Adieu, oh fatherland! I see
Your white cliffs on the horizon’s rim,
And though to freer skies I flee,
My heart swells, and my eyes are dim!
WILLIS.
O’er the glad waters of the dark blue sea,
Our thoughts as boundless, and our souls as free,
Far as the breeze can bear, the billows foam,
Survey our empire and behold our home.
These are our realms, no limits to their sway,
Our flag the sceptre all who meet obey.
BYRON.
A neat, tight-built brig was preparing to sail from London. On her deck
might have been seen all the confusion usually attendant upon the
departure of a vessel from port. Men hurrying to and fro with
baggage—sailors hauling the ropes, and climbing the ladders, and
fastening the boats to the side—passengers getting on board, and
friends accompanying them for the sake of remaining with them to the
last moment—and the voices of all resounding in dissonant tones in the
air.
Among the passengers, two persons might have been particularly noticed.
One was an exceedingly delicate and lovely-looking woman, apparently
about the meridian of life. She was clad in black, and as she threw
aside her veil to ascend the plank leading to the vessel, she discovered
a face of such exquisite beauty, and an expression of such elevated
purity, that all who caught a passing glimpse of her lineaments, turned
to observe them more closely. She was alone, and borrowed the arm of a
sailor to walk the plank, ascending it with a firm and dignified tread.
As soon as she touched the vessel’s deck, she put a small piece of money
into the hand of her companion, drew her veil again tightly over her
face, and immediately sought the cabin.
The other was a young man of handsome exterior, who boarded the brig
just after the lady we have described had disappeared below. Walking
toward the stern of the vessel he leaned over the side. He remained thus
for some time, apparently absorbed in a pleasing revery, and heedless of
the bustle and confusion by which he was surrounded. At length he drew
from his pocket a letter, evidently written in a delicate female hand,
and read it with much interest—seemingly pondering upon every line of
it with that lengthened perusal which a man bestows only upon the
epistolary communications of the woman of his love.
Finally the preparations were ended. A bell rang, and those persons who
intended to remain in England left the vessel. Slowly she got under way,
and the breeze soon bore her out of sight of the harbor.
A voyage at sea is monotonous in the extreme; the only incident that can
occur to give it positive variety being either a wreck or a
capture—that variety is a thing to be dreaded, not desired. The
smallest change in the weather—the sight of a bird or a fish—the
meeting of another vessel—form the highest objects of interest, and
epochs from which to date the flight of time.
In this manner six weeks passed away. The brig being bound for New
Haven, had arrived within a hundred knots of Block Island on a certain
afternoon, when the attention of the captain was attracted by the sight
of a sail.
Immediately men were sent aloft to spy the approaching stranger.
“It is plainly visible,” said the captain, after a long and anxious
search with a glass, to the young passenger we have described, who was
standing by his side.
The person addressed raised his own glass and swept the water in the
direction named. After one or two unsuccessful trials, his eye caught
the object.
“What do you make of it?” he asked.
“Unless I am greatly deceived, sir, there is a full-rigged vessel under
sail approaching us.”
The young man was silent for a few moments. He cast a cautious glance
over the crew, who were anxiously regarding the approaching vessel, that
was gradually becoming more and more distinct, and at length could be
seen with the naked eye. She was a sloop, her tall and symmetrical spars
rising against the sky in beautiful tapering lines, her sails set, and
making rapidly toward them from the southward, the wind being fair from
that quarter.
“A fine vessel,” said the passenger, addressing the captain. “I should
take her to be Spanish built.”
“It is quite an unusual thing to see a Spanish vessel in these parts,”
replied the captain, lifting his glass again. “She shows no colors,”
added he, as he looked through it. “I cannot make out of what country
she is.”
At that instant, without hoisting colors or hailing, two shots were
discharged from the sloop, one of which glanced across the bows of the
brig, and ran dipping into the water, while the other went through her
sail.
The captain replied by hailing the sloop through a speaking-trumpet, and
demanding what she was, and wherefore she was guilty of this unprovoked
hostility.
The only answer he received was the command, in a stern voice, “Down
with your sails, and we will presently show you who we are.”
It was evident now that the brig was assailed by pirates, and the
captain knowing that the command to lay-to would be immediately followed
by a broadside if he refused, and, being totally unarmed, perceived that
there remained no choice to him between flight and instant surrender.
The one, he knew, would be impossible, from the rapid advances which the
sloop had already made upon them, though the other was still less
consonant with his inclinations.
The order was therefore given to clear the deck for the reception of the
pirates. The mandate was received by the crew in sullen silence, and a
few of the younger and more fiery of the sailors were seen to shake
their heads, as if they disapproved of a step, however necessary, that
seemed thus cowardly. Whatever might have been the private feelings of
the captain, when the character and force of his enemy were clearly
established, he betrayed no signs of indecision from the time when his
resolution appeared to be taken. He issued the further requisite
commands from the spot where he first stood, in perfect calmness, and
with that distinctness and readiness so important to one in his
position.
A boat was at once lowered by the sloop and filled with armed hands,
which rowed to take possession of their easy prize.
