CHAPTER I.

Produced by Charles Aldarondo

JACK TIER;

OR

THE FLORIDA REEF

By James Fenimore Cooper

By The Author Of “The Pilot,” “Red Rover,” “Two Admirals,” “Wing And

Wing,” “Miles Wallingford,” Etc.

PREFACE.

This work has already appeared in Graham's Magazine, under the title

of “Rose Budd.” The change of name is solely the act of the author, and

arises from a conviction that the appellation given in this publication

is more appropriate than the one laid aside. The necessity of writing to

a name, instead of getting it from the incidents of the book itself, has

been the cause of this departure from the ordinary rules.

When this book was commenced, it was generally supposed that the Mexican

war would end, after a few months of hostilities. Such was never the

opinion of the writer. He has ever looked forward to a protracted

struggle; and, now that Congress has begun to interfere, sees as little

probability of its termination, as on the day it commenced. Whence

honourable gentlemen have derived their notions of the constitution,

when they advance the doctrine that Congress is an American Aulic

council, empowered to encumber the movements of armies, and, as old

Blucher expressed it in reference to the diplomacy of Europe, “to spoil

with the pen the work achieved by the sword,” it is difficult to say

more than this, that they do not get them from the constitution itself.

It has generally been supposed that the present executive was created in

order to avoid the very evils of a distracted and divided council,

which this new construction has a direct tendency to revive. But a

presidential election has ever proved, and probably will ever prove,

stronger than any written fundamental law.

We have had occasion to refer often to Mexico in these pages. It has

been our aim to do so in a kind spirit; for, while we have never doubted

that the factions which have possessed themselves of the government in

that country have done us great wrong, wrong that would have justified

a much earlier appeal to arms, we have always regarded the class

of Mexicans who alone can properly be termed the 'people,' as mild,

amiable, and disposed to be on friendly terms with us. Providence,

however, directs all to the completion of its own wise ends. If the

crust which has so long encircled that nation, enclosing it in bigotry

and ignorance, shall now be irretrievably broken, letting in light,

even Mexico herself may have cause hereafter to rejoice in her present

disasters. It was in this way that Italy has been, in a manner,

regenerated; the conquests of the French carrying in their train the

means and agencies which have, at length, aroused that glorious portion

of the earth to some of its ancient spirit. Mexico, in certain senses,

is the Italy of this continent; and war, however ruthless and much to

be deplored, may yet confer on her the inestimable blessings of real

liberty, and a religion released from “feux d'artifice,” as well as all

other artifices.

A word on the facts of our legend. The attentive observer of men and

things has many occasions to note the manner in which ordinary lookers

on deceive themselves, as well as others. The species of treason

portrayed in these pages is no uncommon occurrence; and it will often

be found that the traitor is the loudest in his protestations of

patriotism. It is a pretty safe rule to suspect the man of hypocrisy

who makes a parade of his religion, and the partisan of corruption and

selfishness, who is clamorous about the rights of the people. Captain

Spike was altogether above the first vice; though fairly on level, as

respects the second, with divers patriots who live by their deity.

VOLUME I.

CHAPTER I.

Pros.

Why, that's my spirit!

But was not this nigh shore?

Ariel.

Close by, my master.

Pros.

But are they, Ariel, safe?

Ariel.

Not a hair perished:

Tempest.

“D'ye here there, Mr. Mulford?” called out Capt. Stephen Spike, of the

half-rigged, brigantine Swash, or Molly Swash, as was her registered

name, to his mate--“we shall be dropping out as soon as the tide makes,

and I intend to get through the Gate, at least, on the next flood.

Waiting for a wind in port is lubberly seamanship, for he that wants one

should go outside and look for it.”

This call was uttered from a wharf of the renowned city of Manhattan, to

one who was in the trunk-cabin of a clipper-looking craft, of the name

mentioned, and on the deck of which not a soul was visible. Nor was the

wharf, though one of those wooden piers that line the arm of the sea

that is called the East River, such a spot as ordinarily presents itself

to the mind of the reader, or listener, when an allusion is made to

a wharf of that town which it is the fashion of the times to call

the Commercial Emporium of America--as if there might very well be an

emporium of any other character. The wharf in question had not a single

vessel of any sort lying at, or indeed very near it, with the exception

of the Molly Swash. As it actually stood on the eastern side of the

town, it is scarcely necessary to say that such a wharf could only be

found high up, and at a considerable distance from the usual haunts of

commerce. The brig lay more than a mile above the Hook (Corlaer's,

of course, is meant--not Sandy Hook) and quite near to the old Alms

House--far above the ship-yards, in fact. It was a solitary place for

a vessel, in the midst of a crowd. The grum top-chain voice of Captain

Spike had nothing there to mingle with, or interrupt its harsh tones,

and it instantly brought on deck Harry Mulford, the mate in question,

apparently eager to receive his orders.

“Did you hail, Captain Spike?” called out the mate, a tight, well-grown,

straight-built, handsome sailor-lad of two or three-and-twenty--one full

of health, strength and manliness.

“Hail! If you call straining a man's throat until he's hoarse, hailing,

I believe I did. I flatter myself, there is not a man north of Hatteras

that can make himself heard further in gale of wind than a certain

gentleman who is to be found within a foot of the spot where I stand.

Yet, sir, I've been hailing the Swash these five minutes, and thankful

am I to find some one at last who is on board to answer me.”

“What are your orders, Capt. Spike?”

“To see all clear for a start as soon as the flood makes. I shall go

through the Gate on the next young flood, and I hope you'll have all

the hands aboard in time. I see two or three of them up at that Dutch

beer-house, this moment, and can tell'em; in plain language, if they

come here with their beer aboard them, they'll have to go ashore again.”

“You have an uncommonly sober crew, Capt. Spike,” answered the young

man, with great calmness. “During the whole time I have been with them,

I have not seen a man among them the least in the wind.”

“Well, I hope it will turn out that I've an uncommonly sober mate in the

bargain. Drunkenness I abominate, Mr. Mulford, and I can tell you, short

metre, that I will not stand it.”

“May I inquire if you ever saw me, the least in the world, under the

influence of liquor, Capt. Spike?” demanded the mate, rather than asked,

with a very fixed meaning in his manner.

“I keep no log-book of trifles, Mr. Mulford, and cannot say. No man is

the worse for bowsing out his jib when off duty, though a drunkard's a

thing I despise. Well, well--remember, sir, that the Molly Swash casts

off on the young flood, and that Rose Budd and the good lady, her aunt,

take passage in her, this v'y'ge.”

“Is it possible that you have persuaded them into that, at last!”

exclaimed the handsome mate.

“Persuaded! It takes no great persuasion, sir, to get the ladies to try

their luck in that brig. Lady Washington herself, if she was alive and

disposed to a sea-v'y'ge, might be glad of the chance. We've a ladies'

cabin, you know, and it's suitable that it should have some one to

occupy it. Old Mrs. Budd is a sensible woman, and takes time by the

forelock. Rose is ailin'--pulmonary they call it, I believe, and her

aunt wishes to try the sea for her constitution--”

“Rose Budd has no more of a pulmonary constitution than I have myself,”

interrupted the mate.

“Well, that's as people fancy. You must know, Mr. Mulford, they've got

all sorts of diseases now-a-days, and all sorts of cures for'em. One

sort of a cure for consumption is what they tarm the Hyder-Ally--”

“I think you must mean hydropathy, sir--”

“Well it's something of the sort, no matter what--but cold water is at

the bottom of it, and they do say it's a good remedy. Now Rose's aunt

thinks if cold water is what is wanted, there is no place where it can

be so plenty as out on the ocean. Sea-air is good, too, and by taking a

v'y'ge her niece will get both requisites together, and cheap.”

“Does Rose Budd think herself consumptive, Capt. Spike?” asked Mulford,

with interest.

“Not she--you know it will never do to alarm a pulmonary, so Mrs. Budd

has held her tongue carefully on the subject before the young woman.

Rose fancies that her aunt is out of sorts, and that the v'y'ge is tried

on her account--but the aunt, the cunning thing, knows all about it.”

Mulford almost nauseated the expression of his commander's countenance

while Spike uttered the last words. At no time was that countenance very

inviting, the features being coarse and vulgar, while the color of the

entire face was of an ambiguous red, in which liquor and the seasons

would seem to be blended in very equal quantities. Such a countenance,

lighted up by a gleam of successful management, not to say with

hopes and wishes that it will hardly do to dwell on, could not but be

revolting to a youth of Harry Mulford's generous feelings, and most of

all to one who entertained the sentiments which he was quite conscious

of entertaining for Rose Budd. The young man made no reply, but turned

his face toward the water, in order to conceal the expression of disgust

that he was sensible must be strongly depicted on it.

The river, as the well-known arm of the sea in which the Swash was lying

is erroneously termed, was just at that moment unusually clear of craft,

and not a sail, larger than that of a boat, was to be seen between the

end of Blackwell's Island and Corlaer's Hook, a distance of about a

league. This stagnation in the movement of the port, at that particular

point, was owing to the state of wind and tide. Of the first, there was

little more than a southerly air, while the last was about two-thirds

ebb. Nearly everything that was expected on that tide, coast-wise,

and by the way of the Sound, had already arrived, and nothing could go

eastward, with that light breeze and under canvas, until the flood made.

Of course it was different with the steamers, who were paddling about

like so many ducks, steering in all directions, though mostly crossing

and re-crossing at the ferries. Just as Mulford turned away from his

commander, however, a large vessel of that class shoved her bows into

the view, doubling the Hook, and going eastward. The first glance at

this vessel sufficed to drive even Rose Budd momentarily out of the

minds of both master and mate, and to give a new current to their

thoughts. Spike had been on the point of walking up the wharf, but he

now so far changed his purpose as actually to jump on board of the brig

and spring up alongside of his mate, on the taffrail, in order to get

a better look at the steamer. Mulford, who loathed so much in his

commander, was actually glad of this, Spike's rare merit as a seaman

forming a sort of attraction that held him, as it might be against his

own will, bound to his service.

“What will they do next, Harry?” exclaimed the master, his manner and

voice actually humanized, in air and sound at least, by this unexpected

view of something new in his calling--“What will they do next?”

“I see no wheels, sir, nor any movement in the water astern, as if she

were a propeller,” returned the young man.

“She's an out-of-the-way sort of a hussy! She's a man-of-war, too--one

of Uncle Sam's new efforts.”

“That can hardly be, sir. Uncle Sam has but three steamers, of any size

or force, now the Missouri is burned; and yonder is one of them, lying

at the Navy Yard, while another is, or was lately, laid up at Boston.

The third is in the Gulf. This must be an entirely new vessel, if she

belong to Uncle Sam.”

“New! She's as new as a Governor, and they tell me they've got so now

that they choose five or six of them, up at Albany, every fall. That

craft is sea-going, Mr. Mulford, as any one can tell at a glance. She's

none of your passenger-hoys.”

“That's plain enough, sir--and she's armed. Perhaps she's English, and

they've brought her here into this open spot to try some new machinery.

Ay, ay! she's about to set her ensign to the navy men at the yard, and

we shall see to whom she belongs.”

A long, low, expressive whistle from Spike succeeded this remark, the

colours of the steamer going up to the end of a gaff on the sternmost

of her schooner-rigged masts, just as Mulford ceased speaking. There was

just air enough, aided by the steamer's motion, to open the bunting, and

let the spectators see the design. There were the stars and stripes,

as usual, but the last ran perpendicularly, instead of in a horizontal

direction.

“Revenue, by George!” exclaimed the master, as soon as his breath was

exhausted in the whistle. “Who would have believed they could screw

themselves up to doing such a thing in that bloody service?”

“I now remember to have heard that Uncle Sam was building some large

steamers for the revenue service, and, if I mistake not, with some new

invention to get along with, that is neither wheel nor propeller. This

must be one of these new craft, brought out here, into open water, just

to try her, sir.”

“You're right, sir, you're right. As to the natur' of the beast, you see

her buntin', and no honest man can want more. If there's anything I do

hate, it is that flag, with its unnat'ral stripes, up and down, instead

of running in the true old way. I have heard a lawyer say, that the

revenue flag of this country is onconstitutional, and that a vessel

carrying it on the high seas might be sent in for piracy.”

Although Harry Mulford was neither Puffendorf, nor Grotius, he had too

much common sense, and too little prejudice in favour of even his own

vocation, to swallow such a theory, had fifty Cherry Street lawyers

sworn to its justice. A smile crossed his fine, firm-looking mouth,

and something very like a reflection of that smile, if smiles can be

reflected in one's own countenance, gleamed in his fine, large, dark

eye.

“It would be somewhat singular, Capt, Spike,” he said, “if a vessel

belonging to any nation should be seized as a pirate. The fact that she

is national in character would clear her.”

“Then let her carry a national flag, and be d--d to her,” answered Spike

fiercely. “I can show you law for what I say, Mr. Mulford. The American

flag has its stripes fore and aft by law, and this chap carries his

stripes parpendic'lar. If I commanded a cruiser, and fell in with one

of these up and down gentry, blast me if I wouldn't just send him into

port, and try the question in the old Alms-House.”

Mulford probably did not think it worth while to argue the point any

further, understanding the dogmatism and stolidity of his commander too

well to deem it necessary. He preferred to turn to the consideration of

the qualities of the steamer in sight, a subject on which, as seamen,

they might better sympathize.

“That's a droll-looking revenue cutter, after all, Capt. Spike,” he

said--“a craft better fitted to go in a fleet, as a look-out vessel,

than to chase a smuggler in-shore.”

“And no goer in the bargain! I do not see how she gets along, for she

keeps all snug under water; but, unless she can travel faster than she

does just now, the Molly Swash would soon lend her the Mother Carey's

Chickens of her own wake to amuse her.”

“She has the tide against her, just here, sir; no doubt she would do

better in still water.”

Spike muttered something between his teeth, and jumped down on deck,

seemingly dismissing the subject of the revenue entirely from his mind.

His old, coarse, authoritative manner returned, and he again spoke to

his mate about Rose Budd, her aunt, the “ladies' cabin,” the “young

flood,” and “casting off,” as soon as the last made. Mulford listened

respectfully, though with a manifest distaste for the instructions he

was receiving. He knew his man, and a feeling of dark distrust came over

him, as he listened to his orders concerning the famous accommodations

he intended to give to Rose Budd and that “capital old lady, her aunt;”

his opinion of “the immense deal of good sea-air and a v'y'ge would

do Rose,” and how “comfortable they both would be on board the Molly

Swash.”

“I honour and respect, Mrs. Budd, as my captain's lady, you see, Mr.

Mulford, and intend to treat her accordin'ly. She knows it--and Rose

knows it--and they both declare they'd rather sail with me, since sail

they must, than with any other ship-master out of America.”

“You sailed once with Capt. Budd yourself, I think I have heard you say,

sir?”

“The old fellow brought me up. I was with him from my tenth to my

twentieth year, and then broke adrift to see fashions. We all do that,

you know, Mr. Mulford, when we are young and ambitious, and my turn came

as well as another's.”

“Capt. Budd must have been a good deal older than his wife, sir, if you

sailed with him when a boy,” Mulford observed a little drily.

“Yes; I own to forty-eight, though no one would think me more than five

or six-and-thirty, to look at me. There was a great difference between

old Dick Budd and his wife, as you say, he being about fifty, when he

married, and she less than twenty. Fifty is a good age for matrimony, in

a man, Mulford; as is twenty in a young woman.”

“Rose Budd is not yet nineteen, I have heard her say,” returned the

mate, with emphasis.

“Youngish, I will own, but that's a fault a liberal-minded man can

overlook. Every day, too, will lessen it. Well, look to the cabins, and

see all clear for a start. Josh will be down presently with a cart-load

of stores, and you'll take 'em aboard without delay.”

As Spike uttered this order, his foot was on the plank-sheer of the

bulwarks, in the act of passing to the wharf again. On reaching the

shore, he turned and looked intently at the revenue steamer, and his

lips moved, as if he were secretly uttering maledictions on her. We say

maledictions, as the expression of his fierce ill-favoured countenance

too plainly showed that they could not be blessings. As for Mulford,

there was still something on his mind, and he followed to the gangway

ladder and ascended it, waiting for a moment when the mind of his

commander might be less occupied to speak. The opportunity soon

occurred, Spike having satisfied himself with the second look at the

steamer.

“I hope you don't mean to sail again without a second mate, Capt.

Spike?” he said.

“I do though, I can tell you. I hate Dickies--they are always in the

way, and the captain has to keep just as much of a watch with one as

without one.”

“That will depend on his quality. You and I have both been Dickies in

our time, sir; and my time was not long ago.”

“Ay--ay--I know all about it--but you didn't stick to it long enough to

get spoiled. I would have no man aboard the Swash who made more than two

v'y'ges as second officer. As I want no spies aboard my craft, I'll try

it once more without a Dicky.”

Saying this in a sufficiently positive manner, Capt. Stephen Spike

rolled up the wharf, much as a ship goes off before the wind, now

inclining to the right, and then again to the left. The gait of the man

would have proclaimed him a sea-dog, to any one acquainted with that

animal, as far as he could be seen. The short squab figure, the arms

bent nearly at right angles at the elbow, and working like two fins with

each roll of the body, the stumpy, solid legs, with the feet looking in

the line of his course and kept wide apart, would all have contributed

to the making up of such an opinion. Accustomed as he was to this

beautiful sight, Harry Mulford kept his eyes riveted on the retiring

person of his commander, until it disappeared behind a pile of lumber,

waddling always in the direction of the more thickly peopled parts of

the town. Then he turned and gazed at the steamer, which, by this time,

had fairly passed the brig, and seemed to be actually bound through the

Gate. That steamer was certainly a noble-looking craft, but our young

man fancied she struggled along through the water heavily. She might be

quick at need, but she did not promise as much by her present rate of

moving. Still, she was a noble-looking craft, and, as Mulford descended

to the deck again, he almost regretted he did not belong to her; or, at

least, to anything but the Molly Swash.

Two hours produced a sensible change in and around that brigantine. Her

people had all come back to duty, and what was very remarkable among

seafaring folk, sober to a man. But, as has been said, Spike was a

temperance man, as respects all under his orders at least, if not

strictly so in practice himself. The crew of the Swash was large for a

half-rigged brig of only two hundred tons, but, as her spars were very

square, and all her gear as well as her mould seemed constructed for

speed, it was probable more hands than common were necessary to work her

with facility and expedition. After all, there were not many persons

to be enumerated among the “people of the Molly Swash,” as they called

themselves; not more than a dozen, including those aft, as well as those

forward. A peculiar feature of this crew, however, was the circumstance

that they were all middle-aged men, with the exception of the mate, and

all thorough-bred sea-dogs. Even Josh, the cabin-boy, as he was called,

was an old, wrinkled, gray-headed negro, of near sixty. If the crew

wanted a little in the elasticity of youth, it possessed the steadiness

and experience of their time of life, every man appearing to know

exactly what to do, and when to do it. This, indeed, composed their

great merit; an advantage that Spike well knew how to appreciate.

The stores had been brought alongside of the brig in a cart, and were

already showed in their places. Josh had brushed and swept, until the

ladies' cabin could be made no neater. This ladies' cabin was a small

apartment beneath a trunk, which was, ingeniously enough, separated

from the main cabin by pantries and double doors. The arrangement was

unusual, and Spike had several times hinted that there was a history

connected with that cabin; though what the history was Mulford never

could induce him to relate. The latter knew that the brig had been used

for a forced trade on the Spanish Main, and had heard something of

her deeds in bringing off specie, and proscribed persons, at different

epochs in the revolutions of that part of the world, and he had always

understood that her present commander and owner had sailed in her, as

mate, for many years before he had risen to his present station.

