FLORETTE.
In consequence of the information obtained from the Hornet, the head
of the Raker was turned more to windward, in order to intercept the
convoy of merchantmen; but, owing to miscalculations of their
bearings, she lost them entirely, and after keeping her course several
days, hauled up again, and bore off on her former track.
Florette had wasted away like a flower in midsummer. Each succeeding
hour seemed to bear off upon its wings some portion of her beauty and
bloom, as the winds steal away the fragrance from the rose, and leave
it at length withered and dying. Her mind seemed also to waste with
her body--her brain was fevered, and the form of the pirate seemed to
be always before her gaze.
The night had set in calm and beautiful, though the wind blew strong,
and the waves were high, yet the heavens were cloudless, and the
bright stars glided along the upper deep, like bubbles bathed in
silver light.
Julia sat by the side of Florette, in the cabin, gazing with anxious
melancholy upon her wan yet beautiful countenance, and striving to
direct her wandering thoughts by her own counsel.
"Florette, you seem happier to-night?"
"O, yes! I am happier--do you not see how he smiles upon me; his face
is not dark to me. See! he beckons me to follow him!"
And rising, she began to ascend the steps that led from the cabin.
"Florette, where are you going?"
"With William."
Julia seized her hand and led her gently back to her seat.
"Come, you are not well enough to go upon deck--let us talk of
something else. Do you not long to see France again?"
"France, la belle France?" murmured the poor girl.
"Yes, your own France."
"I see the home of my childhood; O, is it not beautiful! How full the
vine-tree hangs with the clustering grape, and the village girls are
dancing on the green. I see myself among them--and I look smiling and
happy; but, O! there is William! how dark he looks as he gazes through
the vines upon me; he beckons me away. I will come! I will come!"
Julia wept as she looked sorrowfully upon this wreck of happiness and
beauty.
"My dear Florette, I hope you will yet again dance with your village
girls beneath the bower of vines you seem to see."
"O, never, never! Did I not tell you I should never see France again?
No, no! I am going to William, he is impatient. See! he frowns!" and
again she strove to break from Julia, but suffered herself to be
restrained by the gentle violence of her companion.
"Come, Florette, will you not sleep?"
A gleam of intelligence seemed to pass across her countenance, and her
eyes lighted as if with a sudden resolve. She was too weak to escape
from Julia, and with the cunning which so often characterizes the
fevered mind, she determined to attain by deception, what she saw
could not be done otherwise.
"Yes, lady, I will sleep."
And with a smile upon her lips she closed her eyes, and wrapping her
long scarf about her, fell back upon the couch.
Julia watched her long. In the dim light of the cabin-lamp she did not
perceive that occasionally those bright eyes were half opened, and
fastened upon her impatiently.
Satisfied at length that she was asleep, Julia gently left the cabin,
and stole upon the deck, where Lieutenant Morris anxiously awaited
her.
The moment her light form vanished, the invalid rose from her couch,
and, with a triumphant smile, gazed round the vacant cabin.
"There is no one here now, William, but you and I. Now I will go with
you to your beautiful home in the sea. Stay a moment, let me arrange
my toilette. I do not look as well as I did, William, or this glass
deceives me; but it matters not, you look kindly on me still, and I am
happy now--happier than I have been for a long time. There, William, I
am ready!" and following the shadow of her imagination, she glided
with a stealthy step to the deck.
Lieutenant Morris and Julia were slowly pacing the deck, with their
heads bent forward, forgetful of every thing but themselves; a light
step was heard close behind them, and the low rustling of garments.
They turned to look, but too late; Florette sprung past them, her foot
rested on the gunwale, and with the cry, "I follow you, William!" the
form of the girl disappeared over the side of the brig.
Lieutenant Morris sprung forward, and the cry of "man overboard!" was
heard from the look-out; the sails were immediately thrown a-back, and
the boat lowered--but the body of Florette was not found. Her long
scarf was picked up, stained with blood; the worthy tar shuddered as
he gazed upon it.
"Jack, I told you that shark was not following us for nothing; he's
been in our wake now these ten days. I knew somebody on board had got
to go to Davy Jones's locker."
"Poor girl! but heave ahead, Bill, it's no use after this, you know."
