A few boats’ lengths from the quay of the corporation of Exeter,
in the port of Topsham, on the morning posterior to the date of
the last chapter, there lay several gallant-looking ships, of no
ordinary size and burthen.
There were, as has been observed, several of these ships, but
only one of them has immediate reference to our history; and,
therefore, it is to her alone, at the present moment, that we
have to direct attention.
She was a large vessel, and, though fitted up for the purposes
both of war and traffic, had evidently been constructed, in the
first instance, chiefly with a view to making her a sailer. This
was not only manifest in the rounding of her bows, which was,
considering the practice of the time, rather sharply turned, but
also in a certain slanting in her tall masts, giving her that
look which, in nautical parlance, is termed “rakish.” Her rig
also, in the main, was adapted to develop her sailing qualities,
and was of that hybridous character called “brigantine.” But
although her builder had so laboured to make her a fast vessel,
she was still roomy, and presented a more extensive interior
than one would have expected. Her forecastle was lofty, as was
also her after-deck, or poop, rising a good height above her
deck; and though she was low midships, or in that part of her
hull between the forecastle and poop, this showed her dimensions
to disadvantage. There were two brass guns mounted on her
forecastle, and two others, of rather a larger bore, on her
poop, which was further defended by a long swivel-gun, peeping
out on her stern. With this latter part of the ship, where his
labours finished, the builder had taken considerable pains,
having adorned its outline with a border of relievo flowers,
enclosing, about the centre of the elevation, an ingenious
representation of three casements. The two outer casements were
represented to be open, and here the artist had found room to
show his knowledge of details; the ideal aperture of the two
casements, by the introduction of some white paint at the top,
in contradistinction to the original ground of black, exhibiting
the mingled effects of light and shade. Immediately beneath these
casements, in large old English characters, was the ship’s name,
thus:--
=_ELIZA_=.
The day had yet hardly opened at the time we mark the position
and general appearance of this goodly ship. Nevertheless, the
deck was not vacant, and sounds arose from below, both fore and
aft, that proclaimed the whole crew to be up and stirring. In
the after part of the ship, in particular, one could distinguish
sounds of mirth and festivity, and occasionally there would
rise from the cabin a shout of laughter, that no human heart
could have heard unmoved. It has been said that the deck was not
vacant, and, indeed, it presented, in the fore part of the ship,
a very varied picture of human feelings and passions. There might
be seen, in the faces of the several persons scattered around,
the indications of the most conflicting sentiments--the traces
of hope, sorrow, love, eagerness, and expectation. There, among
others, stood the father, whispering his parting injunctions
to his child; the wife giving her farewell prayers to her
husband; the lover pouring hope into the heart of his sobbing
mistress; and the daring, thoughtless, and eager adventurer, free
from care, and overflowing with buoyancy, caroling some light
love-song, and looking forward with impatience to a time of peril
and action.
On the after-deck there were but two persons. One of these, who
wore the garb of a common seaman, was on the watch, or, rather,
as the ship was not at sea, and so kept no regular watch, stood
as a sort of sentry, to overlook and preserve the general order.
The other person was walking to and fro; and was evidently, to
judge from his dress and bearing, of a station superior to any
on the deck. Indeed, he was no other than Master Halyard, the
lieutenant, or, as he loved to be called for shortness, Master
Benjamin Halyard, mariner.
In person Master Halyard afforded little ground for remark. He
was of the middle size, and, though somewhat inclined to be over
broad, well limbed, and fairly proportioned. His countenance,
notwithstanding that it was somewhat weather-beaten, was
good-looking--not only because its individual features were good,
but because of the lightness, buoyancy, and goodnature that
were visible in every line of its general expression. These few
words are sufficient to give an idea of his appearance; and his
character, so far as it need be mentioned here, may be treated
as summarily. Nevertheless, it was not without singularity, or
traits that insured it respect and attention. If his manners were
rough, his heart was kind and compassionate; and though he was
slow to plan, he was prompt to act, and never flinched in the
hour of peril. Indeed, he always kept in view, for his guidance
through the vicissitudes of life, a maxim that raised him above
fear, by reminding him that troubles were but of brief duration,
and that good and evil alike must ultimately come to an end. This
maxim he had always at hand, and, whenever occasion served, he
never failed to set forth, in his very loudest tone of voice,
that “life is but short: let us live well on the road, says the
gentle shepherd of Salisbury plain.” The spirit of his maxim he
enforced, not only by constantly repeating it, but by the effect
of his own example, on every one under his control, although his
general disposition, to borrow a phrase of his own, was “no ways
particular,” and rarely inclined him to interfere with others.
Such was the man who, at the time already specified, walked to
and fro on the quarter-deck of the “Eliza,” smoking a short pipe
as he passed along. He had, however, taken but two or three turns
of the deck, when the look-out man, coming right in his path,
brought him to a stand.