Now, all was regular in the way of records, bills of sale, and other

documents; Stephen Spike appearing in both the capacities just named.

The register proved that the brig had been built as far back as the last

English war, as a private cruiser, but recent and extensive repairs

had made her “better than new,” as her owner insisted, and there was no

question as to her sea-worthiness. It is true the insurance offices blew

upon her, and would have nothing to do with a craft that had seen her

two score years and ten; but this gave none who belonged to her any

concern, inasmuch as they could scarcely have been underwritten in their

trade, let the age of the vessel be what it might. It was enough for

them that the brig was safe and exceedingly fast, insurances never

saving the lives of the people, whatever else might be their advantages.

With Mulford it was an additional recommendation, that the Swash was

usually thought to be of uncommonly just proportions.

By half-past two, P. M., everything was ready for getting the brigantine

under way. Her fore-topsail--or foretawsail as Spike called it--was

loose, the fasts were singled, and a spring had been carried to a post

in the wharf, that was well forward of the starboard bow, and the brig's

head turned to the southwest, or down the stream, and consequently

facing the young flood. Nothing seemed to connect the vessel with

the land but a broad gangway plank, to which Mulford had attached

life-lines, with more care than it is usual to meet with on board of

vessels employed in short voyages. The men stood about the decks with

their arms thrust into the bosoms of their shirts, and the whole picture

was one of silent, and possibly of somewhat uneasy expectation. Nothing

was said, however; Mulford walking the quarter-deck alone, occasionally

looking up the still little tenanted streets of that quarter of the

suburbs, as if to search for a carriage. As for the revenue-steamer,

she had long before gone through the southern passage of Blackwell's,

steering for the Gate.

“Dat's dem, Mr. Mulford,” Josh at length cried, from the look-out he had

taken in a stern-port, where he could see over the low bulwarks of the

vessel. “Yes, dat's dem, sir. I know dat old gray horse dat carries his

head so low and sorrowful like, as a horse has a right to do dat has to

drag a cab about this big town. My eye! what a horse it is, sir!”

Josh was right, not only as to the gray horse that carried his head

“sorrowful like,” but as to the cab and its contents. The vehicle was

soon on the wharf, and in its door soon appeared the short, sturdy

figure of Capt. Spike, backing out, much as a bear descends a tree. On

top of the vehicle were several light articles of female appliances, in

the shape of bandboxes, bags, &c., the trunks having previously arrived

in a cart. Well might that over-driven gray horse appear sorrowful,

and travel with a lowered head. The cab, when it gave up its contents,

discovered a load of no less than four persons besides the driver, all

of weight, and of dimensions in proportion, with the exception of the

pretty and youthful Rose Budd. Even she was plump, and of a well-rounded

person; though still light and slender. But her aunt was a fair picture

of a ship-master's widow; solid, comfortable and buxom. Neither was

she old, nor ugly. On the contrary, her years did not exceed forty, and

being well preserved, in consequence of never having been a mother,

she might even have passed for thirty-five. The great objection to her

appearance was the somewhat indefinite character of her shape, which

seemed to blend too many of its charms into one. The fourth person, in

the fare, was Biddy Noon, the Irish servant and factotum of Mrs. Budd,

who was a pock-marked, red-faced, and red-armed single woman, about her

mistress's own age and weight, though less stout to the eye.

Of Rose we shall not stop to say much here. Her deep-blue eye, which was

equally spirited and gentle, if one can use such contradictory terms,

seemed alive with interest and curiosity, running over the brig, the

wharf, the arm of the sea, the two islands, and all near her, including

the Alms-House, with such a devouring rapidity as might be expected in

a town-bred girl, who was setting out on her travels for the first time.

Let us be understood; we say town-bred, because such was the fact; for

Rose Budd had been both born and educated in Manhattan, though we are

far from wishing to be understood that she was either very well-born,

or highly educated. Her station in life may be inferred from that of

her aunt, and her education from her station. Of the two, the last was,

perhaps, a trifle the highest.

We have said that the fine blue eye of Rose passed swiftly over the

various objects near her, as she alighted from the cab, and it naturally

took in the form of Harry Mulford, as he stood in the gangway, offering

his arm to aid her aunt and herself in passing the brig's side. A smile

of recognition was exchanged between the young people, as their eyes

met, and the colour, which formed so bright a charm in Rose's sweet

face, deepened, in a way to prove that that colour spoke with a tongue

and eloquence of its own. Nor was Mulford's cheek mute on the occasion,

though he helped the hesitating, half-doubting, half-bold girl along

the plank with a steady hand and rigid muscles. As for the aunt, as

a captain's widow, she had not felt it necessary to betray any

extraordinary emotions in ascending the plank, unless, indeed, it might

be those of delight on finding her foot once more on the deck of a

vessel!

Something of the same feeling governed Biddy, too, for, as Mulford

civilly extended his hand to her also, she exclaimed--“No fear of me,

Mr. Mate--I came from Ireland by wather, and knows all about ships and

brigs, I do. If you could have seen the times we had, and the saas we

crossed, you'd not think it nadeful to say much to the likes iv me.”

Spike had tact enough to understand he would be out of his element in

assisting females along that plank, and he was busy in sending what he

called “the old lady's dunnage” on board, and in discharging the cabman.

As soon as this was done, he sprang into the main-channels, and thence

vid the bulwarks, on deck, ordering the plank to be hauled aboard. A

solitary labourer was paid a quarter to throw off the fasts from the

ring-bolts and posts, and everything was instantly in motion to cast

the brig loose. Work went on as if the vessel were in haste, and it

consequently went on with activity. Spike bestirred himself, giving

his orders in a way to denote he had been long accustomed to exercise

authority on the deck of a vessel, and knew his calling to its minutiæ.

The only ostensible difference between his deportment to-day and on any

ordinary occasion, perhaps, was in the circumstance that he now seemed

anxious to get clear of the wharf, and that in a way which might

have attracted notice in any suspicious and attentive observer. It is

possible that such a one was not very distant, and that Spike was aware

of his presence, for a respectable-looking, well-dressed, middle-aged

man had come down one of the adjacent streets, to a spot within a

hundred yards of the wharf, and stood silently watching the movements

of the brig, as he leaned against a fence. The want of houses in that

quarter enabled any person to see this stranger from the deck of the

Swash, but no one on board her seemed to regard him at all, unless it

might be the master.

“Come, bear a hand, my hearty, and toss that bow-fast clear,” cried the

captain, whose impatience to be off seemed to increase as the time to do

so approached nearer and nearer. “Off with it, at once, and let her go.”

The man on the wharf threw the turns of the hawser clear of the post,

and the Swash was released forward. A smaller line, for a spring, had

been run some distance along the wharves, ahead of the vessel, and

brought in aft. Her people clapped on this, and gave way to their

craft, which, being comparatively light, was easily moved, and was very

manageable. As this was done, the distant spectator who had been leaning

on the fence moved toward the wharf with a step a little quicker than

common. Almost at the same instant, a short, stout, sailor-like looking

little person, waddled down the nearest street, seeming to be in

somewhat of a hurry, and presently he joined the other stranger, and

appeared to enter into conversation with him; pointing toward the Swash

as he did so. All this time, both continued to advance toward the wharf.

In the meanwhile, Spike and his people were not idle. The tide did not

run very strong near the wharves and in the sort of a bight in which the

vessel had lain; but, such as it was, it soon took the brig on her inner

bow, and began to cast her head off shore. The people at the spring

pulled away with all their force, and got sufficient motion on their

vessel to overcome the tide, and to give the rudder an influence. The

latter was put hard a-starboard, and helped to cast the brig's head to

the southward.

Down to this moment, the only sail that was loose on board the Swash was

the fore-topsail, as mentioned. This still hung in the gear, but a hand

had been sent aloft to overhaul the buntlines and clewlines, and men

were also at the sheets. In a minute the sail was ready for hoisting.

The Swash carried a wapper of a fore-and-aft mainsail, and, what is

more, it was fitted with a standing gaff, for appearance in port. At

sea, Spike knew better than to trust to this arrangement; but in fine

weather, and close in with the land, he found it convenient to have

this sail haul out and brail like a ship's spanker. As the gaff was now

aloft, it was only necessary to let go the brails to loosen this broad

sheet of canvas, and to clap on the out-hauler, to set it. This was

probably the reason why the brig was so unceremoniously cast into the

stream, without showing more of her cloth. The jib and flying-jibs,

however, did at that moment drop beneath their booms, ready for

hoisting.

Such was the state of things as the two strangers came first upon

the wharf. Spike was on the taffrail, overhauling the main-sheet, and

Mulford was near him, casting the foretopsail braces from the pins,

preparatory to clapping on the halyards.

“I say, Mr. Mulford,” asked the captain, “did you ever see either of

them chaps afore? These jokers on the wharf, I mean.”

“Not to my recollection, sir,” answered the mate, looking over the

taffrail to examine the parties. “The little one is a burster! The

funniest-looking little fat old fellow I've seen in many a day.”

“Ay, ay, them fat little bursters, as you call 'em, are sometimes full

of the devil. I do n't like either of the chaps, and am right glad we

are well cast, before they got here.”

“I do not think either would be likely to do us much harm, Capt. Spike.”

“There's no knowing sir. The biggest fellow looks as if he might lug out

a silver oar at any moment.”

“I believe the silver oar is no longer used, in this country at least,”

answered Mulford, smiling. “And if it were, what have we to fear from

it? I fancy the brig has paid her reckoning.”

“She do n't owe a cent, nor ever shall for twenty-four hours after the

bill is made out, while I own her. They call me ready-money Stephen,

round among the ship-chandlers and caulkers. But I do n't like them

chaps, and what I do n't relish I never swallow, you know.”

“They 'll hardly try to get aboard us, sir; you see we are quite clear

of the wharf, and the mainsail will take now, if we set it.”

Spike ordered the mate to clap on the outhauler, and spread that broad

sheet of canvas at once to the little breeze there was. This was almost

immediately done, when the sail filled, and began to be felt on the

movement of the vessel. Still, that movement was very slow, the wind

being so light, and the vis inertioe of so large a body remaining to

be overcome. The brig receded from the wharf, almost in a line at right

angles to its face, inch by inch, as it might be, dropping slowly up

with the tide at the same time. Mulford now passed forward to set

the jibs, and to get the topsail on the craft, leaving Spike on the

taffrail, keenly eyeing the strangers, who, by this time, had got down

nearly to the end of the wharf, at the berth so lately occupied by the

Swash. That the captain was uneasy was evident enough, that feeling

being exhibited in his countenance, blended with a malignant ferocity.

“Has that brig any pilot?” asked the larger and better-looking of the

two strangers.

“What's that to you, friend?” demanded Spike, in return. “Have you a

Hell-Gate branch?”

“I may have one, or I may not. It is not usual for so large a craft to

run the Gate without a pilot.”

“Oh! my gentleman's below, brushing up his logarithms. We shall have him

on deck to take his departure before long, when I'll let him know your

kind inquiries after his health.”

The man on the wharf seemed to be familiar with this sort of sea-wit,

and he made no answer, but continued that close scrutiny of the brig,

by turning his eyes in all directions, now looking below, and now aloft,

which had in truth occasioned Spike's principal cause for uneasiness.

“Is not that Capt. Stephen Spike, of the brigantine Molly Swash?” called

out the little, dumpling-looking person, in a cracked, dwarfish sort

of a voice, that was admirably adapted to his appearance. Our captain

fairly started; turned full toward the speaker; regarded him intently

for a moment; and gulped the words he was about to utter, like one

confounded. As he gazed, however, at little dumpy, examining his

bow-legs, red broad cheeks, and coarse snub nose, he seemed to regain

his self-command, as if satisfied the dead had not really returned to

life.

“Are you acquainted with the gentleman you have named?” he asked, by way

of answer. “You speak of him like one who ought to know him.”

“A body is apt to know a shipmate. Stephen Spike and I sailed together

twenty years since, and I hope to live to sail with him again.”

“You sail with Stephen Spike? when and where, may I ask, and in what

v'y'ge, pray?”

“The last time was twenty years since. Have you forgotten little Jack

Tier, Capt. Spike?”

Spike looked astonished, and well he might, for he had supposed Jack to

be dead fully fifteen years. Time and hard service had greatly altered

him, but the general resemblance in figure, stature, and waddle,

certainly remained. Notwithstanding, the Jack Tier that Spike remembered

was quite a different person from this Jack Tier. That Jack had worn his

intensely black hair clubbed and curled, whereas this Jack had cut his

locks into short bristles, which time had turned into an intense gray.

That Jack was short and thick, but he was flat and square; whereas this

Jack was just as short, a good deal thicker, and as round as a dumpling.

In one thing, however, the likeness still remained perfect. Both Jacks

chewed tobacco, to a degree that became a distinct feature in their

appearance.

Spike had many reasons for wishing Jack Tier were not resuscitated

in this extraordinary manner, and some for being glad to see him. The

fellow had once been largely in his confidence, and knew more than was

quite safe for any one to remember but himself, while he might be of

great use to him in his future, operations. It is always convenient to

have one at your elbow who thoroughly understands you, and Spike would

have lowered a boat and sent it to the wharf to bring Jack off, were

it not for the gentleman who was so inquisitive about pilots. Under

the circumstances, he determined to forego the advantages of Jack's

presence, reserving the right to hunt him up on his return.

The reader will readily enough comprehend, that the Molly Swash was not

absolutely standing still while the dialogue related was going on, and

the thoughts we have recorded were passing through her master's mind. On

the contrary, she was not only in motion, but that motion was gradually

increasing, and by the time all was said that has been related, it

had become necessary for those who spoke to raise their voices to an

inconvenient pitch in order to be heard. This circumstance alone would

soon have put an end to the conversation, had not Spike's pausing to

reflect brought about the same result, as mentioned.

In the mean time, Mulford had got the canvas spread. Forward, the Swash

showed all the cloth of a full-rigged brig, even to royals and flying

jib; while aft, her mast was the raking, tall, naked pole of an American

schooner. There was a taunt topmast, too, to which a gaff-topsail was

set, and the gear proved that she could also show, at need, a staysail

in this part of her, if necessary. As the Gate was before them, however,

the people had set none but the plain, manageable canvas.

The Molly Swash kept close on a wind, luffing athwar the broad reach she

was in, until far enough to weather Blackwell's, when she edged off to

her course, and went through the southern passage. Although the wind

remained light, and a little baffling, the brig was so easily impelled,

and was so very handy, that there was no difficulty in keeping her

perfectly in command. The tide, too, was fast increasing in strength

and volocity, and the movement from this cause alone was getting to be

sufficiently rapid.

As for the passengers, of whom we have lost sight in order to get the

brig under way, they were now on deck again. At first, they had all gone

below, under the care of Josh, a somewhat rough groom of the chambers,

to take possession of their apartment, a sufficiently neat, and

exceedingly comfortable cabin, supplied with everything that could

be wanted at sea, and, what was more, lined on two of its sides with

state-rooms. It is true, all these apartments were small, and the

state-rooms were very low, but no fault could be found with their

neatness and general arrangements, when it was recollected that one was

on board a vessel.

“Here ebbery t'ing heart can wish,” said Josh, exultingly, who, being an

old-school black, did not disdain to use some of the old-school dialect

of his caste. “Yes, ladies, ebbery t'ing. Let Cap'n Spike alone for dat!

He won'erful at accommodation! Not a bed-bug aft--know better dan come

here; jest like de people, in dat respects, and keep deir place forrard.

You nebber see a pig come on de quarter-deck, nudder.”

“You must maintain excellent discipline, Josh,” cried Rose, in one

of the sweetest voices in the world, which was easily attuned to

merriment--“and we are delighted to learn what you tell us. How do you

manage to keep up these distinctions, and make such creatures know their

places so well?”

“Nuttin easier, if you begin right, miss. As for de pig, I teach dem wid

scaldin' water. Wheneber I sees a pig come aft, I gets a little water

from de copper, and just scald him wid it. You can't t'ink, miss, how

dat mend his manners, and make him squeel fuss, and t'ink arter. In dat

fashion I soon get de ole ones in good trainin', and den I has no more

trouble with dem as comes fresh aboard; for de ole hog tell de young

one, and 'em won'erful cunnin', and know how to take care of 'emself.”

Rose Budd's sweet eyes were full of fun and expectation, and she could

no more repress her laugh than youth and spirits can always be discreet.

“Yes, with the pigs,” she cried, “that might do very well; but how is it

with those--other creatures?”

“Rosy, dear,” interrupted the aunt, “I wish you would say no more about

such shocking things. It's enough for us that Capt. Spike has ordered

them all to stay forward among the men, which is always done on board

well disciplined vessels. I've heard your uncle say, a hundred times,

that the quarter-deck was sacred, and that might be enough to keep such

animals off it.”

It was barely necessary to look at Mrs. Budd in the face to get a very

accurate general notion of her character. She was one of those inane,

uncultivated beings who seem to be protected by a benevolent Providence

in their pilgrimage on earth, for they do not seem to possess the power

to protect themselves. Her very countenance expressed imbecility and

mental dependence, credulity and a love of gossip. Notwithstanding these

radical weaknesses, the good woman had some of the better instincts of

her sex, and was never guilty of anything that could properly convey

reproach.

She was no monitress for Rose, however, the niece much oftener

influencing the aunt, than the aunt influencing the niece. The latter

had been fortunate in having had an excellent instructress, who, though

incapable of teaching her much in the way of accomplishments, had

imparted a great deal that was respectable and useful. Rose had

character, and strong character, too, as the course of our narrative

will show; but her worthy aunt was a pure picture of as much mental

imbecility as at all comported with the privileges of self-government.

The conversation about “those other creatures” was effectually checked

by Mrs. Budd's horror of the “animals,” and Josh was called on deck so

shortly after as to prevent its being renewed. The females staid below

a few minutes, to take possession, and then they re-appeared on deck, to

gaze at the horrors of the Hell Gate passage. Rose was all eyes, wonder

and admiration of everything she saw. This was actually the first time

she had ever been on the water, in any sort of craft, though born and

brought up in sight of one of the most thronged havens in the world.

But there must be a beginning to everything, and this was Rose Budd's

beginning on the water. It is true the brigantine was a very beautiful,

as well as an exceedingly swift vessel; but all this was lost on Rose,

who would have admired a horse-jockey bound to the West Indies, in this

the incipient state of her nautical knowledge. Perhaps the exquisite

neatness that Mulford maintained about everything that came under his

care, and that included everything on deck, or above-board, and about

which neatness Spike occasionally muttered an oath, as so much senseless

trouble, contributed somewhat to Rose's pleasure; but her admiration

would scarcely have been less with anything that had sails, and seemed

to move through the water with a power approaching that of volition.

It was very different with Mrs. Budd, She, good woman, had actually

made one voyage with her late husband, and she fancied that she knew

all about a vessel. It was her delight to talk on nautical subjects, and

never did she really feel her great superiority over her niece, so very

unequivocally, as when the subject of the ocean was introduced, about

which she did know something, and touching which Rose was profoundly

ignorant, or as ignorant as a girl of lively imagination could remain

with the information gleaned from others.

“I am not surprised you are astonished at the sight of the vessel,

Rosy,” observed the self-complacent aunt at one of her niece's

exclamations of admiration. “A vessel is a very wonderful thing, and

we are told what extr'orny beings they are that 'go down to the sea

in ships.' But you are to know this is not a ship at all, but only a

half-jigger rigged, which is altogether a different thing.”

“Was my uncle's vessel, The Rose In Bloom, then, very different from the

Swash?”