The eye of the passenger never quitted the vessel as it approached. The
main-deck presented a picture of mingled unquietness and repose. Many of
the seamen were seen seated on their guns, with their cheeks pressing
the rude metal which served them for a pillow. Others lay along the deck
with their heads resting on the hatches. A first glance might have
induced the belief that all were buried in the most profound slumber.
But the quick jerking of a line, the sudden shifting of a position,
required only to be noticed to prove that the living silence that
reigned throughout was not born either of apathy or repose.
“Perhaps you might pacify them by fair words,” said the young man, as he
still stood by the captain’s side.
“There is no hope of that.”
“Is there not a lady below?”
“There is,” answered the captain. “I had forgotten her until this
moment.”
“I will see to her,” replied the other, and turning away, he quickly
disappeared below. He had known that there was a female on board, but as
she had throughout the passage kept the cabin, and taken all her meals
in private, he had not yet seen her.
When he entered, she was seated at a table in the centre of the cabin.
An elbow rested on it, and one fair hand supported a brow that was
thoughtful even beyond the usual character of its expression.
He felt the blood rush to his heart, for he fancied the beautiful and
pensive countenance before him was familiar. He stood uncertain, when
the hand was removed from her face, and raising her head, she perceived
that she was no longer alone. Their eyes met, and each started with a
mutual glance of recognition. In her he beheld the wife and daughter of
the regicides; and she, in turn, had little difficulty in tracing in his
features, now matured to manhood, those of the youth who had borne the
basket of provisions to and fro, and who had spent a night in the cave.
In a word, Alice Heath and Frank Stanley had met.
If Stanley had before felt for the lady’s situation on board of a
captured vessel, merely from the compassionate feelings due to her sex,
with how much more sympathy did he regard her now. After his interview
with Jessy Ellet, on the night before his departure for England, with
suspicions aroused in his mind that she whom he beheld might be the
mother of that object of his affections, how painful, too, to him must
have been the thought that the worst fears her mind might have suggested
would probably be realized.
“I fear I can do little to quiet your apprehensions, madam. I have
before had occasion to witness your strength of mind and courage, and,
all things considered, I deem it best to prepare you for the worst. The
ship is attacked by pirates, and being unprepared for defense, has been
obliged to surrender. I will remain with you, and protect you as far as
I am able.”
Alice received the awful information with calmness.
Meanwhile, Stanley had scarcely left the deck ere the boat drew
alongside, and a number of men jumped on board. One of them, of about
thirty years of age, who was evidently the commander, approached the
captain, and claimed the brig.
This person was a man of a tall and bulky form, and attired in a dress
which seemed to have been studied with much care, although the style of
it exhibited more extravagance than taste. Several pistols were fastened
by a leathern belt around his waist.
“By what warrant do you stop me thus on the high seas?” asked the
captain of the brig.
“You shall have the perusal of any of my warrants that you may desire,”
replied the other, pointing to the pistols at his belt.
“You mean that you intend to capture us,” said the captain. “Be it so,
then; but use civility toward the lady-passenger in the cabin.”
“Civility to the lady passenger!” echoed the pirate commander; “nay, we
will use more than mere civility to her: for when are we otherwise than
civil to the women, and, if they be fair, kind to boot? Where is this
dulcinea? We will see her, for she may be the flower of our prize.”
So saying, he turned on his heel and descended to the cabin. The captain
of the captured brig followed, hoping that his presence might in some
measure serve to protect the lady.
“A beautiful woman,” exclaimed the pirate, as he entered. “None of your
youthful lasses, but a ripened specimen of the sex: and with a look of
sorrow, too, enough to soften the heart of a stone. Come,” added he,
“most fair and lovely queen of affliction, let me sympathize with you.”
The lady drew her veil closely over her face, and with much offended
dignity endeavored to extricate herself from his grasp.
“Let go of her, sir,” exclaimed Stanley, in a tone of anger.
“Why should I let her go; and by what right do you interfere in her
behalf?” replied the pirate, turning roughly upon the speaker.
“Because I command you, sir, and because I will protect her with my
life.”
“_You_ command me, indeed!” sneered the pirate. “You shall see then what
weight your commands have with me. Come,” he continued, addressing the
lady, “cast aside this muffling: you have a face, from the glimpse I
caught just now, that can bear to be uncovered with the best.”
Suiting the action to the word, the ruffian had torn off Alice’s veil,
when Stanley interposed, and strode him a blow which sent him reeling to
the farthest end of the cabin. He fell heavily against the brass railing
of the stair-way, and lay completely stunned. It was evident that his
head had come in contact with the metal in his fall, for the blood
streamed from it copiously. The noise brought the other pirates into the
cabin. Seeing their commander in the plight we have described, they
raised him and placed him on a berth.
Demanding next an explanation from Stanley and the captain of the brig,
they seized upon them both and bore them on deck, where they were placed
under a guard, and threatened, if they were guilty of another
aggression, with instant death. With regard to the lady, considering her
as the lawful booty of their commander, they contented themselves with
uttering jests at her expense.
Whilst the incidents above related were occurring, the brig had been got
under way again, by her captors, and was moving on in the wake of the
sloop, which had changed its course, and was putting towards land in a
north-easterly direction.