WE ARE DOGGED BY A BLACK SHIP, TO THE GREAT DISCOMFORT OF OUR COMPANIES.
We set sail at daybreak with a fair breeze, and if this had held on,
then had we got safely on our way, escaping all danger from our enemy;
but being only a land wind, such as frequently blows towards the sun at
its rising, we found ourselves an hour after clearing Falmouth Haven in
a little chopping gale, where we had much ado, by tacking this way and
that, to make any progress at all, to our misfortune. While we were thus
pottering to and fro, a sail appeared coming down the Channel,
whereupon, my fears being that way disposed, I took into my head at once
that this was Rodrigues' ship from Penzance, there having been ample
time during the night for the wench who had come aboard to take him
intelligence of our intent to sail. Then I begged Captain Wilkins, an
excellent good man as ever lived, to let me have the ship's barge that I
might go speak with my uncle; to which request he acceded instantly, and
the barge being lowered and manned I was carried to the _Faithful
Friend_. Here, taking my uncle aside, I laid out all that had happened
the night before, and pointing to the sail bearing down towards us, I
gave him my apprehensions, begging he would put back into Falmouth Haven
while we yet might. But this would he not do.
"What!" says he, "put back because a sail is in sight! Why, at that rate
might we never get out of Falmouth. Never yet did I put back, for I
couet it the unluckiest thing a seaman may do; and in this case 'twere
nothing short of folly and rank cowardice; for our foe, if foe he be, is
but one, and we be two. You have done your duty, Benet, and therefore I
do not scold you for doubting my mettle, your own being much softened no
doubt by hardship and suffering, Lord help you! But go back at once to
your ship, I prithee, and bid Master Wilkins look to his armament, be
sober and prayerful, and hold himself ready to lay on to an enemy."
With this comfort I returned to the _Sea Lion_, and telling Captain
Wilkins my fears and my uncle's decision, he lost no time in charging
the guns and setting out muskets, swords, and brown bills ready to every
hand. Likewise he mustered the crew when all had been prepared, and gave
them out a very good prayer, at the same time bidding the men trust to
their own defense as well as the mercy of Providence (should we be
presently attacked) and give no quarter. To this address would Sir
Bartlemy have added a hearty "amen" had he been present, for it was just
after his own sturdy heart.
The strange sail bore down to within half a mile of us, being a swifter
ship than either of ours, and making way where we could none, etc.; and
then she held off on a tack and came no nearer. And though she showed no
guns, yet could we see she was a powerful ship, and such as, for the
value of her, would not venture abroad in these troublesome times
without good arms.
About noon the breeze grew stronger and more steady, and so continued
that by sundown we had made in all twelve sea leagues. All this time had
the strange sail followed in our wake, standing off never much over half
a mile. Then Captain Wilkins and all on board were convinced that this
was an enemy seeking to injure us, and it seemed that Sir Bartlemy was
equally of our way of thinking, for by means of his signals he bade us
double our watch, keep our lamps well trimmed, and hold close to him.
And this we did, no man taking off his clothes, but every one who lay
down having his arms ready to his hand. For my own part I quitted not
the deck all that night; nor could I take my eyes from the lights on
board the _Faithful Friend_ two minutes together for thinking of the
dear girl who lay there, and whose life and honor were in our keeping.
We could see no lights in our track at all during the night, whereby we
hoped that our enemy--as I may call her--seeing not ours, had fallen
away in the darkness; but when day broke we perceived her still
following us, and no further away than ever, so that we knew she had
been guided by our lamps, and had lit none of her own. In short, not to
weary the reader, as she had followed us that night and the day before,
so she clung to our heels for four days and nights after. And now being
off Portugal, Sir Bartlemy might have run into port; but this he would
not do; for, firstly, the breeze continued all this time fairly
prosperous; and, secondly, his bold and stubborn nature would not permit
him to swerve from his course, or show fear of any one.
By this time our company began to murmur because they got no proper rest
through constant watching, and because (though they feared no mortal
enemy) they began to look upon this pursuing ship as a thing without
substance--an unearthly sign of impending destruction, a device of the
fiend--I know not what, for seamen are ever prodigiously superstitious
and easily terrified by that which passes their comprehension; and it
strengthened their dread that this ship was painted black from stem to
stern. Indeed, to a mind reasonably free from superstition, there was
something dreadful and terrific in this great black ship following us
with so great perseverance, which put me in mind of some carrion bird
with steadfast patience hovering slowly about wanderers beleaguered in a
desert, with some forecast that in the end one must fall to become its
easy prey.
These six nights did I get no rest; but only a little dog sleep in the
day when my body yielded to the fatigue of watching, my mind being quite
disordered with dreadful apprehensions; for well I knew that if by storm
we got separated in the day, or by accident of fog or such like lost
each other in the night, then would our enemy fall upon us one after the
other, and vanish with us; which, though we fought like lions, might
well arrive, seeing she was so much greater than either of us, and
manned with a greater company, as I could descry through a perspective.
My own life I valued not; my fear was all lest Lady Biddy should fall a
prey into the wicked hands of that bloody, subtle Rodrigues. What could
that dear, sweet creature do to resist? What fate would be hers, being
at his mercy? These questions did provoke fearful answers in my anxious
imagination, to my inexpressible torment.