“Very different indeed, child! Why, The Rose In Bloom was a

full-jiggered ship, and had twelve masts--and this is only a

half-jiggered brig, and has but two masts. See, you may count

them--one--two!”

Harry Mulford was coiling away a top-gallant-brace, directly in front

of Mrs. Budd and Rose, and, at hearing this account of the wonderful

equipment of The Rose In Bloom, he suddenly looked up, with a lurking

expression about his eye that the niece very well comprehended, while

he exclaimed, without much reflection, under the impulse of

surprise--“Twelve masts! Did I understand you to say, ma'am, that Capt.

Budd's ship had twelve masts?”

“Yes, sir, twelve! and I can tell you all their names, for I learnt them

by heart--it appearing to me proper that a ship-master's wife should

know the names of all the masts in her husband's vessel. Do you wish to

hear their names, Mr. Mulford?”

Harry Mulford would have enjoyed this conversation to the top of

his bent, had it not been for Rose. She well knew her aunt's general

weakness of intellect, and especially its weakness on this particular

subject, but she would suffer no one to manifest contempt for either, if

in her power to prevent it. It is seldom one so young, so mirthful, so

ingenuous and innocent in the expression of her countenance, assumed so

significant and rebuking a frown as did pretty Rose Budd when she heard

the mate's involuntary exclamation about the “twelve masts.” Harry, who

was not easily checked by his equals, or any of his own sex, submitted

to that rebuking frown with the meekness of a child, and stammered out,

in answer to the well-meaning, but weak-minded widow's question--“If you

please, Mrs. Budd--just as you please, ma'am--only twelve is a good

many masts--” Rose frowned again--“that is--more than I'm used to

seeing--that's all.”

“I dare say, Mr. Mulford--for you sail in only a half-jigger; but Capt.

Budd always sailed in a full-jigger--and his full-jiggered ship had just

twelve masts, and, to prove it to you, I'll give you the names--first

then, there were the fore, main, and mizen masts--”

“Yes--yes--ma'am,” stammered Harry, who wished the twelve masts and The

Rose In Bloom at the bottom of the ocean, since her owner's niece still

continued to look coldly displeased--“that's right, I can swear!”

“Very true, sir, and you'll find I am right as to all the rest. Then,

there were the fore, main, and mizen top-masts--they make six, if I can

count, Mr. Mulford?”

“Ah!” exclaimed the mate, laughing, in spite of Rose's frowns, as the

manner in which the old sea-dog had quizzed his wife became apparent to

him. “I see how it is--you are quite right, ma'am--I dare say The Rose

In Bloom had all these masts, and some to spare.”

“Yes, sir--I knew you would be satisfied. The fore, main and mizen

top-gallant-masts make nine--and the fore, main and mizen royals make

just twelve. Oh, I'm never wrong in anything about a vessel, especially

if she is a full-jiggered ship.”

Mulford had some difficulty in restraining his smiles each time the

full-jigger was mentioned, but Rose's expression of countenance kept him

in excellent order--and she, innocent creature, saw nothing ridiculous

in the term, though the twelve masts had given her a little alarm.

Delighted that the old lady had got through her enumeration of the

spars with so much success, Rose cried, in the exuberance of her

spirits--“Well, aunty, for my part, I find a half-jigger vessel, so

very, very beautiful, that I do not know how I should behave were I to

go on board a full-jigger.”

Mulford turned abruptly away, the circumstance of Rose's making herself

ridiculous giving him sudden pain, though he could have laughed at her

aunt by the hour.

“Ah, my dear, that is on account of your youth and inexperience--but

you will learn better in time. I was just so, myself, when I was of

your age, and thought the fore-rafters were as handsome as the

squared-jiggers, but soon after I married Capt. Budd I felt the

necessity of knowing more than I did about ships, and I got him to teach

me. He did n't like the business, at first, and pretended I would never

learn; but, at last, it came all at once like, and then he used to be

delighted to hear me 'talk ship,' as he called it. I've known him laugh,

with his cronies, as if ready to die, at my expertness in sea-terms, for

half an hour together--and then he would swear--that was the worst

fault your uncle had, Rosy--he would swear, sometimes, in a way that

frightened me, I do declare!”

“But he never swore at you, aunty?”

“I can't say that he did exactly do that, but he would swear all round

me, even if he did n't actually touch me, when things went wrong--but

it would have done your heart good to hear him laugh! he had a most

excellent heart, just like your own, Rosy dear; but, for that matter,

all the Budds have excellent hearts, and one of the commonest ways your

uncle had of showing it was to laugh, particularly when we were together

and talking. Oh, he used to delight in hearing me converse, especially

about vessels, and never failed to get me at it when he had company. I

see his good-natured, excellent-hearted countenance at this moment, with

the tears running down his fat, manly cheeks, as he shook his very sides

with laughter. I may live a hundred years, Rosy, before I meet again

with your uncle's equal.”

This was a subject that invariably silenced Rose. She remembered her

uncle, herself, and remembered his affectionate manner of laughing at

her aunt, and she always wished the latter to get through her eulogiums

on her married happiness, as soon as possible, whenever the subject was

introduced.

All this time the Molly Swash kept in motion. Spike never took a pilot

when he could avoid it, and his mind was too much occupied with his

duty, in that critical navigation, to share at all in the conversation

of his passengers, though he did endeavour to make himself agreeable to

Rose, by an occasional remark, when a favourable opportunity offered.

As soon as he had worked his brig over into the south or weather passage

of Blackwell's, however, there remained little for him to do, until she

had drifted through it, a distance of a mile or more; and this gave him

leisure to do the honours. He pointed out the castellated edifice on

Blackwell's as the new penitentiary, and the hamlet of villas, on the

other shore, as Ravenswood, though there is neither wood nor ravens to

authorize the name. But the “Sunswick,” which satisfied the Delafields

and Gibbses of the olden, time, and which distinguished their lofty

halls and broad lawns, was not elegant enough for the cockney tastes of

these latter days, so “wood” must be made to usurp the place of

cherries and apples, and “ravens” that of gulls, in order to satisfy its

cravings. But all this was lost on Spike. He remembered the shore as it

had been twenty years before, and he saw what it was now, but little did

he care for the change. On the whole, he rather preferred the Grecian

Temples, over which the ravens would have been compelled to fly, had

there been any ravens in that neighbourhood, to the old-fashioned and

highly respectable residence that once alone occupied the spot. The

point he did understand, however, and on the merits of which he had

something to say, was a little farther ahead. That, too, had been

re-christened--the Hallet's Cove of the mariner being converted into

Astoria--not that bloody-minded place at the mouth of the Oregon, which

has come so near bringing us to blows with our “ancestors in England,”

as the worthy denizens of that quarter choose to consider themselves

still, if one can judge by their language. This Astoria was a very

different place, and is one of the many suburban villages that are

shooting up, like mushrooms in a night, around the great Commercial

Emporium. This spot Spike understood perfectly, and it was not likely

that he should pass it without communicating a portion of his knowledge

to Rose.

“There, Miss Rose,” he said, with a didactic sort of air, pointing with

his short, thick finger at the little bay which was just opening to

their view; “there's as neat a cove as a craft need bring up in. That

used to be a capital place to lie in, to wait for a wind to pass the

Gate; but it has got to be most too public for my taste. I'm rural, I

tell Mulford, and love to get in out-of-the-way berths with my brig,

where she can see salt-meadows, and smell the clover. You never catch

me down in any of the crowded slips, around the markets, or anywhere in

that part of the town, for I do love country air. That's Hallet's Cove,

Miss Rose, and a pretty anchorage it would be for us, if the wind and

tide didn't sarve to take us through the Gate.”

“Are we near the Gate, Capt. Spike?” asked Rose, the fine bloom on her

cheek lessening a little, under the apprehension that formidable name is

apt to awaken in the breasts of the inexperienced.

“Half a mile, or so. It begins just at the other end of this island on

our larboard hand, and will be all over in about another half mile, or

so. It's no such bad place, a'ter all, is Hell-Gate, to them that's used

to it. I call myself a pilot in Hell-Gate, though I have no branch.”

“I wish, Capt. Spike, I could teach you to give that place its proper

and polite name. We call it Whirl-Gate altogether now,” said the relict.

“Well, that's new to me,” cried Spike. “I have heard some

chicken-mouthed folk say Hurl-Gate, but this is the first time I ever

heard it called Whirl-Gate--they'll get it to Whirligig-Gate next. I do

n't think that my old commander, Capt. Budd, called the passage anything

but honest up and down Hell-Gate.”

“That he did--that he did--and all my arguments and reading could not

teach him any better. I proved to him that it was Whirl-Gate, as any

one can see that it ought to be. It is full of whirlpools, they say, and

that shows what Nature meant the name to be.”

“But, aunty,” put in Rose, half reluctantly, half anxious to speak,

“what has gate to do with whirlpools? You will remember it is called a

gate--the gate to that wicked place I suppose is meant.”

“Rose, you amaze me! How can you, a young woman of only nineteen, stand

up for so vulgar a name as Hell-Gate!”

“Do you think it as vulgar as Hurl-Gate, aunty?” To me it always seems

the most vulgar to be straining at gnats.”

“Yes,” said Spike sentimentally, “I'm quite of Miss Rose's way of

thinking--straining at gnats is very ill-manners, especially at table. I

once knew a man who strained in this way, until I thought he would have

choked, though it was with a fly to be sure; but gnats are nothing

but small flies, you know, Miss Rose. Yes, I'm quite of your way of

thinking, Miss Rose; it is very vulgar to be straining at gnats and

flies, more particularly at table. But you'll find no flies or gnats

aboard here, to be straining at, or brushing away, or to annoy you.

Stand by there, my hearties, and see all clear to run through Hell-Gate.

Do n't let me catch you straining at anything, though it should be the

fin of a whale!”

The people forward looked at each other, as they listened to this novel

admonition, though they called out the customary “ay, ay, sir,” as

they went to the sheets, braces and bowlines. To them the passage of no

Hell-Gate conveyed the idea of any particular terror, and with the one

they were about to enter, they were much too familiar to care anything

about it.

The brig was now floating fast, with the tide, up abreast of the east

end of Blackwell's, and in two or three more minutes she would be fairly

in the Gate. Spike was aft, where he could command a view of everything

forward, and Mulford stood on the quarter-deck, to look after the

head-braces. An old and trustworthy seaman, who acted as a sort of

boatswain, had the charge on the forecastle, and was to tend the sheets

and tack. His name was Rove.

“See all clear,” called out Spike. “D'ye hear there, for'ard! I shall

make a half-board in the Gate, if the wind favour us, and the tide prove

strong enough to hawse us to wind'ard sufficiently to clear the Pot--so

mind your--”

The captain breaking off in the middle of this harangue, Mulford turned

his head, in order to see what might be the matter. There was Spike,

levelling a spy-glass at a boat that was pulling swiftly out of the

north channel, and shooting like an arrow directly athwart the brig's

bows into the main passage of the Gate. He stepped to the captain's

elbow.

“Just take a look at them chaps, Mr. Mulford,” said Spike, handing his

mate the glass.

“They seem in a hurry,” answered Harry, as he adjusted the glass to his

eye, “and will go through the Gate in less time than it will take to

mention the circumstance.”

“What do you make of them, sir?”

“The little man who called himself Jack Tier is in the stern-sheets of

the boat, for one,” answered Mulford.

“And the other, Harry--what do you make of the other?”

“It seems to be the chap who hailed to know if we had a pilot. He means

to board us at Riker's Island, and make us pay pilotage, whether we want

his services or not.”

“Blast him and his pilotage too! Give me the glass”--taking another long

look at the boat, which by this time was glancing, rather than pulling,

nearly at right angles across his bows. “I want no such pilot aboard

here, Mr. Mulford. Take another look at him--here, you can see him, away

on our weather bow, already.”

Mulford did take another look at him, and this time his examination was

longer and more scrutinizing than before.

“It is not easy to cover him with the glass,” observed the young

man--“the boat seems fairly to fly.”

“We're forereaching too near the Hog's Back, Capt. Spike,” roared the

boatswain, from forward.

“Ready about--hard a lee,” shouted Spike. “Let all fly, for'ard--help

her round, boys, all you can, and wait for no orders! Bestir

yourselves--bestir yourselves.”

It was time the crew should be in earnest. While Spike's attention had

been thus diverted by the boat, the brig had got into the strongest of

the current, which, by setting her fast to windward, had trebled the

power of the air, and this was shooting her over toward one of the

greatest dangers of the passage on a flood tide. As everybody bestirred

themselves, however, she was got round and filled on the opposite tack,

just in time to clear the rocks. Spike breathed again, but his head was

still full of the boat. The danger he had just escaped as Scylla met

him as Charybdis. The boatswain again roared to go about. The order was

given as the vessel began to pitch in a heavy swell. At the next instant

she rolled until the water came on deck, whirled with her stern down the

tide, and her bows rose as if she were about to leap out of water. The

Swash had hit the Pot Rock.

CHAPTER II.

“Watch. If we know him to be a thief, shall we not lay hands

on him?

Dogb. Truly, by your office, you may; but I think they that

touch pitch will be defiled; the most peaceable way for you,

if you do take a thief, is, to let him show himself what he

is, and steal out of your company.”

Much Ado About Nothing.

We left the brigantine of Capt. Spike in a very critical situation, and

the master himself in great confusion of mind.

A thorough seaman, this accident would never have happened, but for the

sudden appearance of the boat and its passengers; one of whom appeared

to be a source of great uneasiness to him. As might be expected,

the circumstance of striking a place as dangerous as the Pot Rock

in Hell-Gate, produced a great sensation on board the vessel. This

sensation betrayed itself in various ways, and according to the

characters, habits, and native firmness of the parties. As for the

ship-master's relict, she seized hold of the main-mast, and screamed so

loud and perseveringly, as to cause the sensation to extend itself into

the adjacent and thriving village of Astoria, where it was distinctly

heard by divers of those who dwelt near the water. Biddy Noon had

her share in this clamour, lying down on the deck in order to prevent

rolling over, and possibly to scream more at her leisure, while Rose

had sufficient self-command to be silent, though her cheeks lost their

colour.

Nor was there anything extraordinary in females betraying this alarm,

when one remembers the somewhat astounding signs of danger by which

these persons were surrounded. There is always something imposing in the

swift movement of a considerable body of water. When this movement is

aided by whirlpools and the other similar accessories of an interrupted

current, it frequently becomes startling, more especially to those who

happen to be on the element itself. This is peculiarly the case with the

Pot Rock, where, not only does the water roll and roar as if agitated by

a mighty wind, but where it even breaks, the foam seeming to glance up

stream, in the rapid succession of wave to wave. Had the Swash remained

in her terrific berth more than a second or two, she would have proved

what is termed a “total loss;” but she did not. Happily, the Pot Rock

lies so low that it is not apt to fetch up anything of a light draught

of water, and the brigantine's fore-foot had just settled on its summit,

long enough to cause the vessel to whirl round and make her obeisance to

the place, when a succeeding swell lifted her clear, and away she went

down stream, rolling as if scudding in a gale, and, for a moment, under

no command whatever. There lay another danger ahead, or it would be

better to say astern, for the brig was drifting stern foremost; and that

was in an eddy under a bluff, which bluff lies at an angle in the reach,

where it is no uncommon thing for craft to be cast ashore, after they

have passed all the more imposing and more visible dangers above. It was

in escaping this danger, and in recovering the command of his vessel,

that Spike now manifested the sort of stuff of which he was really

made, in emergencies of this sort. The yards were all sharp up when the

accident occurred, and springing to the lee braces, just as a man winks

when his eye is menaced, he seized the weather fore-brace with his own

hands, and began to round in the yard, shouting out to the man at the

wheel to “port his helm” at the same time. Some of the people flew to

his assistance, and the yards were not only squared, but braced a little

up on the other tack, in much less time than we have taken to relate the

evolution. Mulford attended to the main-sheet, and succeeded in getting

the boom out in the right direction. Although the wind was in truth

very light, the velocity of the drift filled the canvas, and taking the

arrow-like current on her lee bow, the Swash, like a frantic steed that

is alarmed with the wreck made by his own madness, came under command,

and sheered out into the stream again, where she could drift clear of

the apprehended danger astern.

“Sound the pumps!” called out Spike to Mulford, the instant he saw he

had regained his seat in the saddle. Harry sprang amidships to obey, and

the eye of every mariner in that vessel was on the young man, as, in the

midst of a death-like silence, he performed this all-important duty.

It was like the physician's feeling the pulse of his patient before he

pronounces on the degree of his danger.

“Well, sir?” cried out Spike, impatiently, as the rod reappeared.

“All right, sir,” answered Harry, cheerfully--“the well is nearly

empty.”

“Hold on a moment longer, and give the water time to find its way

amidships, if there be any.”

The mate remained perched up on the pump, in order to comply, while

Spike and his people, who now breathed more freely again, improved the

leisure to brace up and haul aft, to the new course.

“Biddy,” said Mrs. Budd considerately, during this pause in the

incidents, “you need n't scream any longer. The danger seems to be past,

and you may get up off the deck now. See, I have let go of the mast. The

pumps have been sounded, and are found tight.”

Biddy, like an obedient and respectful servant, did as directed, quite

satisfied if the pumps were tight. It was some little time, to be sure,

before she was perfectly certain whether she were alive or not--but,

once certain of this circumstance, her alarm very sensibly abated,

and she became reasonable. As for Mulford, he dropped the sounding rod

again, and had the same cheering report to make.

“The brig is as tight as a bottle, sir.”

“So much the better,” answered Spike. “I never had such a whirl in her

before in my life, and I thought she was going to stop and pass the

night there. That's the very spot on which 'The Hussar' frigate was

wrecked.”

“So I have heard, sir. But she drew so much water that she hit slap

against the rock, and started a butt. We merely touched on its top with

our fore-foot, and slid off.”

This was the simple explanation of the Swash's escape, and, everybody

being now well assured that no harm had been done, things fell into

their old and regular train again. As for Spike, his gallantry,

notwithstanding, was upset for some hours, and glad enough was he when

he saw all three of his passengers quit the deck to go below. Mrs.

Budd's spirits had been so much agitated that she told Rose she would go

down into the cabin and rest a few minutes on its sofa. We say sofa,

for that article of furniture, now-a-days, is far more common in vessels

than it was thirty years ago in the dwellings of the country.

“There, Mulford,” growled Spike, pointing ahead of the brig, to an

object on the water that was about half a mile ahead of them, “there's

that bloody boat--d'ye see? I should like of all things to give it the

slip. There's a chap in that boat I do n't like.”

“I do n't see how that can be very well done, sir, unless we anchor,

repass the Gate at the turn of the tide, and go to sea by the way of

Sandy Hook.”

“That will never do. I've no wish to be parading the brig before the

town. You see, Mulford, nothing can be more innocent and proper than the

Molly Swash, as you know from having sailed in her these twelve months.

You'll give her that character, I'll be sworn?”

“I know no harm of her, Capt. Spike, and hope I never shall.”

“No, sir--you know no harm of her, nor does any one else. A nursing

infant is not more innocent than the Molly Swash, or could have a

clearer character if nothing but truth was said of her. But the world is

so much given to lying, that one of the old saints, of whom we read in

the good book, such as Calvin and John Rogers, would be vilified if he

lived in these times. Then, it must be owned, Mr. Mulford, whatever

may be the raal innocence of the brig, she has a most desperate wicked

look.”

“Why, yes, sir--it must be owned she is what we sailors call a

wicked-looking craft. But some of Uncle Sam's cruisers have that

appearance, also.”