Julia was terribly shocked at the dreadful fate of Florette, and
retiring to the cabin, she wept sadly, and long, for the poor
girl--this last victim of the _scourge of the ocean_, murdered no less
by him than were the hundreds his bloody hand had struck dead with the
sword. Even the rude seamen shed tears for the lost and ill-fated
girl; and a silence like that of the death-chamber reigned on board
the little brig, as it swept noiselessly over the waters. No class of
people are more proverbially light-hearted and thoughtless than
seamen. The sad event of the preceding night seemed to have passed
from the memories of all on board the Raker with the morning's
dawn--from all save Julia. She, indeed, often thought of the
unfortunate Florette, and her eyes were red, as if from much weeping,
long after the pirate's mistress had been forgotten by all others.
To Lieutenant Morris it was but an event in an eventful life, and if
not wholly forgotten by him, yet slumbered in his memory with other
deeds he had witnessed, as melancholy and appalling as the death of
the poor girl--for his thoughts were too entirely occupied by his love
for Julia, and the necessary duties of his station, to find room for
other and sadder recollections.
Mr. Williams, who had just finished his morning glass, and with a pipe
in his mouth, was reclining in the stern-sheets, a little melancholy,
to be sure, but apparently wholly occupied in watching the long curls
of smoke, which the wind bore off to leeward, to mingle with the purer
air of ocean, was a little surprised when the young officer
approaching him, requested a moment's conversation on business of
importance.
"Certainly, certainly, sir."
"Mr. Williams, I am anxious to know if you approve of my attentions to
your daughter?"
The old gentleman, who had been blind to the progress of the
attachment between his daughter and Morris, seemed not to comprehend
him, which his inquiring gaze evinced.
"Would you be willing to accept of me as a son-in-law, sir?"
The worthy merchant had just drawn in a mouthful of smoke as this
question made the matter clear to him; the pipe fell from his lips,
and no small quantity of the smoke seemed to have gone down his
throat, as, instead of giving any intelligible answer to the
proposition, he was seized with a violent fit of coughing.
The anxious lover folded his arms with a half smile upon his
countenance, and waited till his desired information could be
obtained.
"Whew!" exclaimed the merchant; "excuse me, sir. Confound the smoke! I
understand you, sir; but it took me by surprise. Have you said any
thing to Julia about this?"
"She has herself referred me to you, if your answer is favorable, I
shall have no reason to despair."
"Ah! has it gone so far as this?"
"I trust you do not regret it, sir."
"You are not an Englishman, Lieutenant Morris, I believe."
"Well, sir--that is one objection."
"You are an enemy of England, are you not?"
"I can't deny it, sir."
"Well, there's two objections--and I suppose I might find more; but it
seems to me that's enough."
As the old gentleman said this with a very decided air, he picked up
his pipe, and began filling it again.
"I do not think those are strong objections, sir; if I am not myself
an Englishman, my forefathers were, and of good old English blood; and
if I am an enemy of England, I am neither your enemy nor your
daughter's."
"Well, that's all true, but it don't look natural, somehow, that my
daughter should marry an American."
"Such things have happened, however."
"I suppose likely; but, young man, I am not rich. What little I had
was taken away by the pirate, and I havn't seen it since."
"I care nothing for that, sir."
"But I do."
"I mean, Mr. Williams, that my love for your daughter will not be
influenced one way or the other by the riches or poverty of her
father."
"You seem to be a whole-souled man, anyway, Lieutenant Morris; and if
you were only an Englishman, you should have my daughter for that
speech, if for nothing else, you should, by St. George! I recollect
when I was rich, the young men were round Julia as thick as bees; and
when I failed, Lord! how they scattered!"
"My dear sir, I am rich enough for us all; beside a large amount of
prize-money, my family estate is not small."
This last remark seemed to produce a deeper effect upon the old
gentleman than any thing that had been said.
"Well, well, boy, I will think of it."
Lieutenant Morris was wise enough to say no more at that time; he saw
that he had nearly, if not quite, secured the old gentleman's assent;
and leaving him, he went forward.
Mr. Williams followed his manly form with his eyes, as he stepped
lightly over the deck.
"Pity he's not an Englishman--confounded pity. He's a fine-looking
fellow--never saw a better; rich, too. Well, I'll go and talk with
Julia. After all, it will be pretty much as she says about it, I
suppose."
That same evening Julia told her lover that her father would not
oppose their marriage after the war had closed, but that he was
strongly opposed to its taking place any sooner."
"But it may last forever, Julia."
"Well, I hope not."
"If it does?"
"Why then I'll make father change his mind, I think."
