointed, mute with passion, to his daughter.
'You cannot divorce us by being here,' continued Captain Jackman, with a
slow white smile and a sarcastic face, and eyes full of dangerous light.
'She is my wife, sir, above and beyond your control absolutely.'
'You will set me ashore with her, nevertheless,' exclaimed Commander
Conway.
'Yes, you shall be set ashore certainly, and my wife and I will
accompany you. Does that satisfy you, sir?'
'Where is the place?' said the commander, with an angry snuffle of
suspicion.
'In Cornwall.'
'It is your home, perhaps.'
'You shall see it,' exclaimed Ada. 'And when you have enjoyed its
beauties you will return to the little square house.'
The commander looked from one to the other. He was very much of an old
fool, but not so foolish as to miss this, that this couple were not to
be dealt with by him, that he had started on a fool's chase, in which if
he was not very careful with the fellow opposite, he might lose his
life. He looked up at the hour that ticked in a clock under the little
hatch. It was twelve. He said--
'I will take my rest here, on this locker.'
The captain bowed to him. 'You have had no refreshment. May I,' said he,
'offer you something to eat?'
'I will thank you for a biscuit and a drop of that brandy.' He spoke
with reluctance, the ill-breeding of which caused his daughter to fix
one of her handsomest though gloomiest stares upon him.
When the sun rose the brig was standing down Channel. Sail was heaped
on her. She often foamed to her catheads. She was making a triumphant
course, swift and fine. The sea about her lay in frosted silver, and the
ships around her leaned in shafts of light. The commander early made his
appearance. Observing his daughter Ada to be standing alone at the
taffrail, he accosted her.
'Do not you think yourself a very unnatural child?'
'I am free. Leave me, father, or forbear at all events from criticising
my behaviour,' answered the girl, flashing her hottest looks upon him.
'You know that Captain Jackman deliberately stole fifteen hundred pounds
of the moneys of his owners for the purpose of fitting out his brig for
a piratical enterprise?'
'You must prove all that,' she cried.
'He has fired upon a revenue cutter, and stands to be transported for
life.'
'And what then?' she cried, with a bold laugh of contempt. 'Wherever he
goes he'll find me near.'
'But you seem to forget that Captain Jackman, by confessing that he is
going as a pirate, stands to be hanged, and you may see his corpse on
the black mud of the Thames, revolving at the finger of a gibbet in
irons, a brutally degraded wretch. My God, what have you done?' A great
sob rent the old man's breast.
'Father,' answered the girl, 'I am sorry to have caused you grief, but
my die is cast, and I beg of you to say no more against my action, or
against my husband.'
She left him and went to the rail, and watched, with a hot angry face,
the white foam streaming by. She was absolutely reckless and defiant.
She had got her man, and meant to stick to him at all hazards. The
commander walked over to her suddenly, and putting his arm on her
shoulder, exclaimed--
'Do you know that Captain Jackman is insane?'
'You will have to prove all your statements,' she cried, without turning
her head.
'He is a madman,' cried old Conway. 'I saw it in him when we met. His
owner told me that he was a madman. Certain statements had been made
about him by the crew of his last ship, and in any case he would not
have sailed under their flag again.'
'Mad or not mad, I love him,' said the girl, again crossing the deck to
avoid her father.
Meanwhile the crew remained quiet and obedient. They could not possibly
mistake the ship's errand and the hazard they ran. Yet they acted as
though they had made up their minds to the consequences. Their behaviour
of obedience greatly puzzled old Conway, who tried to get at one and
another of them: but somehow they did not choose to speak. Bill Hoey, in
particular, was peculiarly reticent, considering that he was plied by a
man who had been a Naval Commander, and who carried the authority of the
flag. He would tell nothing, he knew nothing, he supposed they were
going a-pirating, since the captain said so; but who was to tell but
that the captain, whose royal yard did not seemed very well trimmed by
the lifts, might change his mind, go a-slaving instead, go a-hunting for
whales--in short, the gentleman well knew there was a great deal of
business to be done on the seas.
As the brig passed down the coast the commander would from time to time
take an eagle view of the starboard horizon, hoping that the cutter had
been fallen in with, her case reported, a messenger despatched by land
to a port where they had a frigate which would intercept the _Gypsy_.