“I know it--I know it, sir, and think nothing of looks myself. Men are

often deceived in me, by my looks, which have none of your long-shore

softness about 'em, perhaps; but my mother used to say I was one of the

most tender-hearted boys she had ever heard spoken of--like one of

the babes in the woods, as it might be. But mankind go so much by

appearances that I do n't like to trust the brig too much afore their

eyes. Now, should we be seen in the lower bay, waiting for a wind, or

for the ebb tide to make, to carry us over the bar, ten to one but

some philotropic or other would be off with a complaint to the District

Attorney that we looked like a slaver, and have us all fetched up to

be tried for our lives as pirates. No, no--I like to keep the brig in

out-of-the-way places, where she can give no offence to your 'tropics,

whether they be philos, or of any other sort.”

“Well, sir, we are to the eastward of the Gate, and all's safe. That

boat cannot bring us up.”

“You forget, Mr. Mulford, the revenue-craft that steamed up, on the

ebb. That vessel must be off Sands' Point by this time, and she may hear

something to our disparagement from the feller in the boat, and take it

into her smoky head to walk us back to town. I wish we were well to the

eastward of that steamer! But there's no use in lamentations. If there

is really any danger, it's some distance ahead yet, thank Heaven!”

“You have no fears of the man who calls himself Jack Tier, Capt. Spike?”

“None in the world. That feller, as I remember him, was a little

bustlin' chap that I kept in the cabin, as a sort of steward's mate.

There was neither good nor harm in him, to the best of my recollection.

But Josh can tell us all about him--just give Josh a call.”

The best thing in the known history of Spike was the fact that his

steward had sailed with him for more than twenty years. Where he had

picked up Josh no one could say, but Josh and himself, and neither chose

to be very communicative on the subject. But Josh had certainly been

with him as long as he had sailed the Swash, and that was from a time

actually anterior to the birth of Mulford. The mate soon had the negro

in the council.

“I say, Josh,” asked Spike, “do you happen to remember such a hand

aboard here as one Jack Tier?”

“Lor' bless you, yes sir--'members he as well as I do the pea soup

that was burnt, and which you t'rowed all over him, to scald him for

punishment.”

“I've had to do that so often, to one careless fellow or other, that the

circumstance does n't recall the man. I remember him--but not as clear

as I could wish. How long did he sail with us?”

“Sebberal v'y'ge, sir, and got left ashore down on the main, one night,

when'e boat were obliged to shove off in a hurry. Yes, 'members little

Jack, right well I does.”

“Did you see the man that spoke us from the wharf, and hailed for this

very Jack Tier?”

“I see'd a man, sir, dat was won'erful Jack Tier built like, sir, but I

did n't hear the conwersation, habbin' the ladies to 'tend to. But Jack

was oncommon short in his floor timbers, sir, and had no length of keel

at all. His beam was won'erful for his length, altogedder--what you call

jolly-boat, or bum-boat build, and was only good afore'e wind, Cap'n

Spike.”

“Was he good for anything aboard ship, Josh? Worth heaving-to for,

should he try to get aboard of us again?”

“Why, sir, can't say much for him in dat fashion. Jack was handy in the

cabin, and capital feller to carry soup from the gally, aft. You see,

sir, he was so low-rigged that the brig's lurchin' and pitchin' could

n't get him off his pins, and he stood up like a church in the heaviest

wea'der. Yes, sir, Jack was right good for dat.”

Spike mused a moment--then he rolled the tobacco over in his mouth, and

added, in the way a man speaks when his mind is made up--“Ay ay! I see

into the fellow. He'll make a handy lady's maid, and we want such a chap

just now. It's better to have an old friend aboard, than to be pickin'

up strangers, 'long shore. So, should this Jack Tier come off to us,

from any of the islands or points ahead, Mr. Mulford, you'll round to

and take him aboard. As for the steamer, if she will only pass out into

the Sound where there's room, it shall go hard with us but I get to the

eastward of her, without speaking. On the other hand, should she anchor

this side of the fort, I'll not attempt to pass her. There is deep water

inside of most of the islands, I know, and we'll try and dodge her in

that way, if no better offer. I've no more reason than another craft

to fear a government vessel, but the sight of one of them makes me

oncomfortable; that's all.”

Mulford shrugged his shoulders and remained silent, perceiving that his

commander was not disposed to pursue the subject any further. In the

mean time, the brig had passed beyond the influence of the bluff, and

was beginning to feel a stronger breeze, that was coming down the wide

opening of Flushing Bay. As the tide still continued strong in her

favour, and her motion through the water was getting to be four or five

knots, there was every prospect of her soon reaching Whitestone, the

point where the tides meet, and where it would become necessary to

anchor; unless, indeed, the wind, which was now getting to the southward

and eastward, should come round more to the south. All this Spike and

his mate discussed together, while the people were clearing the decks,

and making the preparations that are customary on board a vessel before

she gets into rough water.

By this time it was ascertained that the brig had received no damage

by her salute of the Pot Rock, and every trace of uneasiness on that

account was removed. But Spike kept harping on the boat, and “the

pilot-looking chap who was in her.” As they passed Riker's Island, all

hands expected a boat would put off with a pilot, or to demand pilotage;

but none came, and the Swash now seemed released from all her present

dangers, unless some might still be connected with the revenue steamer.

To retard her advance, however, the wind came out a smart working breeze

from the southward and eastward, compelling her to make “long legs and

short ones” on her way towards Whitestone.

“This is beating the wind, Rosy dear,” said Mrs. Budd, complacently,

she and her niece having returned to the deck a few minutes after this

change had taken place. “Your respected uncle did a great deal of this

in his time, and was very successful in it. I have heard him say, that

in one of his voyages between Liverpool and New York, he beat the wind

by a whole fortnight, everybody talking of it in the insurance offices,

as if it was a miracle.”

“Ay, ay, Madam Budd,” put in Spike, “I'll answer for that. They're

desperate talkers in and about them there insurance offices in Wall

street. Great gossips be they, and they think they know everything.

Now just because this brig is a little old or so, and was built for a

privateer in the last war, they'd refuse to rate her as even B, No. 2,

and my blessing on 'em.”

“Yes, B, No. 2, that's just what your dear uncle used to call me,

Rosy--his charming B, No. 2, or Betsy, No. 2; particularly when he was

in a loving mood. Captain Spike, did you ever beat the wind in a long

voyage?”

“I can't say I ever did, Mrs. Budd,” answered Spike, looking grimly

around, to ascertain if any one dared to smile at his passenger's

mistake; “especially for so long a pull as from New York to Liverpool.”

“Then your uncle used to boast of the Rose In Bloom's wearing and

attacking. She would attack anything that came in her way, no matter

who, and as for wearing, I think he once told me she would wear just

what she had a mind to, like any human being.”

Rose was a little mystified, but she looked vexed at the same time, as

if she distrusted all was not right.

“I remember all my sea education,” continued the unsuspecting widow, “as

if it had been learnt yesterday. Beating the wind and attacking ship,

my poor Mr. Budd used to say, were nice manoeuvres, and required most of

his tactics, especially in heavy weather. Did you know, Rosy dear, that

sailors weigh the weather, and know when it is heavy and when it is

light?”

“I did not, aunt; nor do I understand now how it can very well be done.”

“Oh! child, before you have been at sea a week, you will learn so many

things that are new, and get so many ideas of which you never had any

notion before, that you'll not be the same person. My captain had an

instrument he called a thermometer, and with that he used to weigh the

weather, and then he would write down in the log-book 'today, heavy

weather, or to-morrow, light weather,' just as it happened, and that

helped him mightily along in his voyages.”

“Mrs. Budd has merely mistaken the name of the instrument--the

'barometer' is what she wished to say,” put in Mulford, opportunely.

Rose looked grateful, as well as relieved. Though profoundly ignorant on

these subjects herself, she had always suspected her aunt's knowledge.

It was, consequently, grateful to her to ascertain that, in this

instance, the old lady's mistake had been so trifling.

“Well, it may have been the barometer, for I know he had them both,”

resumed the aunt. “Barometer, or thermometer, it do n't make any great

difference; or quadrant, or sextant. They are all instruments, and

sometimes he used one, and sometimes another. Sailors take on board the

sun, too, and have an instrument for that, as well as one to weigh the

weather with. Sometimes they take on board the stars, and the moon,

and 'fill their ships with the heavenly bodies,' as I've heard my dear

husband say, again and again! But the most curious thing at sea, as all

sailors tell me, is crossing the line, and I do hope we shall cross the

line, Rosy, that you and I may see it.”

“What is the line, aunty, and how do vessels cross it.”

“The line, my dear, is a place in the ocean where the earth is divided

into two parts, one part being called the North Pole, and the other part

the South Pole. Neptune lives near this line, and he allows no vessel

to go out of one pole into the other, without paying it a visit. Never!

never!--he would as soon think of living on dry land as think of letting

even a canoe pass, without visiting it.”

“Do you suppose there is such a being, really, as Neptune, aunty?”

“To be sure I do; he is king of the sea. Why should n't there be? The

sea must have a king, as well as the land.”

“The sea may be a republic, aunty, like this country; then, no king is

necessary. I have always supposed Neptune to be an imaginary being.”

“Oh that's impossible--the sea is no republic; there are but two

republics, America and Texas. I've heard that the sea is a highway, it

is true--the 'highway of nations,' I believe it is called, and that

must mean something particular. But my poor Mr. Budd always told me that

Neptune was king of the seas, and he was always so accurate, you might

depend on everything he said. Why, he called his last Newfoundland dog

Neptune; and do you think, Rosy, that your dear uncle would call his

dog after an imaginary being?--and he a man to beat the wind, and attack

ship, and take the sun, moon and stars aboard! No, no, child; fanciful

folk may see imaginary beings, but solid folk see solid beings.”

Even Spike was dumfounded at this, and there is no knowing what he

might have said, had not an old sea-dog, who had just come out of the

fore-topmast cross-trees, come aft, and, hitching up his trowsers with

one hand while he touched his hat with the other, said with immoveable

gravity,

“The revenue-steamer has brought up just under the fort, Capt. Spike.”

“How do you know that, Bill?” demanded the captain, with a rapidity that

showed how completely Mrs. Budd and all her absurdities were momentarily

forgotten.

“I was up on the fore-topgallant yard, sir, a bit ago, just to look

to the strap of the jewel-block, which wants some sarvice on it, and

I see'd her over the land, blowin' off steam and takin' in her

kites. Afore I got out of the cross-trees, she was head to wind under

bare-poles, and if she had n't anchored, she was about to do so. I'm

sartin 't was she, sir, and that she was about to bring up.”

Spike gave a long, low whistle, after his fashion, and he walked away

from the females, with the air of a man who wanted room to think in.

Half a minute later, he called out--“Stand by to shorten sail, boys.

Man fore-clew-garnets, flying jib down haul, topgallant sheets, and

gaff-topsail gear. In with 'em all, my lads--in with everything, with a

will.”

An order to deal with the canvas in any way, on board ship, immediately

commands the whole attention of all whose duty it is to attend to such

matters, and there was an end of all discourse while the Swash was

shortening sail. Everybody understood, too, that it was to gain

time, and prevent the brig from reaching Throg's Neck sooner than was

desirable.

“Keep the brig off,” called out Spike, “and let her ware--we're too busy

to tack just now.”

The man at the wheel knew very well what was wanted, and he put his

helm up, instead of putting it down, as he might have done without this

injunction. As this change brought the brig before the wind, and Spike

was in no hurry to luff up on the other tack, the Swash soon ran over a

mile of the distance she had already made, putting her back that much

on her way to the Neck. It is out of our power to say what the people

of the different craft in sight thought of all this, but an opportunity

soon offered of putting them on a wrong scent. A large coasting

schooner, carrying everything that would draw on a wind, came sweeping

under the stern of the Swash, and hailed.

“Has anything happened, on board that brig?” demanded her master.

“Man overboard,” answered Spike--“you hav'nt seen his hat, have you?”

“No--no,” came back, just as the schooner, in her onward course, swept

beyond the reach of the voice. Her people collected together, and one or

two ran up the rigging a short distance, stretching their necks, on the

look-out for the “poor fellow,” but they were soon called down to “'bout

ship.” In less than five minutes, another vessel, a rakish coasting

sloop, came within hail.

“Did n't that brig strike the Pot Rock, in passing the Gate?” demanded

her captain.

“Ay, ay!--and a devil of a rap she got, too.”

This satisfied him; there being nothing remarkable in a vessel's acting

strangely that had hit the Pot Rock in passing Hell Gate.

“I think we may get in our mainsail on the strength of this, Mr.

Mulford,” said Spike. “There can be nothing oncommon in a craft's

shortening sail, that has a man overboard, and which has hit the Pot

Rock. I wonder I never thought of all this before.”

'Here is a skiff trying to get alongside of us, Capt. Spike,” called out

the boatswain.

“Skiff be d--d! I want no skiff here.”

“The man that called himself Jack Tier is in her, sir.”

“The d--l he is!” cried Spike, springing over to the opposite side of

the deck to take a look for himself. To his infinite satisfaction he

perceived that Tier was alone in the skiff, with the exception of a

negro, who pulled its sculls, and that this was a very different boat

from that which had glanced through Hell Gate, like an arrow darting

from its bow.

“Luff, and shake your topsail,” called out Spike. “Get a rope there to

throw to this skiff.”

The orders were obeyed, and Jack Tier, with his clothes-bag, was soon

on the deck of the Swash. As for the skiff and the negro, they were

cast adrift the instant the latter had received his quarter. The meeting

between Spike and his quondam steward's mate was a little remarkable.

Each stood looking intently at the other, as if to note the changes

which time had made. We cannot say that Spike's hard, red, selfish

countenance betrayed any great feeling, though such was not the case

with Jack Tier's. The last, a lymphatic, puffy sort of a person at the

best, seemed really a little touched, and he either actually brushed a

tear from his eye, or he affected so to do.

“So, you are my old shipmate, Jack Tier, are ye?” exclaimed Spike, in

a half-patronizing, half-hesitating way--“and you want to try the old

craft ag'in. Give us a leaf of your log, and let me know where you have

been this many a day, and what you have been about? Keep the brig off,

Mr. Mulford. We are in no particular hurry to reach Throg's, you'll

remember, sir.”

Tier gave an account of his proceedings, which could have no interest

with the reader. His narrative was anything but very clear, and it was

delivered in a cracked, octave sort of a voice, such as little dapper

people not unfrequently enjoy--tones between those of a man and a boy.

The substance of the whole story was this. Tier had been left ashore, as

sometimes happens to sailors, and, by necessary connection, was left to

shift for himself. After making some vain endeavours to rejoin his brig,

he had shipped in one vessel after another, until he accidentally found

himself in the port of New York, at the same time as the Swash. He

know'd he never should be truly happy ag'in until he could once more

get aboard the old hussy, and had hurried up to the wharf, where he

understood the brig was lying. As he came in sight, he saw she was about

to cast off, and, dropping his clothes-bag, he had made the best of his

way to the wharf, where the conversation passed that has been related.

“The gentleman on the wharf was about to take boat, to go through

the Gate,” concluded Tier, “and so I begs a passage of him. He was

good-natured enough to wait until I could find my bag, and as soon

a'terwards as the men could get their grog we shoved off. The Molly was

just getting in behind Blackwell's as we left the wharf, and, having

four good oars, and the shortest road, we come out into the Gate just

ahead on you. My eye! what a place that is to go through in a boat, and

on a strong flood! The gentleman, who watched the brig as a cat watches

a mouse, says you struck on the Pot, as he called it, but I says 'no,'

for the Molly Swash was never know'd to hit rock or shoal in my time

aboard her.”

“And where did you quit that gentleman, and what has become of him?”

asked Spike.

“He put me ashore on that point above us, where I see'd a nigger with

his skiff, who I thought would be willin' to 'arn his quarter by giving

me a cast alongside. So here I am, and a long pull I've had to get

here.”

As this was said, Jack removed his hat and wiped his brow with a

handkerchief, which, if it had never seen better days, had doubtless

been cleaner. After this, he looked about him, with an air not entirely

free from exultation.

This conversation had taken place in the gangway, a somewhat public

place, and Spike beckoned to his recruit to walk aft, where he might be

questioned without being overheard.

“What became of the gentleman in the boat, as you call him?” demanded

Spike.

“He pulled ahead, seeming to be in a hurry.”

“Do you know who he was?”

“Not a bit of it. I never saw the man before, and he did n't tell me his

business, sir.”

“Had he anything like a silver oar about him.”

“I saw nothing of the sort, Capt. Spike, and knows nothing consarning

him.”

“What sort of a boat was he in, and where did he get it?”

“Well, as to the boat, sir, I can say a word, seein' it was so much to

my mind, and pulled so wonderful smart. It was a light ship's yawl, with

four oars, and came round the Hook just a'ter you had got the brig's

head round to the eastward. You must have seen it, I should think,

though it kept close in with the wharves, as if it wished to be snug.”

“Then the gentleman, as you call him, expected that very boat to come

and take him off?”

“I suppose so, sir, because it did come and take him off. That's all I

knows about it.”

“Had you no jaw with the gentleman? You was n't mnm the whole time you

was in the boat with him?”

“Not a bit of it, sir. Silence and I does n't agree together long, and

so we talked most of the time.”

“And what did the stranger say of the brig?”

“Lord, sir, he catechised me like as if I had been a child at

Sunday-school. He asked me how long I had sailed in her; what ports

we'd visited, and what trade we'd been in. You can't think the sight of

questions he put, and how cur'ous he was for the answers.”

“And what did you tell him in your answers? You said nothin' about our

call down on the Spanish Main, the time you were left ashore, I hope,

Jack?”

“Not I, sir. I played him off surprisin'ly. He got nothin' to count upon

out of me. Though I do owe the Molly Swash a grudge, I'm not goin' to

betray her.”

“You owe the Molly Swash a grudge! Have I taken an enemy on board her,

then?”

Jack started, and seemed sorry he had said so much; while Spike eyed him

keenly. But the answer set all right. It was not given, however, without

a moment for recollection.

“Oh, you knows what I mean, sir. I owe the old hussy a grudge for having

desarted me like; but it's only a love quarrel atween us. The old Molly

will never come to harm by my means.”

“I hope not, Jack. The man that wrongs the craft he sails in can never

be a true-hearted sailor. Stick by your ship in all weathers is my rule,

and a good rule it is to go by. But what did you tell the stranger?”

“Oh! I told him I'd been six v'y'ges in the brig. The first was to

Madagascar--”

“The d--l you did? Was he soft enough to believe that?”

“That's more than I knows, sir. I can only tell you what I said; I do

n't pretend to know how much he believed.”

“Heave ahead--what next?”

“Then I told him we went to Kamschatka for gold dust and ivory.”

“Whe-e-ew! What did the man say to that?”

“Why, he smiled a bit, and a'ter that he seemed more cur'ous than ever

to hear all about it. I told him my third v'y'ge was to Canton, with

a cargo of broom-corn, where we took in salmon and dun-fish for home.

A'ter that we went to Norway with ice, and brought back silks and money.

Our next run was to the Havana, with salt and 'nips--”

“'Nips! what the devil be they?”

“Turnips, you knows, sir. We always calls 'em 'nips in cargo. At the

Havana I told him we took in leather and jerked beef, and came home. Oh!

he got nothin' from me, Capt. Spike, that'll ever do the brig a morsel

of harm!”

“I am glad of that, Jack. You must know enough of the seas to understand

that a close mouth is sometimes better for a vessel than a clean bill of

health. Was there nothing said about the revenue-steamer?”

“Now you name her, sir, I believe there was--ay, ay, sir, the gentleman

did say, if the steamer fetched up to the westward of the fort, that he

should overhaul her without difficulty, on this flood.