At length, on the seventh day, we being then, as Captain Wilkins told
me, off the coast of Morocco, and the wind falling to a calm, I took a
boat and rowed to my uncle's ship. And when I got aboard I found the
company there in not much better case than ours on the _Sea Lion_, for
every man had a sullen and unhappy look on his face, and from time to
time cast his eye towards the black ship that lay behind us, for all my
uncle pacing the deck did rate them most soundly for not going quicker
about the business he set them; swearing at them like a heathen Jew, so
that one, not knowing his kind and generous heart, had thought him a
very tyrant.
My first thought was of Lady Biddy, and casting my eye up and down the
deck to see if her fair face and dainty figure were there, my limbs
shook and my teeth chattered together with the intensity of my desire.
But she was nowhere visible.
"Well, Benet, what the plague has brought you from your ship?" asks my
uncle roughly, as he comes to my side. "What do you fear, that you are
spying up and down, your cheeks pale, and your lips on a quiver?"
"Lady Biddy," says I, with a thickness in my voice, "is she well?"
"Ay, and if all on this ship were as stout of heart I should have more
reason to be grateful," says he.
"Thank God she is well. May no mischance befall her!" says I in a low
tone.
"And what mischance may befall her if we act like men in her defense?"
I cast my eyes towards the black ship, and then said I to my uncle:
"Rodrigues is there, I know."
"You shall lend me your spyglass, for I think you have seen him, to be
so cock-sure."
"No, sir, I have not seen him; but I am sure he commands that ship. A
painter is known by his workmanship."
"I know nothing of painting and such fiddle-faddle. Speak straight to
the purpose, man," says my uncle with a curse.
"Well," says I, "no man but Rodrigues could devise such subtle, devilish
means for our destruction."
"In this holding on yet holding off, I see nothing but the device of a
fool or a coward, be he Rodrigues or another."
"He is neither a fool nor a coward," says I; "he values his ship and his
men too high to attack us at a disadvantage. He knows, as well as you
do, that this patient following, while it amuses his company and rests
them, is fatiguing ours, and sapping the foundation of their courage."
"I warrant their courage will return to the dogs with the first shot
that is fired."
"Then may it be too late; for, you may be sure of this, Rodrigues will
not fire a ball until he is sure of our defeat," says I.
"Sure of our defeat! And pray when may that be?" asks he, firing up with
disdain.
"When accident helps him either to fall in with his comrade Parsons, or
by our getting sundered through some mishap. He has as many men on his
ship (as you may plainly see) as we have in both our companies, and
more. How are we to combat him singly?"
"Why, with God's help and our own good arms," says he sternly; but the
moment after that he turned his eyes towards the black ship, measuring
it; and his silence proclaimed that he could not overlook his peril.
Presently, in a more subdued tone, he says, "Well, nephew, I doubt not
you had some better intention than to damp my spirits in coming here, so
if you would offer any advice, out with it, for the love of God, and I
promise I will listen with as much patience and forbearance as I may
command."
"Sir," says I, "you are making for the Canaries, and there, in all
likelihood, is Parsons, awaiting the coming of his confederate, so that
we are, as it were, going before the tiger into the lair of his mate."
My uncle nodded acquiescence. "Now, if I might advise, I would have you
alter your course, and make for the Windward Isles, and so down to
Guiana. Then, if Rodrigues does also alter his course, I should draw
upon him and seek so to disable him with a shot amidst his masts as he
should be disabled from following us further."
"Now, indeed, do you talk good sense, and such as is after my heart,"
cries he joyfully. "This will I do at once; so go you back and bid
Wilkins prepare to shape his course this way."
But seeing that I yet lingered, as loth to depart, he claps me on the
shoulder and says, "What else would you have, Benet?"
"Why, sir," says I, "I would have you send another with your message,
and suffer me to stay here in his place."
"Why, are you so weak-kneed as that?" says he. "Well, 'tis in the nature
of mice to be timorous; but I looked for better stuff in a man of our
family."
"Nay," says I; "if I feared Rodrigues I should not ask to stay here, for
'tis this ship he will attack, knowing, as he must, by our sailing, that
our general and leader is here."
"Why, that is true," says he; and then he fell into a silence, and
looked at me keenly to divine why I wished to stay there. After a little
while, marking the hot blood in my face, and knowing it was to be near
Lady Biddy that, I sought this change of ships, he put his hands on my
shoulders, and says he very kindly, and with a little trembling of pity
in his voice, "My poor Benet, the best thing you can do for her sake is
to go back to your ship and stay not in this. Ay, and for your own sake
it were better too. The enemy you have to overcome is the passion of
your own breast, which is more capable to bring ruin to your soul and
sorrow to our hearts than are the guns of Rodrigues to endanger our
bodies. Go back, dear fellow."
And knowing how this passion had before, by its hopelessness, brought me
into evil ways and despair of better, I accepted his guidance and went
back to my ship, though with a sore heart.
And going back I saw my lady standing in the stern gallery of the
_Faithful Friend_. But she did not see me, or, seeing me, made no sign;
for why should she trouble to descry whether it were I or another
sitting there? And clasping my hands together I prayed God (within
myself) to dispose of her to her own happiness and His praise.