Morris laughed, and clasped her to his bosom, the broad main-sail hid
them from observation, and he impressed upon her lips a kiss, warm as
his devoted love--not the first kiss of love, for he had been a poor
suitor, indeed, if that had been the first. He then tried to persuade
Julia that she and her father should remain with the Raker, and go
with him to the States; but he did not expect compliance with this
request, and soon desisted from it, devoting the remainder of the
evening to such converse as was most delightful to him and Julia, but
which, doubtless, would be uninteresting to all others.
He had been afraid each morning that he should hear the cry of "Sail
insight!" for he had lost his ambition in his love; and he knew that
the first vessel they captured would be given to the crew of the Betsy
Allen, and that with them Julia and her father would depart. It was
with a feeling, then, that partook more of sadness than any other
emotion, that he heard the long-expected cry.
The sail in sight proved to be an English merchantman, which, as she
was a lazy sailer, was speedily overhauled. A gun brought her to. As
if determined, however, not to surrender without a shot, she replied
with as powerful a broadside as she could command, immediately
striking her flag. The only effect of her fire was to frighten poor
John, who had rashly remained upon deck. That courageous personage
fell upon his face, so suddenly, that his friend, Dick Halyard ran to
him, really supposing he was hit; there was, however, no other
expression than that of fear in the upturned countenance of John.
"O, lud, Dick! you are safe--how many are killed?"
"You are the only one, I believe, John."
"Me? I aint hit, be I?"
"Pshaw, John, get up," said Mr. Williams, approaching him angrily;
"don't you see everybody is laughing at you?"
John rose slowly, anxiously eyeing the merchantman, as if ready to
dodge the first flash.
"A fortunate escape, Dick."
"Yes, another adventure to tell the girls in Lonnon."
"Don't now, Dick."
The merchantman was richly laden, and the honest captain, who
doubtless had his own interest in her cargo, actually shed tears as he
saw the greater portion of it removed to the privateer. The crew of
the latter could not but pity his distress, but they thought, and none
could dispute the truth, that an English cruiser would have hardly
been moved by the sorrow and complaints of one of their own captains,
if he should fall into his hands. It was, moreover, in accordance with
the law and usage of nations at war, and the English captain felt that
he was kindly dealt with, when informed that he would be allowed to
depart with his vessel, on condition of conveying a number of his own
countrymen to their native shore. He contented himself, therefore,
with cursing the war, and all who caused it. As the peaceful mariner,
he neither knew why the two nations were at war, nor could he feel the
justice of any laws which involved him in ruin while quietly following
his avocation, content to let others alone if the same privilege could
be extended to him.
Strong arguments have indeed been urged against the _right_ of the
system of privateering! It is no part of our task either to defend or
to condemn it, yet it would seem evident that, looking at it as a
means of crippling an enemy more efficacious than any other that can
be devised, thereby hastening a return to peace, it cannot in its
broadest sense be deemed unjust or cruel. Private individuals must
suffer in every war, and fortune had ordained that the poor
merchantman should be one of them. It would doubtless have been
difficult to have persuaded him that he was suffering for the good of
his country. He certainly did not look nor feel remarkably like a
patriot, and would have much preferred not to have been used as a
means to accomplish the end of war, and the restoration of peace
between the two great contending powers.
He received Captain Horton, his crew and passengers, however, with
much affability, and when his ship had parted from the Raker, after
cursing the Yankees awhile in good old Saxon, his countenance was
restored in great measure to its wonted expression of good humor.
Julia and Lieutenant Morris had parted sorrowfully, yet full of hope
for the future. A heavy box was also conveyed to the merchantman by
orders of Lieutenant Morris, who told Mr. Williams it contained an
equivalent for his loss by the pirate. It did indeed contain a sum in
gold, which Mr. Williams would never have accepted had he had an
opportunity to refuse. It produced on his mind precisely the effect
which, without doubt, the young lieutenant intended that it should,
awakening a feeling of obligation, which would prevent his opposing
very strenuously the suit of the young American, which there was some
reason to fear might be the case after he had been separated from him
and returned to his own land.
In a short time the two vessels were out of sight of each other. The
merchantman reached England in safety, and Mr. Williams determined to
remain there, inasmuch as he was heartily sick of adventures on the
ocean; and the sum of money left in his hands by Lieut. Morris enabled
him to form a good business connection in London. With this
arrangement Julia also was pleased, as she felt sure that as soon as
the war closed her lover would be at her feet, and that the end of
hostilities would be peace and happiness to them, as well as to the
contending nations.