“That'll do, Jack; that'll do, my honest fellow. Go below, and tell Josh

to take you into the cabin again, as steward's mate. You're rather too

Dutch built, in your old age, to do much aloft.”

One can hardly say whether Jack received this remark as complimentary,

or not. He looked a little glum, for a man may be as round as a barrel,

and wish to be thought genteel and slender; but he went below, in quest

of Josh, without making any reply.

The succeeding movements of Spike appeared to be much influenced by

what he had just heard. He kept the brig under short canvas for near two

hours, sheering about in the same place, taking care to tell everything

which spoke him that he had lost a man overboard. In this way, not

only the tide, but the day itself, was nearly spent. About the time

the former began to lose its strength, however, the fore-course and the

main-sail were got on the brigantine, with the intention of working

her up toward Whitestone, where the tides meet, and near which the

revenue-steamer was known to be anchored. We say near, though it was, in

fact, a mile or two more to the eastward, and close to the extremity of

the Point.

Notwithstanding these demonstrations of a wish to work to windward,

Spike was really in no hurry. He had made up his mind to pass the

steamer in the dark, if possible, and the night promised to favour him;

but, in order to do this, it might be necessary not to come in sight of

her at all; or, at least, not until the obscurity should in some measure

conceal his rig and character. In consequence of this plan, the Swash

made no great progress, even after she had got sail on her, on her old

course. The wind lessened, too, after the sun went down, though it still

hung to the eastward, or nearly ahead. As the tide gradually lost its

force, moreover, the set to windward became less and less, until it

finally disappeared altogether.

There is necessarily a short reach in this passage, where it is always

slack water, so far as current is concerned. This is precisely where the

tides meet, or, as has been intimated, at Whitestone, which is somewhat

more than a mile to the westward of Throgmorton's Neck, near the point

of which stands Fort Schuyler, one of the works recently erected for the

defence of New York. Off the pitch of the point, nearly mid-channel, had

the steamer anchored, a fact of which Spike had made certain, by going

aloft himself, and reconnoitering her over the land, before it had got

to be too dark to do so. He entertained no manner of doubt that this

vessel was in waiting for him, and he well knew there was good reason

for it; but he would not return and attempt the passage to sea by way

of Sandy Hook. His manner of regarding the whole matter was cool and

judicious. The distance to the Hook was too great to be made in such

short nights ere the return of day, and he had no manner of doubt he

was watched for in that direction, as well as in this. Then he was

particularly unwilling to show his craft at all in front of the town,

even in the night. Moreover, he had ways of his own for effecting his

purposes, and this was the very spot and time to put them in execution.

While these things were floating in his mind, Mrs. Budd and her handsome

niece were making preparations for passing the night, aided by Biddy

Noon. The old lady was factotum, or factota, as it might be most

classical to call her, though we are entirely without authorities on the

subject, and was just as self-complacent and ambitious of seawomanship

below decks, as she had been above board. The effect, however, gave

Spike great satisfaction, since it kept her out of sight, and left him

more at liberty to carry out his own plans. About nine, however, the

good woman came on deck, intending to take a look at the weather, like

a skilful marineress as she was, before she turned in. Not a little was

she astonished at what she then and there beheld, as she whispered to

Rose and Biddy, both of whom stuck close to her side, feeling the want

of good pilotage, no doubt, in strange waters.

The Molly Swash was still under her canvas, though very little sufficed

for her present purposes. She was directly off Whitestone, and was

making easy stretches across the passage, or river, as it is called,

having nothing set but her huge fore-and-aft mainsail and the jib.

Under this sail she worked like a top, and Spike sometimes fancied she

travelled too fast for his purposes, the night air having thickened the

canvas as usual, until it “held the wind as a bottle holds water.” There

was nothing in this, however, to attract the particular attention of

the ship-master's widow, a sail, more or less, being connected with

observation much too critical for her schooling, nice as the last had

been. She was surprised to find the men stripping the brig forward,

and converting her into a schooner. Nor was this done in a loose and

slovenly manner, under favour of the obscurity. On the contrary, it

was so well executed that it might have deceived even a seaman under a

noon-day sun, provided the vessel were a mile or two distant. The manner

in which the metamorphosis was made was as follows: the studding-sail

booms had been taken off the topsail-yard, in order to shorten it to the

eye, and the yard itself was swayed up about half-mast, to give it the

appearance of a schooner's fore-yard. The brig's real lower yard was

lowered on the bulwarks, while her royal yard was sent down altogether,

and the topgallant-mast was lowered until the heel rested on the topsail

yard, all of which, in the night, gave the gear forward very much the

appearance of that of a fore-topsail schooner, instead of that of a

half-rigged brig, as the craft really was. As the vessel carried

a try-sail on her foremast, it answered very well, in the dark, to

represent a schooner's foresail. Several other little dispositions of

this nature were made, about which it might weary the uninitiated to

read, but which will readily suggest themselves to the mind of a sailor.

These alterations were far advanced when the females re-appeared on

deck. They at once attracted their attention, and the captain's widow

felt the imperative necessity, as connected with her professional

character, of proving the same. She soon found Spike, who was bustling

around the deck, now looking around to see that his brig was kept in the

channel, now and then issuing an order to complete her disguise.

“Captain Spike, what can be the meaning of all these changes? The tamper

of your vessel is so much altered that I declare I should not have known

her!”

“Is it, by George! Then she is just in the state I want her to be in.”

“But why have you done it--and what does it all mean?”

“Oh, Molly's going to bed for the night, and she's only undressing

herself--that's all.”

“Yes, Rosy dear, Captain Spike is right. I remember that my poor Mr.

Budd used to talk about The Rose In Bloom having her clothes on, and

her clothes off, just as if she was a born woman! But do n't you mean to

navigate at all in the night, Captain Spike? Or will the brig navigate

without sails?”

“That's it--she's just as good in the dark, under one sort of canvas, as

under another. So, Mr. Mulford, we'll take a reef in that mainsail;

it will bring it nearer to the size of our new foresail, and seem more

ship-shape and Brister fashion--then I think she'll do, as the night is

getting to be rather darkish.”

“Captain Spike,” said the boatswain, who had been set to look-out for

that particular change--“the brig begins to feel the new tide, and sets

to windward.”

“Let her go, then--now is as good a time as another. We've got to run

the gantlet, and the sooner it is done the better.”

As the moment seemed propitious, not only Mulford, but all the people,

heard this order with satisfaction. The night was star-light, though

not very clear at that. Objects on the water, however, were more visible

than those on the land, while those on the last could be seen well

enough, even from the brig, though in confused and somewhat shapeless

piles. When the Swash was brought close by the wind, she had just got

into the last reach of the “river,” or that which runs parallel with

the Neck for near a mile, doubling where the Sound expands itself,

gradually, to a breadth of many leagues. Still the navigation at the

entrance of this end of the Sound was intricate and somewhat dangerous,

rendering it indispensable for a vessel of any size to make a crooked

course. The wind stood at south-east, and was very scant to lay through

the reach with, while the tide was so slack as barely to possess a

visible current at that place. The steamer lay directly off the Point,

mid-channel, as mentioned, showing lights, to mark her position to

anything which might be passing in or out. The great thing was to get

by her without exciting her suspicion. As all on board, the females

excepted, knew what their captain was at, the attempt was made amid an

anxious and profound silence; or, if any one spoke at all, it was only

to give an order in a low tone, or its answer in a simple monosyllable.

Although her aunt assured her that everything which had been done

already, and which was now doing, was quite in rule, the quick-eyed and

quick-witted Rose noted these unusual proceedings, and had an opinion

of her own on the subject. Spike had gone forward, and posted himself on

the weather-side of the forecastle, where he could get the clearest look

ahead, and there he remained most of the time, leaving Mulford on the

quarter-deck, to work the vessel, Perceiving this, she managed to get

near the mate, without attracting her aunt's attention, and at the same

time out of ear-shot.

“Why is everybody so still and seemingly so anxious, Harry Mulford?” she

asked, speaking in a low tone herself, as if desirous of conforming to a

common necessity. “Is there any new danger here? I thought the Gate had

been passed altogether, some hours ago?”

“So it has. D'ye see that large dark mass on the water, off the Point,

which seems almost as huge as the fort, with lights above it? That is a

revenue-steamer which came out of York a few hours before us. We wish to

get past her without being troubled by any of her questions.”

“And what do any in this brig care about her questions? They can be

answered, surely.”

“Ay, ay, Rose--they may be answered, as you say, but the answers

sometimes are unsatisfactory. Captain Spike, for some reason or other,

is uneasy, and would rather not have anything to say to her. He has the

greatest aversion to speaking the smallest craft when on a coast.”

“And that's the reason he has undressed his Molly, as he calls her, that

he might not be known.”

Mulford turned his head quickly toward his companion, as if surprised by

her quickness of apprehension, but he had too just a sense of his

duty to make any reply. Instead of pursuing the discourse, he adroitly

contrived to change it, by pointing out to Rose the manner in which they

were getting on, which seemed to be very successfully.

Although the Swash was under much reduced canvas, she glided along with

great ease and with considerable rapidity of motion. The heavy night air

kept her canvas distended, and the weatherly set of the tide, trifling

as it yet was, pressed her up against the breeze, so as to turn all to

account. It was apparent enough, by the manner in which objects on the

land were passed, that the crisis was fast approaching. Rose

rejoined her aunt, in order to await the result, in nearly breathless

expectation. At that moment, she would have given the world to be

safe on shore. This wish was not the consequence of any constitutional

timidity, for Rose was much the reverse from timid, but it was the fruit

of a newly-awakened and painful, though still vague, suspicion. Happy,

thrice happy was it for one of her naturally confiding and guileless

nature, that distrust was thus opportunely awakened, for she was without

a guardian competent to advise and guide her youth, as circumstances

required.

The brig was not long in reaching the passage that opened to the Sound.

It is probable she did this so much the sooner because Spike kept her a

little off the wind, with a view of not passing too near the steamer.

At this point, the direction of the passage changes at nearly a right

angle, the revenue-steamer lying on a line with the Neck, and leaving a

sort of bay, in the angle, for the Swash to enter. The land was somewhat

low in all directions but one, and that was by drawing a straight line

from the Point, through the steamer, to the Long Island shore. On the

latter, and in that quarter, rose a bluff of considerable elevation,

with deep water quite near it; and, under the shadows of that bluff,

Spike intended to perform his nicest evolutions. He saw that the revenue

vessel had let her fires go down, and that she was entirely without

steam. Under canvas, he had no doubt of beating her hand over hand,

could he once fairly get to windward; and then she was at anchor, and

would lose some time in getting under way, should she even commence a

pursuit. It was all important, therefore, to gain as much to windward as

possible, before the people of the government vessel took the alarm.

There can be no doubt that the alterations made on board the Swash

served her a very good turn on this occasion. Although the night could

not be called positively dark, there was sufficient obscurity to render

her hull confused and indistinct at any distance, and this so much the

more when seen from the steamer outside, or between her and the land.

All this Spike very well understood, and largely calculated on. In

effect he was not deceived; the look-outs on board the revenue craft

could trace little of the vessel that was approaching beyond the spars

and sails which rose above the shores, and these seemed to be the spars

and sails of a common foretopsail schooner. As this was not the sort of

craft for which they were on the watch, no suspicion was awakened, nor

did any reports go from the quarter-deck to the cabin. The steamer had

her quarter watches, and officers of the deck, like a vessel of war, the

discipline of which was fairly enough imitated, but even a man-of-war

may be overreached on an occasion.

Spike was only great in a crisis, and then merely as a seaman. He

understood his calling to its minutiæ, and he understood the Molly Swash

better than he understood any other craft that floated. For more than

twenty years had he sailed her, and the careful parent does not better

understand the humours of the child, than he understood exactly what

might be expected from his brig. His satisfaction sensibly increased,

therefore, as she stole along the land, toward the angle mentioned,

without a sound audible but the gentle gurgling of the water, stirred by

the stem, and which sounded like the ripple of the gentlest wave, as it

washes the shingle of some placid beach.

As the brig drew nearer to the bluff, the latter brought the wind more

ahead, as respected the desired course. This was unfavourable, but it

did not disconcert her watchful commander.

“Let her come round, Mr. Mulford,” said this pilot-captain, in a low

voice--“we are as near in as we ought to go.”

The helm was put down, the head sheets started, and away into the wind

shot the Molly Swash, fore-reaching famously in stays, and, of course,

gaining so much on her true course. In a minute she was round, and

filled on the other tack. Spike was now so near the land, that he could

perceive the tide was beginning to aid him, and that his weatherly set

was getting to be considerable. Delighted at this, he walked aft, and

told Mulford to go about again as soon as the vessel had sufficient way

to make sure of her in stays. The mate inquired if he did not think the

revenue people might suspect something, unless they stood further out

toward mid-channel, but Spike reminded him that they would be apt to

think the schooner was working up under the southern shore, because the

ebb first made there. This reason satisfied Mulford, and, as soon as

they were half-way between the bluff and the steamer, the Swash was

again tacked, with her head to the former. This manoeuvre was executed

when the brig was about two hundred yards from the steamer, a distance

that was sufficient to preserve, under all the circumstances, the

disguise she had assumed.

“They do not suspect us, Harry!” whispered Spike to his mate. “We shall

get to windward of 'em, as sartain as the breeze stands. That boatin'

gentleman might as well have staid at home, as for any good his hurry

done him or his employers!”

“Whom do you suppose him to be, Captain Spike?”

“Who,--a feller that lives by his own wicked deeds. No matter who he is.

An informer, perhaps. At any rate, he is not the man to outwit the Molly

Swash, and her old, stupid, foolish master and owner, Stephen Spike.

Luff, Mr. Mulford, luff. Now's the time to make the most of your

leg--Luff her up and shake her. She is setting to windward fast, the ebb

is sucking along that bluff like a boy at a molasses hogshead. All she

can drift on this tack is clear gain; there is no hurry, so long as they

are asleep aboard the steamer. That's it--make a half-board at once,

but take care and not come round. As soon as we are fairly clear of the

bluff, and open the bay that makes up behind it, we shall get the wind

more to the southward, and have a fine long leg for the next stretch.”

Of course Mulford obeyed, throwing the brig up into the wind, and

allowing her to set to windward, but filling again on the same tack,

as ordered. This, of course, delayed her progress toward the land, and

protracted the agony, but it carried the vessel in the direction she

most wished to go, while it kept her not only end on to the steamer,

but in a line with the bluff, and consequently in the position most

favourable to conceal her true character. Presently, the bay mentioned,

which was several miles deep, opened darkly toward the south, and the

wind came directly out of it, or more to the southward. At this moment

the Swash was near a quarter of a mile from the steamer, and all that

distance dead to windward of her, as the breeze came out of the bay.

Spike tacked his vessel himself now, and got her head up so high that

she brought the steamer on her lee quarter, and looked away toward the

island which lies northwardly from the Point, and quite near to which

all vessels of any draught of water are compelled to pass, even with the

fairest winds.

“Shake the reef out of the mainsail, Mr. Mulford,” said Spike, when the

Swash was fairly in motion again on this advantageous tack. “We shall

pass well to windward of the steamer, and may as well begin to open our

cloth again.”

“Is it not a little too soon, sir?” Mulford ventured to remonstrate;

“the reef is a large one, and will make a great difference in the size

of the sail.”

“They'll not see it at this distance. No, no, sir, shake out the reef,

and sway away on the topgallant-mast rope; I'm for bringing the Molly

Swash into her old shape again, and make her look handsome once more.”

“Do you dress the brig, as well as undress her, o'mights; Captain

Spike?” inquired the ship-master's reliet, a little puzzled with this

fickleness of purpose. “I do not believe my poor Mr. Budd ever did

that.”

“Fashions change, madam, with the times--ay, ay, sir--shake out the

reef, and sway away on that mast-rope, boys, as soon as you have manned

it. We'll convart our schooner into a brig again.”

As these orders were obeyed, of course, a general bustle now took place.

Mulford soon had the reef out, and the sail distended to the utmost,

while the topgallant-mast was soon up and fidded. The next thing was to

sway upon the fore-yard, and get that into its place. The people were

busied at this duty, when a hoarse hail came across the water on the

heavy night air.

“Brig ahoy!” was the call.

“Sway upon that fore-yard,” said Spike, unmoved by this summons--“start

it, start it at once.”

“The steamer hails us, sir,” said the mate.

“Not she. She is hailing a brig; we are a schooner yet.”

A moment of active exertion succeeded, during which the fore-yard went

into its place. Then came a second hail.

“Schooner, ahoy!” was the summons this time.

“The steamer hails us again, Captain Spike.”

“The devil a bit. We're a brig now, and she hails a schooner. Come

boys, bestir yourselves, and get the canvas on Molly for'ard. Loose the

fore-course before you quit the yard there, then up aloft and loosen

everything you can find.”

All was done as ordered, and done rapidly, as is ever the case on board

a well-ordered vessel when there is occasion for exertion. That occasion

now appeared to exist in earnest, for while the men were sheeting home

the topsail, a flash of light illuminated the scene, when the roar of

a gun came booming across the water, succeeded by the very distinct

whistling of its shot. We regret that the relict of the late Captain

Budd did not behave exactly as became a shipmaster's widow, under fire.

Instead of remaining silent and passive, even while frightened, as was

the case with Rose, she screamed quite as loud as she had previously

done that very day in Hell-Gate. It appeared to Spike, indeed, that

practice was making her perfect; and, as for Biddy, the spirit of

emulation became so powerful in her bosom, that, if anything, she

actually outshrieked her mistress. Hearing this, the widow made a second

effort, and fairly recovered the ground some might have fancied she had

lost.

“Oh! Captain Spike,” exclaimed the agitated widow, “do not--do not, if

you love me, do not let them fire again!”

“How am I to help it!” asked the captain, a good deal to the point,

though he overlooked the essential fact, that, by heaving-to, and

waiting for the steamer's boat to board him, he might have prevented

a second shot, as completely as if he had the ordering of the whole

affair. No second shot was fired, however. As it afterward appeared,

the screams of Mrs. Budd and Biddy were heard on board the steamer, the

captain of which, naturally enough, supposing that the slaughter must be

terrible where such cries had arisen, was satisfied with the mischief he

had already done, and directed his people to secure their gun and go

to the capstan-bars, in order to help lift the anchor. In a word, the

revenue vessel was getting under way, man-of-war fashion, which means

somewhat expeditiously.

Spike understood the sounds that reached him, among which was the call

of the boatswain, and he bestirred himself accordingly. Experienced as

he was in chases and all sorts of nautical artifices, he very well knew

that his situation was sufficiently critical. It would have been so,

with a steamer at his heels, in the open ocean; but, situated as he was,

he was compelled to steer but one course, and to accept the wind on that

course as it might offer. If he varied at all in his direction it was

only in a trifling way, though he did make some of these variations.

Every moment was now precious, however, and he endeavoured to improve

the time to the utmost. He knew that he could greatly outsail the

revenue vessel, under canvas, and some time would be necessary to enable

her to get up her steam; half an hour at the very least. On that half

hour, then, depended the fate of the Molly Swash.

“Send the booms on the yards, and set stun'sails at once, Mr. Mulford,”

said Spike, the instant the more regular canvas was spread forward.

“This wind will be free enough for all but the lower stun'sail, and we

must drive the brig on.”

“Are we not looking up too high, Captain Spike? The Stepping-Stones are

ahead of us, sir.”

“I know that very well, Mulford. But it's nearly high water, and the

brig's in light trim, and we may rub and go. By making a short cut here,

we shall gain a full mile on the steamer; that mile may save us.”