But nothing in the shape of a man-of-war showed the whole way down. They
were favoured by fine weather, and in places the sea was white with
shafts of canvas. The brig took care to speak nothing. She sailed
through the deep without sign, and her secret, whose confession would
have brought some of the ships she sighted in fiery pursuit of her,
remained her own.
How did the commander fare? His daughter was not a lovable creature,
though a very fine woman. She was not one to sit at table whilst her
father walked the deck hungry, nor was the commander one to walk hungry.
He said to Captain Jackman--
'I had counted upon you putting me ashore with my daughter at my home
down the coast, otherwise I should not have intruded upon you; but since
I am here, I must be fed or die. Therefore I will thank you to allow me
to join you at your meals.'
'There has been no intrusion, sir,' said the captain, in his elegant
style. 'We are glad to have you with us. We hope you will think better
of your resolution, and remain as one who can command us in an
expedition which must result in filling our vaults with wealth without
risk.' The commander made an extraordinary face. 'At all events I have
to go ashore,' exclaimed the captain, 'at Bugsby's Hole with my wife,
and we will take you with us, and perhaps, sir, a little chat in our
quiet home may result in my scheme gaining your favour.'
The subject then ended, and the commander henceforth fed at the table
with his daughter and son-in-law. It was an ignominious position, and
the food nearly choked the retired officer. But though he had been a
gallant sailor, he had the usual weaknesses of the human animal, and
amongst these were hunger and thirst.
A day and a night of the bitter weather of the Chops drove the brig to
the south'ard under reefed canvas, and some of the sailors wondered if
she was going to the Portugal coast, where Jackman had promised them a
galleon full of precious commodity. She cleverly regained her place in a
couple of days, and on a bright, quiet Sunday morning lay within sight
of the part of the Cornwall cliffs which may be here called Bugsby's
Hole. The air shone with the white light of winter; the beat of the surf
was sullen. This line of coast is low and livid, and its sky-line ran
sharp, with not a house or tree to break its dreary continuity. All had
been prearranged, and when the brig's maintopsail had been brought to
the mast on the ship's arrival at about three-quarters of a mile distant
from the land, a large boat was lowered, and a quantity of luggage was
put into it. Then Ada entered, next followed the commander, finally the
captain, after an earnest conference with Bill Hoey, his chief mate, the
man who was to be left in charge. The boat passed quickly over the long
heave of sea which here runs with the weight of the Atlantic, and,
watching their opportunity, the men contrived to handsomely beach her
within a short walk of Bugsby's Hole. The seamen carried the baggage
into the vault, and were followed by the captain, his wife, and the
commander. The vault was a fine cutting of a gradual slope, charged on
either hand with marvellously contrived hiding-places. They gained the
entrance by land, and Captain Jackman was loud in his praise of the
beautiful tunnel he had passed through, and which was his property.
'Carry the luggage to that little house yonder,' said Ada. 'That is my
home, father. We will convert it into a castle.'
The house that was to be transformed ultimately into a castle, without
regard to the laws of the land, and the opinions of respectable seamen
sailing the high seas, was an edifice worthy to berth a ploughman and
his family, and to make them a good home. A middle-aged servant had been
living in the house for some days, and all was in preparation. Fires
burnt in the grates, a leg of mutton smoked in the kitchen, and a
canary in the living-room, which was immediately entered by the house
door, sang a loud song of welcome.
'This, sir, will be our residence,' said Captain Jackman to the
commander, who was staring agape and aghast around him, 'until we have
stored some of the most secret of the hiding-places we have just passed
with easily negotiable articles. I have taken you into my confidence,
for you will not betray me. I do not fear death.' He smiled strangely as
he looked at the commander. 'I must be a rich man, and Ada, my wife, and
my love,' he exclaimed, turning a look of touching tenderness upon the
girl, 'will share in my fortune, and possess it when I die. You can, if
you choose, go away, and start the hounds of your own service after us.
You will not do this. You will not, with your own hand, bring your
son-in-law to the gallows.' The commander stared at him passionately,
but in silence. He had long ago exhausted the language of horror. He had
no further protests to offer against his son-in-law's daring scheme.