“’Tis four of the clock, master,” said the look-out man.
“Ah, Tom Tarpaulin,” answered the lieutenant, quickly, for it
was necessary to give his orders with promptitude; “life is but
short: let us live well on the road, says the gentle shepherd of
Salisbury plain. Strike eight bells!”
“Ay, ay, Sir!” replied Tarpaulin.
Quick as thought, he skipped up the poop, and ran to a frame of
wood-work, about three feet high, that stood in front of the
compass-box. From this hung a large bell, which he seized round
the top; and taking up a hammer that lay beneath, he struck on
the inside of the bell eight distinct taps, thereby signifying to
the crew, in the manner they best understood, that it was four
o’clock.
Hardly had the bell given utterance to the eighth stroke, when
Halyard, turning his face towards the forecastle, desired the
men forward to give a call for the boatswain. The boatswain,
however, being within hearing, forestalled all further calls, and
presented himself on the quarter-deck before any voice had been
raised but the lieutenant’s.
“Ay, ay, Sir!” he cried.
“Pipe all hands to heave up the anchor,” said the lieutenant.
“Ay, ay, Sir!” answered the boatswain.
And while the accents were yet on his lips, he drew forth
an earthenware whistle, gaily trimmed with silver, from the
waistband of his canvas trousers, and, raising it to his mouth,
made the air ring with its shrill and ear-piercing notes.
All was now bustle throughout the ship. Not only forward, but
aft, the summons of the boatswain was obeyed, and four persons
came up the hatchway from the chief cabin who wore the garb of
gentlemen. Among these were Hildebrand Clifford, the captain, and
his friend Sir Walter Raleigh; but the others appeared to have
no connection with the ship, and to have come there only as Sir
Walter’s friends.
Just as they stepped on the deck, the boatswain brought his
whistle to a close, and replaced the pipe, to call it by its
nautical name, in the band of his trousers.
“All hands heave up the anchor!” he cried.
Pursuant to this order, the crew all hurried to the quarter-deck,
where, directly in front of the poop, at an elevation of about
five feet from the deck, stood the capstan, by means of which
the anchor was to be raised. This was quickly rigged with some
half-dozen levers, about three feet apart, and the sailors
planted themselves behind the levers, two or three abreast, and
waited the signal to begin.
“Give way, my hearts!” cried Hildebrand, who now took the
command: “Give way!”
There was no reply to this order, but the sailors, grasping a
firmer hold of the several levers, at once obeyed, wheeling
gaily round the capstan, and singing with one voice as they
progressed:--
“Yo, ho, yo! merriman, hoy!
Yo, ho, hoy! merriman!”
Few of the various by-standers heard their stirring chorus
without emotion. In many of them it raised the most bitter pang
of tortured affection--it was the knell of separation--the first
sad note of departure and parting. Still, after a few moments’
interval, when the first thrills of affection had subsided, it
had a cheering influence, and many a pale face around wore a
smile, which, though tinged with sadness, plainly showed that the
heart was full of hope and expectation.
At length, the cable was all hauled in, and the anchor heaved
up to the bows, and there, with the aid of a stout chain, made
secure. The goodly bark was at liberty, and all but her gallant
crew were now to quit her deck.
In the gangway, preparing to descend into one of the boats that
were alongside, stood Sir Walter Raleigh, and his two friends.
The two latter had already bidden Hildebrand farewell, but Sir
Walter, who was the foremost of the three, held him by the hand
still.
“I will bear it in mind, worthy Master Clifford,” he said, in
an under tone. “Shedlock shall never know from me, or any but
thyself, aught that hath passed, though, by my lady’s hand, I
could tear the knave’s heart from his body, if ’twere but to see
what ’tis made of.”
“Indeed, ’twould be to my disadvantage just now, noble Sir, that
he should know I am thy poor friend,” said Hildebrand.
“It might, it might!” observed Sir Walter. “Have no doubt of my
secresy. Farewell, and God keep thee, my friend!”
“Farewell! farewell!” said Hildebrand.
They shook hands again, and, this done, Sir Walter and his
friends, without further observation, descended to their boat.
All the other strangers had departed before, and none but her
proper crew remained on board the “Eliza.”
Once parted from his friends, Hildebrand stepped quickly
across the deck, and mounted to the poop. Glancing forward,
he perceived that the white sails were all loosened, and were
beginning to expand to the wind: the men were scattered in
groups, in different parts of the ship; and every eye, from
Master Halyard’s downwards, was turned wistfully on him. As he
observed the general attention, Hildebrand doffed his plumed hat,
and raised it gaily in the air.
“One cheer for merry England!” he exclaimed.
There was a dead pause for a moment: then the welkin rang with a
hearty hurrah!