“Do you really think it possible to get away from that craft, which can

always make a fair wind of it, in these narrow waters, Captain Spike?”

“One don't know, sir. Nothin' is done without tryin', and by tryin'

more is often done than was hoped for. I have a scheme in my head, and

Providence may favour me in bringing it about.”

Providence! The religionist quarrels with the philosopher if the

latter happen to remove this interposition of a higher power, even

so triflingly as by the intervention of secondary agencies, while

the biggest rascal dignifies even his success by such phrases as

Providential aid! But it is not surprising men should misunderstand

terms, when they make such sad confusion in the acts which these terms

are merely meant to represent. Spike had his Providence as well as a

priest, and we dare say he often counted on its succour, with quite

as rational grounds of dependence as many of the pharisees who are

constantly exclaiming, “The Temple of the Lord, the Temple of the Lord

are these.”

Sail was made on board the Swash with great rapidity, and the brig

made a bold push at the Stepping-Stones. Spike was a capital pilot.

He insisted if he could once gain sight of the spar that was moored on

those rocks for a buoy, he should run with great confidence. The two

lights were of great assistance, of course; but the revenue vessel

could see these lights as well as the brig, and she, doubtless, had an

excellent pilot on board. By the time the studding-sails were set on

board the Swash, the steamer was aweigh, and her long line of peculiar

sails became visible. Unfortunately for men who were in a hurry, she

lay so much within the bluff as to get the wind scant, and her commander

thought it necessary to make a stretch over to the southern shore,

before he attempted to lay his course. When he was ready to tack, an

operation of some time with a vessel of her great length, the Swash was

barely visible in the obscurity, gliding off upon a slack bowline, at

a rate which nothing but the damp night air, the ballast-trim of the

vessel, united to her excellent sailing qualities, could have produced

with so light a breeze.

The first half hour took the Swash completely out of sight of the

steamer. In that time, in truth, by actual superiority in sailing, by

her greater state of preparation, and by the distance saved by a bold

navigation, she had gained fully a league on her pursuer. But, while the

steamer had lost sight of the Swash, the latter kept the former in view,

and that by means of a signal that was very portentous. She saw the

light of the steamer's chimneys, and could form some opinion of her

distance and position.

It was about eleven o'clock when the Swash passed the light at Sands'

Point, close in with the land. The wind stood much as it had been. If

there was a change at all, it was half a point more to the southward,

and it was a little fresher. Such as it was, Spike saw he was getting,

in that smooth water, quite eight knots out of his craft, and he made

his calculations thereon. As yet, and possibly for half an hour longer,

he was gaining, and might hope to continue to gain on the steamer.

Then her turn would come. Though no great traveller, it was not to be

expected that, favoured by smooth water and the breeze, her speed would

be less than ten knots, while there was no hope of increasing his own

without an increase of the wind. He might be five miles in advance, or

six at the most; these six miles would be overcome in three hours of

steaming, to a dead certainty, and they might possibly be overcome much

sooner. It was obviously necessary to resort to some other experiment

than that of dead sailing, if an escape was to be effected.

The Sound was now several miles in width, and Spike, at first, proposed

to his mate, to keep off dead before the wind, and by crossing over to

the north shore, let the steamer pass ahead, and continue a bootless

chase to the eastward. Several vessels, however, were visible in the

middle of the passage, at distances varying from one to three miles, and

Mulford pointed out the hopelessness of attempting to cross the sheet of

open water, and expect to go unseen by the watchful eyes of the revenue

people.

“What you say is true enough, Mr. Mulford,” answered Spike, after a

moment of profound reflection, “and every foot that they come nearer,

the less will be our chance. But here is Hempstead Harbour a few leagues

ahead; if we can reach that before the blackguards close, we may do well

enough. It is a deep bay, and has high land to darken the view. I don't

think the brig could be seen at midnight by anything outside; if she was

once fairly up that water a mile or two.”

“That is our chance, sir!” exclaimed Mulford cheerfully. “Ay, ay, I know

the spot; and everything is favourable--try that, Captain Spike; I'll

answer for it that we go clear.”

Spike did try it. For a considerable time longer he stood on, keeping as

close to the land as he thought it safe to run, and carrying everything

that would draw. But the steamer was on his heels, evidently gaining

fast. Her chimneys gave out flames, and there was every sign that her

people were in earnest. To those on board the Swash these flames seemed

to draw nearer each instant, as indeed was the fact, and just as

the breeze came fresher out of the opening in the hills, or the low

mountains, which surround the place of refuge in which they designed

to enter, Mulford announced that by aid of the night-glass he could

distinguish both sails and hull of their pursuer. Spike took a look, and

throwing down the instrument, in a way to endanger it, he ordered the

studding-sails taken in. The men went aloft like cats, and worked as

if they could stand in air. In a minute or two the Swash was under what

Mrs. Budd might have called her “attacking” canvas, and was close by the

wind, looking on a good leg well up the harbour. The brig seemed to be

conscious of the emergency, and glided ahead at capital speed. In five

minutes she had shut in the flaming chimneys of the steamer. In five

minutes more Spike tacked, to keep under the western side of the

harbour, and out of sight as long as possible, and because he thought

the breeze drew down fresher where he was than more out in the bay.

All now depended on the single fact whether the brig had been seen from

the steamer or not, before she hauled into the bay. If seen, she had

probably been watched; if not seen, there were strong grounds for hoping

that she might still escape. About a quarter of an hour after Spike

hauled up, the burning chimneys came again into view. The brig was then

half a league within the bay, with a fine dark background of hills

to throw her into shadow. Spike ordered everything taken in but the

trysail, under which the brig was left to set slowly over toward the

western side of the harbour. He now rubbed his hands with delight, and

pointed out to Mulford the circumstance that the steamer kept on her

course directly athwart the harbour's mouth! Had she seen the Swash, no

doubt she would have turned into the bay also. Nevertheless, an anxious

ten minutes succeeded, during which the revenue vessel steamed fairly

past, and shut in her flaming chimneys again by the eastern headlands of

the estuary.

CHAPTER III.

The western wave was all a flame,

The day was well nigh done,

Almost upon the western wave

Rested the broad bright sun;

When that strange ship drove suddenly

Betwixt us and the sun.

The Ancient Mariner.

At that hour, on the succeeding morning, when the light of day is just

beginning to chase away the shadows of night, the Molly Swash became

visible within the gloom of the high land which surrounds so much of the

bay of Hempstead, under easy sail, backing and filling, in order to

keep within her hiding-place, until a look could be had at the state of

things without. Half an hour later, she was so near the entrance of the

estuary, as to enable the look-outs aloft to ascertain that the coast

was clear, when Spike ordered the helm to be put up, and the brig to be

kept away to her course. At this precise moment, Rose appeared on deck,

refreshed by the sleep of a quiet night; and with cheeks tinged with a

colour even more delicate than that which was now glowing in the eastern

sky, and which was almost as brilliant.

“We stopped in this bit of a harbour for the night, Miss Rose, that is

all;” said Spike, observing that his fair passenger was looking about

her, in some little surprise, at finding the vessel so near the land,

and seemingly so much out of her proper position. “Yes, we always do

that, when we first start on a v'y'ge, and before the brig gets used to

travelling--do n't we, Mr. Mulford?”

Mr. Mulford, who knew how hopeless was the attempt to mystify Rose, as

one might mystify her credulous and weak-minded aunt, and who had no

disposition to deal any way but fairly by the beautiful, and in one

sense now helpless young creature before him, did not see fit to make

any reply. Offend Spike he did not dare to do, more especially under

present circumstances; and mislead Rose he would not do. He affected

not to hear the question, therefore, but issuing an order about the

head-sails, he walked forward as if to see it executed. Rose herself was

not under as much restraint as the young mate.

“It is convenient, Captain Spike,” she coolly answered for Mulford, “to

have stopping-places, for vessels that are wearied, and I remember the

time when my uncle used to tell me of such matters, very much in the

same vein; but, it was before I was twelve years old.”

Spike hemmed, and he looked a little foolish, but Clench, the boatswain,

coming aft to say something to him in confidence, just at that moment,

he was enabled to avoid the awkwardness of attempting to explain. This

man Clench, or Clinch, as the name was pronounced, was deep in the

captain's secrets; far more so than was his mate, and would have been

filling Mulford's station at that very time, had he not been hopelessly

ignorant of navigation. On the present occasion, his business was to

point out to the captain, two or three lines of smoke, that were visible

above the water of the Sound, in the eastern board; one of which he was

apprehensive might turn out to be the smoke of the revenue craft, from

which they had so recently escaped.

“Steamers are no rarities in Long Island Sound, Clench,” observed the

captain, levelling his glass at the most suspected of the smokes. “That

must be a Providence, or Stonington chap, coming west with the Boston

train.”

“Either of them would have been further west, by this time, Captain

Spike,” returned the doubting, but watchful boatswain. “It's a large

smoke, and I fear it is the revenue fellow coming back, after having had

a look well to the eastward, and satisfying himself that we are not to

be had in that quarter.”

Spike growled out his assent to the possibility of such a conjecture,

and promised vigilance. This satisfied his subordinate for the moment,

and he walked forward, or to the place where he belonged. In the mean

time, the widow came on deck, smiling, and snuffing the salt air, and

ready to be delighted with anything that was maritime.

“Good morning, Captain Spike,” she cried--“Are we in the offing,

yet?--you know I desired to be told when we are in the offing, for I

intend to write a letter to my poor Mr. Budd's sister, Mrs. Sprague, as

soon as we get to the offing.”

“What is the offing, aunt?” inquired the handsome niece.

“Why you have hardly been at sea long enough to understand me, child,

should I attempt to explain. The offing, however, is the place where the

last letters are always written to the owners, and to friends ashore.

The term comes, I suppose, from the circumstance that the vessel is

about to be off, and it is natural to think of those we leave behind,

at such a moment. I intend to write to your aunt Sprague, my dear, the

instant I hear we are in the offing; and what is more, I intend to make

you my amanuensis.”

“But how will the letter be sent, aunty?--I have no more objections

to writing than any one else, but I do not see how the letter is to be

sent. Really, the sea is a curious region, with its stopping-places for

the night, and its offings to write letters at!”

“Yes, it's all as you say, Rose--a most remarkable region is the sea!

You'll admire it, as I admire it, when you come to know it better; and

as your poor uncle admired it, and as Captain Spike admires it, too. As

for the letters, they can be sent ashore by the pilot, as letters are

always sent.”

“But, aunty, there is no pilot in the Swash--for Captain Spike refused

to take one on board.”

“Rose!--you don't understand what you are talking about! No vessel ever

yet sailed without a pilot, if indeed any can. It's opposed to the law,

not to have a pilot; and now I remember to have heard your dear uncle

say it wasn't a voyage if a vessel didn't take away a pilot.”

“But if they take them away, aunty, how can they send the letters ashore

by them?”

“Poh! poh! child; you don't know what you're saying; but you'll overlook

it, I hope, Captain Spike, for Rose is quick, and will soon learn to

know better. As if letters couldn't be sent ashore by the pilot, though

he was a hundred thousand miles from land! But, Captain Spike, you must

let me know when we are about to get off the Sound, for I know that the

pilot is always sent ashore with his letters, before the vessel gets off

the Sound.”

“Yes, yes,” returned the captain, a little mystified by the widow,

though he knew her so well, and understood her so well--“you shall know,

ma'am, when we get off soundings, for I suppose that is what you mean.”

“What is the difference? Off the Sound, or off the soundings, of course,

must mean the same thing. But, Rosy, we will go below and write to

your aunt at once, for I see a light-house yonder, and light-houses are

always put just off the soundings.”

Rose, who always suspected her aunt's nautical talk, though she did not

know how to correct it, and was not sorry to put an end to it, now, by

going below, and spreading her own writing materials, in readiness to

write, as the other dictated. Biddy Noon was present, sewing on some of

her own finery.

“Now write, as I tell you, Rose,” commenced the widow--“My dear sister

Sprague--Here we are, at last, just off the soundings, with light-houses

all round us, and so many capes and islands in sight, that it does seem

as if the vessel never could find its way through them all. Some of

these islands must be the West Indies”--“Aunty, that can never be!”

exclaimed Rose--“we left New York only yesterday.”

“What of that? Had it been old times, I grant you several days might be

necessary to get a sight of the West Indies, but, now, when a letter

can be written to a friend in Boston, and an answer received in half an

hour, it requires no such time to go to the West Indies. Besides,

what other islands are there in this part of the world?--they can't be

England--”

“No--no,”--said Rose, at once seeing it would be preferable to admit

they were the West Indies; so the letter went on:--“Some of these

islands must be the West Indies, and it is high time we saw some of

them, for we are nearly off the Sound, and the light-houses are getting

to be quite numerous. I think we have already seen four since we left

the wharf. But, my dear sister Sprague, you will be delighted to hear

how much better Rose's health is already becoming--”

“My health, aunty! Why, I never knew an ill day in my life!”

“Don't tell me that, my darling; I know too well what all these

deceptive appearances of health amount to. I would not alarm you for

the world, Rosy dear, but a careful parent--and I'm your parent in

affection, if not by nature--but a careful parent's eye is not to be

deceived. I know you look well, but you are ill, my child; though,

Heaven be praised, the sea air and hydropathy are already doing you a

monstrous deal of good.”

As Mrs. Budd concluded, she wiped her eyes, and appeared really glad

that her niece had a less consumptive look than when she embarked. Rose

sat, gazing at her aunt, in mute astonishment. She knew how much and

truly she was beloved, and that induced her to be more tolerant of her

connection's foibles than even duty demanded. Feeling was blended with

her respect, but it was almost too much for her, to learn that this

long, and in some respects painful voyage, was undertaken on her

account, and without the smallest necessity for it. The vexation,

however, would have been largely increased, but for certain free

communications that had occasionally occurred between her and the

handsome mate, since the moment of her coming on board the brig. Rose

knew that Harry Mulford loved her, too, for he had told her as much with

a seaman's frankness; and though she had never let him know that his

partiality was returned, her woman's heart was fast inclining toward

him, with all her sex's tenderness. This made the mistake of her

aunt tolerable, though Rose was exceedingly vexed it should ever have

occurred.

“Why, my dearest aunt,” she cried, “they told me it was on your account

that this voyage was undertaken!”

“I know they did, poor, dear Rosy, and that was in order not to alarm

you. Some persons of delicate constitutions--”

“But my constitution is not in the least delicate, aunt; on the

contrary, it is as good as possible; a blessing for which, I trust, I am

truly grateful, I did not know but you might be suffering, though you

do look so well, for they all agreed in telling me you had need of a

sea-voyage.”

“I, a subject for hydropathy! Why, child, water is no more necessary to

me than it is to a cat.”

“But going to sea, aunty, is not hydropathy--”

“Don't say that, Rosy; do not say that, my dear. It is hydropathy on a

large scale, as Captain Spike says; and when he gets us into blue water,

he has promised that you shall have all the benefits of the treatment.”

Rose was silent and thoughtful; after which she spoke quickly, like one

to whom an important thought had suddenly occurred.

“And Captain Spike, then, was consulted in my case?” she asked.

“He was, my dear, and you have every reason to be grateful to him. He

was the first to discover a change in your appearance, and to suggest

a sea voyage. Marine Hydropathy, he said, he was sure would get you up

again; for Captain Spike thinks your constitution good at the bottom,

though the high colour you have proves too high a state of habitual

excitement.”

“Was Dr. Monson consulted at all, aunt?”

“Not at all. You know the doctors are all against hydropathy, and

mesmerism, and the magnetic telegraph, and everything that is new; so we

thought it best not to consult him.”

“And my aunt Sprague?”

“Yes, she was consulted after everything was settled, and when I knew

her notions could not undo what had been already done. But she is a

seaman's widow, as well as myself, and has a great notion of the virtue

of sea air.”

“Then it would seem that Doctor Spike was the principal adviser in my

case!”

“I own that he was, Rosy dear. Captain Spike was brought up by your

uncle, who has often told me what a thorough seaman he was. 'There's

Spike, now,' he said to me one day, 'he can almost make his brig

talk'--this very brig too, your uncle meant, Rosy, and, of course, one

of the best vessels in the world to take hydropathy in.”

“Yes, aunty,” returned Rose, playing with the pen, while her air proved

how little her mind was in her words. “Well, what shall I say next to my

aunt Sprague?”

“Rose's health is already becoming confirmed,” resumed the widow, who

thought it best to encourage her niece by as strong terms as she could

employ, “and I shall extol hydropathy to the skies, as long as I live.

As soon as we reach our port of destination, my dear sister Sprague, I

shall write you a line to let you know it, by the magnetic telegraph--”

“But there is no magnetic telegraph on the sea, aunty,” interrupted

Rose, looking up from the paper, with her clear, serene, blue eyes,

expressing even her surprise, at this touch of the relict's ignorance.

“Don't tell me that, Rosy, child, when everybody says the sparks will

fly round the whole earth, just as soon as they will fly from New York

to Philadelphia.”

“But they must have something to fly on, aunty; and the ocean will not

sustain wires, or posts.”

“Well, there is no need of being so particular; if there is no

telegraph, the letter must come by mail. You can say telegraph, here,

and when your aunt gets the letter, the postmark will tell her how it

came. It looks better to talk about telegraphic communications, child.”

Rose resumed her pen, and wrote at her aunt's dictation, as

follows:--“By the magnetic telegraph, when I hope to be able to tell you

that our dear Rose is well. As yet, we both enjoy the ocean exceedingly;

but when we get off the Sound, into blue water, and have sent the pilot

ashore, or discharged him, I ought to say, which puts me in mind of

telling you that a cannon was discharged at us only last night, and that

the ball whistled so near me, that I heard it as plain as ever you heard

Rose's piano.”

“Had I not better first tell my aunt Sprague what is to be done when the

pilot is discharged?”

“No; tell her about the cannon that was discharged, first, and about the

ball that I heard. I had almost forgot that adventure, which was a very

remarkable one, was it not, Biddy?”

“Indeed, Missus, and it was! and Miss Rose might put in the letter how

we both screamed at that cannon, and might have been heard as plainly,

every bit of it, as the ball.”

“Say nothing on the subject, Rose, or we shall never hear the last of

it. So, darling, you may conclude in your own way, for I believe I have

told your aunt all that comes to mind.”

Rose did as desired, finishing the epistle in a very few words, for,

rightly enough, she had taken it into her head there was no pilot to be

discharged, and consequently that the letter would never be sent. Her

short but frequent conferences with Mulford were fast opening her eyes,

not to say her heart, and she was beginning to see Captain Spike in his

true character, which was that of a great scoundrel. It is true, that

the mate had not long judged his commander quite so harshly; but had

rather seen his beautiful brig, and her rare qualities, in her owner

and commander, than the man himself; but jealousy had quickened his

observation of late, and Stephen Spike had lost ground sensibly with

Harry Mulford, within the last week. Two or three times before, the

young man had thought of seeking another berth, on account of certain

distrusts of Spike's occupations; but he was poor, and so long as

he remained in the Swash, Harry's opportunities of meeting Rose were

greatly increased. This circumstance, indeed, was the secret of his

still being in the “Molly,” as Spike usually called his craft; the last

voyage having excited suspicions that were rather of a delicate nature.