So nothing more was said in this way; and in the afternoon, at about
two o'clock, when the leg of mutton had been eaten, Captain Jackman took
a touching farewell of his wife. Again and again he pressed her to his
heart. He gravely saluted the commander, not seeming then to have words
for him. Where was he going? This madman--though, to be sure, it was
still the age of the pirate, the smuggler, and the slaver--was bound
away down the Portugal coast to intercept and plunder a large, rich ship
which was sailing to the Indies on a date of which he had received
private notice. The boat that had brought the party ashore lay in wait.
He entered it, and was rowed aboard the brig, which lay at about a mile
distant. Ada and the commander stood watching the vessel. The girl was
too proud to weep before her father, and gazed haughtily at the picture
on the sea. But what was happening there?
'Have you a glass?' almost shrieked the commander. 'By Heaven, Ada, I
believe the men have seized the ship!'
Whilst he said it, the vessel was a scene of commotion and disorder. A
boat had been lowered, and five men had pulled hastily under the stern.
The topsail had been swung, then hauled afresh, and the foretopsail
backed, and within an hour of Captain Jackman having gone on board his
ship to seize the Portuguese galleon, a boat of the brig, with Bill Hoey
steering her, was swept to Bugsby's Hole.
Commander Conway and his daughter ran down the tunnel to hear what had
happened. The huge form of Hoey stood in the orifice, and beyond lay the
boat in the clear gleams and lights of the high Atlantic afternoon, with
men tending her, and some gathering near to Hoey to listen to what was
to follow.
'I think you are a retired commander in the Navy,' said Hoey,
respectfully saluting the commander.
'That's so. What's gone wrong with you?' answered the commander,
speaking with great agitation.
'We want you to take charge of the brig to a naval port, and tell our
story for us,' said Hoey. 'We was tricked into this job. We never
signed for piracy, and the likes of that. We was to seek for a treasure
that lay hid in an island. We laid hold of him when he came aboard, and
told him plainly that we had mutinied, and meant to carry the ship and
himself to where we could report the case to an admiral. He knew we were
no pirates. He turned black with passion. "Who's going to be
answerable," says I, "for wrecking that there revenue cutter?" He
slapped his hand to his pocket, and I sprang upon him, and some of us
ran him below, and locked him up in his own cabin. It has a big
stern-window, which we had overlooked, and, being naturally mad, as all
hands for some time had been aware, he goes and proves it by dropping
overboard, and drowning himself, and I came off at once, sir, to give
you the news, and ask for instructions.'
A long, wild shriek, incommunicable in words, rang through the tunnel,
but Ada stood upright nevertheless.
'Are you sure he is drowned?' asked the commander.
'Oh yes, sir,' answered Hoey. 'A good search was made, and nothing of
him was seen.'
'Oh, Walter!' moaned the girl; then, screaming at Hoey, 'Ruffians!
cowards! murderers!' she swung on her heels, and rushed wildly up the
tunnel.
'Ada,' shouted the commander after her, 'you will come along with us?'
'I will drown myself too, if you carry me on board,' she howled, just
glancing round to say so; and she then went up the tunnel, and out of
sight of them.
The commander knew his daughter; he was perfectly well aware that no
entreaty was to move her. He lingered, considered, thought to himself,
'She has her home; when all this passion and grief have passed I will
come down and take her away.' He entered the boat, but, in justice it
must be said, with a most reluctant heart, and eyes which clung to the
land.
And was our friend successful in courting his daughter out of the
tremendous solitude of Bugsby's Hole? He knew that he stood no chance
when the messenger, whom he had despatched to inquire after her,
himself not choosing to be visible, returned with the information that
it was believed by the simple adjacent villagers that she had lost her
true bearings, and was, in fact, out of her course. This could be
asserted, that every night, blow high or blow low, the poor, unhappy
woman, whom her father never could persuade to abandon her wretched
home, placed a lamp in a seaward-facing window.
THE END.
BILLING AND SONS, PRINTERS, GUILDFORD.
End of Project Gutenberg's A Tale of Two Tunnels, by William Clark Russell