Then the young man really loved the brig, which, if she could not be

literally made to talk, could be made to do almost everything else. A

vessel, and a small vessel, too, is rather contracted as to space, but

those who wish to converse can contrive to speak together often, even

in such narrow limits. Such had been the fact with Rose Budd and the

handsome mate. Twenty times since they sailed, short as that time was,

had Mulford contrived to get so near to Rose, as to talk with her,

unheard by others. It is true, that he seldom ventured to do this,

so long as the captain was in sight, but Spike was often below, and

opportunities were constantly occurring. It was in the course of these

frequent but brief conversations, that Harry had made certain dark hints

touching the character of his commander, and the known recklessness of

his proceedings. Rose had taken the alarm, and fully comprehending her

aunt's mental imbecility, her situation was already giving her great

uneasiness. She had some undefined hopes from the revenue steamer;

though, strangely enough as it appeared to her, her youngest and most

approved suitor betrayed a strong desire to escape from that craft, at

the very moment he was expressing his apprehensions on account of her

presence in the brig. This contradiction arose from a certain esprit de

corps, which seldom fails, more or less, to identify the mariner with

his ship.

But the writing was finished, and the letter sealed with wax, Mrs. Budd

being quite as particular in that ceremony as Lord Nelson, when the

females again repaired on deck. They found Spike and his mate sweeping

the eastern part of the Sound with their glasses, with a view to look

out for enemies; or, what to them, just then, was much the same thing,

government craft. In this occupation, Rose was a little vexed to see

that Mulford was almost as much interested as Spike himself, the love of

his vessel seemingly overcoming his love for her, if not his love of the

right--she knew of no reason, however, why the captain should dread any

other vessel, and felt sufficiently provoked to question him a little

on the subject, if it were only to let him see that the niece was not as

completely his dupe as the aunt. She had not been on deck five minutes,

therefore, during which time several expressions had escaped the two

sailors touching their apprehensions of vessels seen in the distance,

ere she commenced her inquiries.

“And why should we fear meeting with other vessels?” Rose plainly

demanded--“here in Long Island Sound, and within the power of the laws

of the country?”

“Fear?” exclaimed Spike, a little startled, and a good deal surprised

at this straight-forward question--“Fear, Miss Rose! You do not think

we are afraid, though there are many reasons why we do not wish to be

spoken by certain craft that are hovering about. In the first place, you

know it is war time--I suppose you know, Madam Budd, that America is at

war with Mexico?”

“Certainly,” answered the widow, with dignity--“and that is a sufficient

reason, Rose, why one vessel should chase, and another should run. If

you had heard your poor uncle relate, as I have done, all his chasings

and runnings away, in the war times, child, you would understand these

things better. Why, I've heard your uncle say that, in some of his long

voyages, he has run thousands and thousands of miles, with sails set on

both sides, and all over his ship!”

“Yes, aunty, and so have I, but that was 'running before the wind,' as

he used to call it.”

“I s'pose, however, Miss Rose,” put in Spike, who saw that the niece

would soon get the better of the aunt;--“I s'pose, Miss Rose, that

you'll acknowledge that America is at war with Mexico?”

“I am sorry to say that such is the fact, but I remember to have heard

you say, yourself, Captain Spike, when my aunt was induced to undertake

this voyage, that you did not consider there was the smallest danger

from any Mexicans.”

“Yes, you did, Captain Spike,” added the aunt--“you did say there was no

danger from Mexicans.”

“Nor is there a bit, Madam Budd, if Miss Rose, and your honoured self,

will only hear me. There is no danger, because the brig has the heels of

anything Mexico can send to sea. She has sold her steamers, and, as for

anything else under her flag, I would not care a straw.”

“The steamer from which we ran, last evening, and which actually fired

off a cannon at us, was not Mexican, but American,” said Rose, with a

pointed manner that put Spike to his trumps.

“Oh! that steamer--” he stammered--“that was a race--only a race, Miss

Rose, and I wouldn't let her come near me, for the world. I should never

hear the last of it, in the insurance offices, and on 'change, did I let

her overhaul us. You see, Miss Rose--you see, Madam Budd--” Spike ever

found it most convenient to address his mystifying discourse to the

aunt, in preference to addressing it to the niece--“You see, Madam Budd,

the master of that craft and I are old cronies--sailed together when

boys, and set great store by each other. We met only last evening, just

a'ter I had left your own agreeable mansion, Madam Budd, and says he,

'Spike, when do you sail?' 'To-morrow's flood, Jones,' says I--his name

is Jones;--Peter Jones, and as good a fellow as ever lived. 'Do you go

by the Hook, or by Hell-Gate--'”

“Hurl-Gate, Captain Spike, if you please--or Whirl-Gate, which some

people think is the true sound; but the other way of saying it is

awful.”

“Well, the captain, my old master, always called it Hell-Gate, and I

learned the trick from him--”

“I know he did, and so do all sailors; but genteel people, now-a-days,

say nothing but Hurl-Gate, or Whirl-Gate.”

Rose smiled at this; as did Mulford; but neither said anything, the

subject having once before been up between them. As for ourselves, we

are still so old-fashioned as to say, and write, Hell-Gate, and intend

so to do, in spite of all the Yankees that have yet passed through it,

or who ever shall pass through it, and that is saying a great deal. We

do not like changing names to suit their uneasy spirits.

“Call the place Hurl-Gate, and go on with your story,” said the widow,

complacently.

“Yes, Madam Budd--'Do you go by the Hook, or by Whirl-Gate?' said Jones.

'By Whirl-a-Gig-Gate,' says I. 'Well,' says he, 'I shall go through the

Gate myself, in the course of the morning. We may meet somewhere to the

eastward, and, if we do, I'll bet you a beaver,' says he, 'that I show

you my stern.' 'Agreed,' says I, and we shook hands upon it. That's the

whole history of our giving the steamer the slip, last night, and of my

not wishing to let her speak me.”

“But you went into a bay, and let her go past you,” said Rose, coolly

enough as to manner, but with great point as to substance. “Was not that

a singular way of winning a race?”

“It does seem so, Miss Rose, but it's all plain enough, when understood.

I found that steam was too much for sails, and I stood up into the bay

to let them run past us, in hopes they would never find out the trick.

I care as little for a hat as any man, but I do care a good deal

about having it reported on 'change that the Molly was beat, by even a

steamer.”

This ended the discourse for the moment, Clench again having something

to say to his captain in private.

“How much of that explanation am I to believe, and how much disbelieve?”

asked Rose, the instant she was left alone with Harry. “If it be all

invention, it was a ready and ingenious story.”

“No part of it is true. He no more expected that the steamer would pass

through Hell-Gate, than I expected it myself. There was no bet, or race,

therefore; but it was our wish to avoid Uncle Sam's cruiser, that was

all.”

“And why should you wish any such thing?”

“On my honour, I can give you no better reason, so far as I am

concerned, than the fact that, wishing to keep clear of her, I do

not like to be overhauled. Nor can I tell you why Spike is so much

in earnest in holding the revenue vessel at arm's length; I know

he dislikes all such craft, as a matter of course, but I can see no

particular reason for it just now. A more innocent cargo was never stuck

into a vessel's hold.”

“What is it?”

“Flour; and no great matter of that. The brig is not half full, being

just in beautiful ballast trim, as if ready for a race. I can see no

sufficient reason, beyond native antipathy, why Captain Spike should

wish to avoid any craft, for it is humbug his dread of a Mexican, and

least of all, here, in Long Island Sound. All that story about Jones is

a tub for whales.”

“Thank you for the allusion; my aunt and myself being the whales.”

“You know I do mean--can mean nothing, Rose, that is disrespectful to

either yourself or your aunt.”

Rose looked up, and she looked pleased. Then she mused in silence, for

some time, when she again spoke.

“Why have you remained another voyage with such a man, Harry?” she

asked, earnestly.

“Because, as his first officer, I have had access to your house, when I

could not have had it otherwise; and because I have apprehended that he

might persuade Mrs. Budd, as he had boasted to me it was his intention

to do, to make this voyage.”

Rose now looked grateful; and deeply grateful did she feel, and had

reason to feel. Harry had concealed no portion of his history from her.

Like herself, he was a shipmaster's child, but one better educated and

better connected than was customary for the class. His father had paid a

good deal of attention to the youth's early years, but had made a seaman

of him, out of choice. The father had lost his all, however, with his

life, in a shipwreck; and Harry was thrown upon his own resources, at

the early age of twenty. He had made one or two voyages as a second

mate, when chance threw him in Spike's way, who, pleased with some

evidences of coolness and skill, that he had shown in a foreign port,

on the occasion of another loss, took him as his first officer; in which

situation he had remained ever since, partly from choice and partly from

necessity. On the other hand, Rose had a fortune; by no means a large

one, but several thousands in possession, from her own father, and

as many more in reversion from her uncle. It was this money, taken in

connection with the credulous imbecility of the aunt, that had awakened

the cupidity, and excited the hopes of Spike. After a life of lawless

adventure, one that had been chequered by every shade of luck, he found

himself growing old, with his brig growing old with him, and little left

beside his vessel and the sort of half cargo that was in her hold. Want

of means, indeed, was the reason that the flour-barrels were not more

numerous.

Rose heard Mulford's explanation favourably, as indeed she heard most

of that which came from him, but did not renew the discourse, Spike's

conference with the boatswain just then terminating. The captain now

came aft, and began to speak of the performances of his vessel in a way

to show that he took great pride in them.

“We are travelling at the rate of ten knots, Madam Budd,” he said

exultingly, “and that will take us clear of the land, before night shuts

in ag'in. Montauk is a good place for an offing; I ask for no better.”

“Shall we then have two offings, this voyage, Captain Spike?” asked

Rose, a little sarcastically. “If we are in the offing now, and are to

be in the offing when we reach Montauk, there must be two such places.”

“Rosy, dear, you amaze me!” put in the aunt. “There is no offing until

the pilot is discharged, and when he's discharged there is nothing but

offing. It's all offing. On the Sound, is the first great change that

befalls a vessel as she goes to sea; then comes the offing; next the

pilot is discharged--then--then--what comes next, Captain Spike?”

“Then the vessel takes her departure--an old navigator like yourself,

Madam Budd, ought not to forget the departure.”

“Quite true, sir. The departure is a very important portion of a

seaman's life. Often and often have I heard my poor dear Mr. Budd talk

about his departures. His departures, and his offings and his--”

“Land-falls,” added Spike, perceiving that the shipmaster's relict was a

little at fault.

“Thank you, sir; the hint is quite welcome. His landfalls, also, were

often in his mouth.”

“What is a land-fall, aunty?” inquired Rose--“It appears a strange term

to be used by one who lives on the water.”

“Oh! there is no end to the curiosities of sailors! A 'land-fall,' my

dear, means a shipwreck, of course. To fall on the land, and a very

unpleasant fall it is, when a vessel should keep on the water. I've

heard of dreadful land-falls in my day, in which hundreds of souls have

been swept into eternity, in an instant.”

“Yes; yes, Madam Budd--there are such accidents truly, and serious

things be they to encounter,” answered Spike, hemming a little to clear

his throat, as was much his practice whenever the widow ran into any

unusually extravagant blunder; “yes, serious things to encounter. But

the land-fall that I mean is a different sort of thing; being, as you

well know, what we say when we come in sight of land, a'ter a v'y'ge;

or, meaning the land we may happen first to see. The departure is the

beginning of our calculation when we lose sight of the last cape or

headland, and the land-fall closes it, by letting us know where we are,

at the other end of our journey, as you probably remember.”

“Is there not such a thing as clearing out in navigation?” asked Rose,

quickly, willing to cover a little confusion that was manifest in her

aunt's manner.

“Not exactly in navigation, Miss Rose, but clearing out, with honest

folk, ought to come first, and navigation a'terwards. Clearing out means

going through the Custom-House, accordin' to law.”

“And the Molly Swash has cleared out, I hope?”

“Sartain--a more lawful clearance was never given in Wall Street; it's

for Key West and a market. I did think of making it Havana and a market,

but port-charges are lightest at Key West.”

“Then Key West is the place to which we are bound?”

“It ought to be, agreeable to papers; though vessels sometimes miss the

ports for which they clear.”

Rose put no more questions; and her aunt, being conscious that she had

not appeared to advantage in the affair of the “land-fall,” was also

disposed to be silent. Spike and Mulford had their attention drawn to

the vessel, and the conversation dropped.

The reader can readily suppose that the Molly Swash had not been

standing still all this time. So far from this, she was running “down

Sound,” with the wind on her quarter, or at south-west, making great

head-way, as she was close under the south shore, or on the island side

of the water she was in. The vessel had no other motion than that of

her speed, and the females escaped everything like sea-sickness, for the

time being. This enabled them to attend to making certain arrangements

necessary to their comforts below, previously to getting into rough

water. In acquitting herself of this task, Rose received much useful

advice from Josh, though his new assistant, Jack Tier, turned out to

be a prize indeed, in the cabins. The first was only a steward; but the

last proved himself not only a handy person of his calling, but one full

of resources--a genius, in his way. Josh soon became so sensible of his

own inferiority, in contributing to the comforts of females, that he

yielded the entire management of the “ladies' cabin,” as a little

place that might have been ten feet square, was called, to his

uncouth-looking, but really expert deputy. Jack waddled about below, as

if born and brought up in such a place, and seemed every way fitted for

his office. In height, and in build generally, there was a surprising

conformity between the widow and the steward's deputy, a circumstance

which might induce one to think they must often have been in each

other's way, in a space so small; though, in point of fact, Jack never

ran foul of any one. He seemed to avoid this inconvenience by a species

of nautical instinct.

Towards the turn of the day, Rose had everything arranged, and was

surprised to find how much room she had made for her aunt and herself,

by means of Jack's hints, and how much more comfortable it was possible

to be, in that small cabin, than she had at first supposed.

After dinner, Spike took his siesta. He slept in a little state-room

that stood on the starboard side of the quarter-deck, quite aft; as

Mulford did in one on the larboard. These two state-rooms were fixtures;

but a light deck overhead, which connected them, shipped and unshipped,

forming a shelter for the man at the wheel, when in its place, as well

as for the officer of the watch, should he see fit to use it, in bad

weather. This sort of cuddy, Spike termed his “coach-house.”

The captain had no sooner gone into his state-room, and closed its

window, movements that were understood by Mulford, than the latter took

occasion to intimate to Rose, by means of Jack Tier, the state of things

on deck, when the young man was favoured with the young lady's company.

“He has turned in for his afternoon's nap, and will sleep for just one

hour, blow high, or blow low,” said the mate, placing himself at Rose's

side on the trunk, which formed the usual seat for those who could

presume to take the liberty of sitting down on the quarter-deck. “It's a

habit with him, and we can count on it, with perfect security.”

“His doing so, now, is a sign that he has no immediate fears of the

revenue steamer?”

“The coast is quite clear of her. We have taken good looks at every

smoke, but can see nothing that appears like our late companion. She has

doubtless gone to the eastward, on duty, and merely chased us, on her

road.”

“But why should she chase us, at all?”

“Because we ran. Let a dog run, or a man run, or a cat run, ten to one

but something starts in chase. It is human nature, I believe, to give

chase; though I will admit there was something suspicious about that

steamer's movements--her anchoring off the Fort, for instance. But let

her go, for the present; are you getting things right, and to your mind,

below decks?”

“Very much so. The cabin is small, and the two state-rooms the merest

drawers that ever were used, but, by putting everything in its place, we

have made sufficient room, and no doubt shall be comfortable.”

“I am sorry you did not call on me for assistance. The mate has a

prescriptive right to help stow away.”

“We made out without your services,” returned Rose, slightly

blushing--“Jack Tier, as he is called, Josh's assistant, is a very

useful person, and has been our adviser and manager. I want no better

for such services.”

“He is a queer fellow, all round. Take him altogether, I hardly ever saw

so droll a being! As thick as he's long, with a waddle like a duck, a

voice that is cracked, hair like bristles, and knee high; the man might

make a fortune as a show. Tom Thumb is scarcely a greater curiosity.”

“He is singular in 'build,' as you call it,” returned Rose, laughing,

“but, I can assure you that he is a most excellent fellow in his

way--worth a dozen of Josh. Do you know, Harry, that I suspect he

has strong feelings towards Captain Spike; though whether of like or

dislike, friendship or enmity, I am at a loss to say.”

“And why do you think that he has any feeling at all? I have heard Spike

say he left the fellow ashore, somewhere down on the Spanish Main, or in

the Islands, quite twenty years since; but a sailor would scarce carry a

grudge so long a time, for such a thing as that.”

“I do not know--but feeling there is, and much of it, too; though,

whether hostile or friendly, I will not undertake to say.”

“I'll look to the chap, now you tell me this. It is a little odd, the

manner in which he got on board us, taken in connection with the company

he was in, and a discovery may be made. Here he is, however; and, as

I keep the keys of the magazine, he can do us no great harm, unless he

scuttles the brig.”

“Magazine! Is there such a thing here?”

“To be sure there is, and ammunition enough in it to keep eight

carronades in lively conversation for a couple of hours.”

“A carronade is what you call a gun, is it not?”

“A piece of a one--being somewhat short, like your friend, Jack Tier,

who is shaped a good deal like a carronade.”

Rose smiled--nay, half laughed, for Harry's pleasantries almost took

the character of wit in her eyes, but she did not the less pursue her

inquiries.

“Guns! And where are they, if they be on this vessel?”

“Do not use such a lubberly expression, my dear Rose, if you respect

your father's profession. On a vessel, is a new-fangled Americanism,

that is neither fish, flesh, nor red-herring, as we sailors say--neither

English nor Greek.”

“What should I say, then? My wish is not to parade sea-talk, but to use

it correctly, when I use it at all.”

“The expression is hardly 'sea-talk,' as you call it, but every-day

English--that is, when rightly used. On a vessel is no more English than

it is nautical--no sailor ever used such an expression.”

“Tell me what I ought to say, and you will find me a willing, if not an

apt scholar. I am certain of having often read it, in the newspapers,

and that quite lately.”

“I'll answer for that, and it's another proof of its being wrong. In a

vessel is as correct as in a coach, and on a vessel as wrong as can

be; but you can say on board a vessel, though not 'on the boards of a

vessel;' as Mrs. Budd has it.”

“Mr. Mulford!”

“I beg a thousand pardons, Rose, and will offend no more--though she

does make some very queer mistakes!”

“My aunt thinks it an honour to my uncle's memory, to be able to use

the language of his professional life, and if she does sometimes make

mistakes that are absurd, it is with motives so respectable that no

sailor should deride them.”

“I am rebuked for ever. Mrs. Budd may call the anchor a silver spoon,

hereafter, without my even smiling. But if the aunt has this kind

remembrance of a seaman's life, why cannot the niece think equally well

of it?”

“Perhaps she does,” returned Rose, smiling again--“seeing all its

attractions through the claims of Captain Spike.”

“I think half the danger from him gone, now that you seem so much on

your guard. What an odious piece of deception, to persuade Mrs. Budd

that you were fast falling into a decline!”

“One so odious that I shall surely quit the brig at the first port we

enter, or even in the first suitable vessel that we may speak.”

“And Mrs. Budd--could you persuade her to such a course?”

“You scarce know us, Harry Mulford. My aunt commands, when there is

no serious duty to perform, but we change places when there is. I can

persuade her to anything that is right, in ten minutes.”

“You might persuade a world!” cried Harry, with strong admiration

expressed in his countenance; after which he began to converse with

Rose, on a subject so interesting to themselves, that we do not think

it prudent to relate any more of the discourse, forgetting all about the

guns.

About four o'clock, of a fine summer's afternoon, the Swash went through

the Race, on the best of the ebb, and with a staggering south-west wind.

Her movement by the land, just at that point, could not have been

less than at the rate of fifteen miles in the hour. Spike was in high

spirits, for his brig had got on famously that day, and there was

nothing in sight to the eastward. He made no doubt, as he had told his

mate, that the steamer had gone into the Vineyard Sound, and that she

was bound over the shoals.

“They want to make political capital out of her,” he added, using one of

the slang phrases, that the “business habits” of the American people are

so rapidly incorporating with the common language of the country--“They

want to make political capital out of her, Harry, and must show her off

to the Boston folk, who are full of notions. Well, let them turn her

to as much account in that way as they please, so long as they keep her

clear of the Molly. Your sarvant, Madam Budd”--addressing the widow, who

just at that moment came on deck--“a fine a'ternoon, and likely to be a

clear night to run off the coast in.”

“Clear nights are desirable, and most of all at sea, Captain Spike,”

returned the relict, in her best, complacent manner, “whether it be to

run off a coast, or to run on a coast. In either case, a clear night, or

a bright moon must be useful.”

Captain Spike rolled his tobacco over in his mouth, and cast a furtive

glance at the mate, but he did not presume to hazard any further

manifestations of his disposition to laugh.

“Yes, Madam Budd,” he answered, “it is quite as you say, and I am

only surprised where you have picked up so much of what I call useful

nautical knowledge.”

“We live and learn, sir. You will recollect that this is not my first

voyage, having made one before, and that I passed a happy, happy, thirty

years, in the society of my poor, dear husband, Rose's uncle. One must

have been dull, indeed, not to have picked up, from such a companion,

much of a calling that was so dear to him, and the particulars of

which were so very dear to him. He actually gave me lessons in the 'sea

dialect,' as he called it, which probably is the true reason I am so

accurate and general in my acquisitions.”

“Yes, Madam Budd--yes--hem--you are--yes, you are wonderful in that way.

We shall soon get an offing, now, Madam Budd--yes, soon get an offing,

now.”

“And take in our departure, Captain Spike--” added the widow, with a

very intelligent smile.

“Yes, take our departure. Montauk is yonder, just coming in sight; only

some three hours' run from this spot. When we get there, the open ocean

will lie before us; and give me the open sea, and I'll not call the king

my uncle.”

“Was he your uncle, Captain Spike?”

“Only in a philanthropic way, Madam Budd. Yes, let us get a good offing,

and a rapping to'gallant breeze, and I do not think I should care much

for two of Uncle Sam's new-fashioned revenue craft, one on each side of

me.”

“How delightful do I find such conversation, Rose! It's as much like

your poor, dear uncle's, as one pea is like another. 'Yes,' he used to

say, too, 'let me only have one on each side of me, and a wrapper round

the topgallant sail to hold the breeze, and I'd not call the king my

uncle.' Now I think of it, he used to talk about the king as his uncle,

too.”

“It was all talk, aunty. He had no uncle, and, what is more, he had no

king.”

“That's quite true, Miss Rose,” rejoined Spike, attempting a bow, which

ended in a sort of jerk. “It is not very becoming in us republicans to

be talking of kings, but a habit is a habit. Our forefathers had kings,

and we drop into their ways without thinking of what we are doing.

Fore-topgallant yard, there?”

“Sir.”

“Keep a bright look-out, ahead. Let me know the instant you make

anything in the neighbourhood of Montauk.”

“Ay, ay, sir.”

“As I was saying, Madam Budd, we seamen drop into our forefathers' ways.

Now, when I was a youngster, I remember, one day, that we fell in with a

ketch--you know, Miss Rose, what a ketch is, I suppose?”

“I have not the least notion of it, sir.”

“Rosy, you amaze me!” exclaimed the aunt--“and you a ship-master's

niece, and a ship-master's daughter! A catch is a trick that sailors

have, when they quiz landsmen.”

“Yes, Madam Budd, yes; we have them sort of catches, too; but I now mean

the vessel with a peculiar rig, which we call a ketch, you know.”

“Is it the full-jigger, or the half-jigger sort, that you mean?”

Spike could hardly stand this, and he had to hail the topgallant-yard

again, in order to keep the command of his muscles, for he saw by

the pretty frown that was gathering on the brow of Rose, that she was

regarding the matter a little seriously. Luckily, the answer of the

man on the yard diverted the mind of the widow from the subject, and

prevented the necessity of any reply.

“There's a light, of course, sir, on Montauk, is there not, Captain

Spike?” demanded the seaman who was aloft.

“To be sure there is--every head-land, hereabouts, has its light; and

some have two.”

“Ay, ay, sir--it's that which puzzles me; I think I see one light-house,

and I'm not certain but I see two.”

“If there is anything like a second, it must be a sail. Montauk has but

one light.”

Mulford sprang into the fore-rigging, and in a minute was on the yard.

He soon came down, and reported the lighthouse in sight, with the

afternoon's sun shining on it, but no sail near.

“My poor, dear Mr. Budd used to tell a story of his being cast away on a

light-house, in the East Indies,” put in the relict, as soon as the mate

had ended his report, “which always affected me. It seems there were

three ships of them together, in an awful tempest directly off the

land--”

“That was comfortable, any how,” cried Spike;--“if it must blow hard,

let it come off the land, say I.”

“Yes, sir, it was directly off the land, as my poor husband always said,

which made it so much the worse you must know, Rosy; though Captain

Spike's gallant spirit would rather encounter danger than not. It blew

what they call a Hyson, in the Chinese seas--”

“A what, aunty?--Hyson is the name of a tea, you know.”

“A Hyson, I'm pretty sure it was; and I suppose the wind is named after

the tea, or the tea after the wind.”

“The ladies do get in a gale, sometimes, over their tea,” said Spike

gallantly. “But I rather think Madam Budd must mean a Typhoon.”

“That's it--a Typhoon, or a Hyson--there is not much difference between

them, you see. Well, it blew a Typhoon, and they are always mortal

to somebody. This my poor Mr. Budd well knew, and he had set his

chronometer for that Typhoon--”

“Excuse me, aunty, it was the barometer that he was watching--the

chronometer was his watch.”

“So it was--his watch on deck was his chronometer, I declare. I am

forgetting a part of my education. Do you know the use of a chronometer,

now, Rose? You have seen your uncle's often, but do you know how he used

it?”

“Not in the least, aunty. My uncle often tried to explain it, but I

never could understand him.”

“It must have been, then, because Captain Budd did not try to make

himself comprehended,” said Mulford, “for I feel certain nothing would

be easier than to make you understand the uses of the chronometer.”

“I should like to learn it from you, Mr. Mulford,” answered the charming

girl, with an emphasis so slight on the 'you,' that no one observed it

but the mate, but which was clear enough to him, and caused every nerve

to thrill.

“I can attempt it,” answered the young man, “if it be agreeable to Mrs.

Budd, who would probably like to hear it herself.”

“Certainly, Mr. Mulford; though I fancy you can say little on such a

subject that I have not often heard already, from my poor, dear Mr.

Budd.”

“This was not very encouraging, truly; but Rose continuing to look

interested, the mate proceeded.

“The use of the chronometer is to ascertain the longitude,” said Harry,

“and the manner of doing it is, simply this: A chronometer is nothing

more nor less than a watch, made with more care than usual, so as to

keep the most accurate time. They are of all sizes, from that of a

clock, down to this which I wear in my fob, and which is a watch in size

and appearance. Now, the nautical almanacs are all calculated to some

particular meridian--”

“Yes,” interrupted the relict, “Mr. Budd had a great deal to say about

meridians.”

“That of London, or Greenwich, being the meridian used by those who

use the English Almanacs, and those of Paris or St. Petersburg, by

the French and Russians. Each of these places has an observatory, and

chronometers that are kept carefully regulated, the year round. Every

chronometer is set by the regulator of the particular observatory or

place to which the almanac used is calculated.”

“How wonderfully like my poor, dear Mr. Budd, all this is, Rosy!

Meridians, and calculated, and almanacs! I could almost think I heard

your uncle entertaining me with one of his nautical discussions, I

declare!”

“Now the sun rises earlier in places east, than in places west of us.”

“It rises earlier in the summer, but later in the winter, everywhere,

Mr. Mulford.”

“Yes, my dear Madam; but the sun rises earlier every day, in London,

than it does in New York.”

“That is impossible,” said the widow, dogmatically--“Why should not the

sun rise at the same time in England and America?”

“Because England is east of America, aunty. The sun does not move, you

know, but only appears to us to move, because the earth turns round from

west to east, which causes those who are farthest east to see it first.

That is what Mr. Mulford means.”

“Rose has explained it perfectly well,” continued the mate. “Now the

earth is divided into 360 degrees, and the day is divided into 24 hours.

If 360 be divided by 24, the quotient will be 15. If follows that, for

each fifteen degrees of longitude, there is a difference of just one

hour in the rising of the sun, all over the earth, where it rises at

all. New York is near five times 15 degrees west of Greenwich, and the

sun consequently rises five hours later at New York than at London.”

“There must be a mistake in this, Rosy,” said the relict, in a tone of

desperate resignation, in which the desire to break out in dissent, was

struggling oddly enough with an assumed dignity of deportment. “I've

always heard that the people of London are some of the latest in the

world. Then, I've been in London, and know that the sun rises in New

York, in December, a good deal earlier than it does in London, by the

clock--yes, by the clock.”

“True enough, by the clock, Mrs. Budd, for London is more than ten

degrees north of New York, and the farther north you go, the later the

sun rises in winter, and the earlier in summer.”

The relict merely shrugged her shoulders, as much as to say that she

knew no such thing; but Rose, who had been well taught, raised her

serene eyes to her aunt's face, and mildly said--“All true, aunty, and

that is owing to the fact that the earth is smaller at each end than in

the middle.”

“Fiddle faddle with your middles and ends, Rose--I've been in London,

dear, and know that the sun rises later there than in New York, in the

month of December, and that I know by the clock, I tell you.”

“The reason of which is,” resumed Mulford, “because the clocks of

each place keep the time of that place. Now, it is different with the

chronometers; they are set in the observatory of Greenwich, and keep the

time of Greenwich. This watch chronometer was set there, only six months

since; and this time, as you see, is near nine o'clock, when in truth it

is only about four o'clock here, where we are.”

“I wonder you keep such a watch, Mr. Mulford!”

“I keep it,” returned the mate, smiling, “because I know it to keep good

time. It has the Greenwich time; and, as your watch has the New York

time, by comparing them together, it is quite easy to find the longitude

of New York.”

“Do you, then, keep watches to compare with your chronometers?” asked

Rose, with interest.

“Certainly not; as that would require a watch for every separate part

of the ocean, and then we should only get known longitudes. It would be

impracticable, and load a ship with nothing but watches. What we do is

this: We set our chronometers at Greenwich, and thus keep the Greenwich

true time wherever we go. The greatest attention is paid to the

chronometers, to see that they receive no injuries; and usually there

are two, and often more of them, to compare one with another, in order

to see that they go well. When in the middle of the ocean, for instance,

we find the true time of the day at that spot, by ascertaining the

height of the sun. This we do by means of our quadrants, or sextants;

for, as the sun is always in the zenith at twelve o'clock, nothing is

easier than to do this, when the sun can be seen, and an arc of the

heavens measured. At the instant the height of the sun is ascertained

by one observer, he calls to another, who notes the time on the

chronometer. The difference in these two times, or that of the

chronometer and that of the sun, gives the distance in degrees and

minutes, between the longitude of Greenwich and that of the place on the

ocean where the observer is; and that gives him his longitude. If the

difference is three hours and twenty minutes, in time, the distance from

Greenwich is fifty degrees of longitude, because the sun rises three

hours and twenty minutes sooner in London, than in the fiftieth degree

of west longitude.”

“A watch is a watch, Rosy,” put in the aunt, doggedly--“and time is

time.--When it's four o'clock at our house, it's four o'clock at your

aunt Sprague's, and it's so all over the world. The world may turn

round--I'll not deny it, for your uncle often said as much as that, but

it cannot turn in the way Mr. Mulford says, or we should all fall off

it, at night, when it was bottom upwards. No, sir, no; you've started

wrong. My poor, dear, late Mr. Budd, always admitted that the world

turned round, as the books say; but when I suggested to him the

difficulty of keeping things in their places, with the earth upside

down, he acknowledged candidly--for he was all candour, I must say

that for him--and owned that he had made a discovery by means of his

barometer, which showed that the world did not turn round in the way you

describe, or by rolling over, but by whirling about, as one turns in a

dance. You must remember your uncle's telling me this, Rose?”

Rose did remember her uncle's telling her aunt this, as well as a great

many other similar prodigies. Captain Budd had married his silly wife

on account of her pretty face, and when the novelty of that was over,

he often amused himself by inventing all sorts of absurdities, to amuse

both her and himself. Among other things, Rose well remembered his

quieting her aunt's scruples about falling off the earth, by laying down

the theory that the world did not “roll over,” but “whirl round.” But

Rose did not answer the question.

“Objects are kept in their places on the earth by means of attraction,”

Mulford ventured to say, with a great deal of humility of manner. “I

believe it is thought there is no up or down, except as we go from or

towards the earth; and that would make the position of the last a matter

of indifference, as respects objects keeping on it.”

“Attractions are great advantages, I will own, sir, especially to our

sex. I think it will be acknowledged there has been no want of them in

our family, any more than there has been of sense and information. Sense

and information we pride ourselves on; attractions being gifts from God,

we try to think less of them. But all the attractions in the world could

not keep Rosy, here, from falling off the earth, did it ever come bottom

upwards. And, mercy on me, where would she fall to!”

Mulford saw that argument was useless, and he confined his remarks,

during the rest of the conversation, to showing Rose the manner in

which the longitude of a place might be ascertained, with the aid of the

chronometer, and by means of observations to get the true time of day,

at the particular place itself. Rose was so quick-witted, and already

so well instructed, as easily to comprehend the principles; the details

being matters of no great moment to one of her sex and habits. But Mrs.

Budd remained antagonist to the last. She obstinately maintained that

twelve o'clock was twelve o'clock; or, if there was any difference,

“London hours were notoriously later than those of New York.”

Against such assertions arguments were obviously useless, and Mulford,

perceiving that Rose began to fidget, had sufficient tact to change the

conversation altogether.

And still the Molly Swash kept in swift motion. Montauk was by this time

abeam, and the little brigantine began to rise and fall, on the long

swells of the Atlantic, which now opened before her, in one vast sheet

of green and rolling waters. On her right lay the termination of Long

Island; a low, rocky cape, with its light, and a few fields in tillage,

for the uses of those who tended it. It was the “land's end” of New

York, while the island that was heaving up out of the sea, at a distance

of about twenty miles to the eastward, was the property of Rhode Island,

being called Blok Island. Between the two, the Swash shaped her course

for the ocean.

Spike had betrayed uneasiness, as his brig came up with Montauk; but the

coast seemed clear, with not even a distant sail in sight, and he came

aft, rubbing his hands with delight, speaking cheerfully.

“All right, Mr. Mulford,” he cried--“everything ship-shape and

brister-fashion--not even a smack fishing here-away, which is a little

remarkable. Ha!--what are you staring at, over the quarter, there?”

“Look here, sir, directly in the wake of the setting sun, which we are

now opening from the land--is not that a sail?”

“Sail! Impossible, sir. What should a sail be doing in there, so near

Montauk--no man ever saw a sail there in his life. It's a spot in the

sun, Madam Budd, that my mate has got a glimpse at, and, sailor-like, he

mistakes it for a sail! Ha--ha--ha--yes, Harry, it's a spot in the sun.”

“It is a spot on the sun, as you say, but it's a spot made by a

vessel--and here is a boat pulling towards her, might and main; going

from the light, as if carrying news.”

It was no longer possible for Spike's hopes to deceive him. There was

a vessel, sure enough; though, when first seen, it was so directly in

a line with the fiery orb of the setting sun, as to escape common

observation. As the brig went foaming on towards the ocean, however,

the black speck was soon brought out of the range of the orb of day, and

Spike's glass was instantly levelled at it.

“Just as one might expect, Mr. Mulford,” cried the captain, lowering

his glass, and looking aloft to see what could be done to help his craft

along; “a bloody revenue cutter, as I'm a wicked sinner! There she lies,

sir, within musket shot of the shore, hid behind the point, as it might

be in waiting for us, with her head to the southward, her helm hard

down, topsail aback, and foresail brailed; as wicked looking a thing as

Free Trade and Sailor's Rights ever ran from. My life on it, sir, she's

been put in that precise spot, in waiting for the Molly to arrive. You

see, as we stand on, it places her as handsomely to windward of us, as

the heart of man could desire.”

“It is a revenue cutter, sir; now she's out of the sun's wake, that is

plain enough. And that is her boat, which has been sent to the light

to keep a look-out for us. Well, sir, she's to windward; but we have

everything set for our course, and as we are fairly abeam, she must be a

great traveller to overhaul us.”

“I thought these bloody cutters were all down in the Gulf,” growled the

captain, casting his eyes aloft again, to see that everything drew.

“I'm sure the newspapers have mentioned as many as twenty that are

down there, and here is one, lying behind Montauk, like a snake in the

grass!”

“At any rate, by the time he gets his boat up we shall get the start of

him--ay, there he fills and falls off, to go and meet her. He'll soon be

after us, Captain Spike, at racing speed.”

Everything occurred as those two mariners had foreseen. The revenue

cutter, one of the usual fore-top-sail schooners that are employed in

that service, up and down the coast, had no sooner hoisted up her boat,

than she made sail, a little off the wind, on a line to close with the

Swash. As for the brig, she had hauled up to an easy bowline, as she

came round Montauk, and was now standing off south southeast, still

having the wind at south-west. The weatherly position of the cutter

enabled her to steer rather more than one point freer. At the

commencement of this chase, the vessels were about a mile and a half

apart, a distance too great to enable the cutter to render the light

guns she carried available, and it was obvious from the first, that

everything depended on speed. And speed it was, truly; both vessels

fairly flying; the Molly Swash having at last met with something very

like her match. Half an hour satisfied both Spike and Mulford that, by

giving the cutter the advantage of one point in a freer wind, she would

certainly get alongside of them, and the alternative was therefore to

keep off.

“A starn chase is a long chase, all the world over,” cried Spike--“edge

away, sir; edge away, sir, and bring the cutter well on our quarter.”

This order was obeyed; but to the surprise of those in the Swash, the

cutter did not exactly follow, though she kept off a little more. Her

object seemed to be to maintain her weatherly position, and in this

manner the two vessels ran on for an hour longer, until the Swash had

made most of the distance between Montauk and Blok Island. Objects were

even becoming dimly visible on the last, and the light on the point

was just becoming visible, a lone star above a waste of desert, the sun

having been down now fully a quarter of an hour, and twilight beginning

to draw the curtain of night over the waters.

“A craft under Blok,” shouted the look-out, that was still kept aloft as

a necessary precaution.

“What sort of a craft?” demanded Spike, fiercely; for the very mention

of a sail, at that moment, aroused all his ire. “Arn't you making a

frigate out of an apple-orchard?”

“It's the steamer, sir. I can now see her smoke. She's just clearing the

land, on the south side of the island, and seems to be coming round to

meet us.”

A long, low, eloquent whistle from the captain, succeeded this

announcement. The man aloft was right. It was the steamer, sure enough;

and she had been lying hid behind Blok Island, exactly as her consort

had been placed behind Montauk, in waiting for their chase to arrive.

The result was, to put the Molly Swash in exceeding jeopardy, and the

reason why the cutter kept so well to windward was fully explained. To

pass out to sea between these two craft was hopeless. There remained

but a single alternative from capture by one or by the other,--and

that Spike adopted instantly. He kept his brig dead away, setting

studding-sails on both sides. This change of course brought the cutter

nearly aft, or somewhat on the other quarter, and laid the brig's head

in a direction to carry her close to the northern coast of the island.

But the principal advantage was gained over the steamer, which could

not keep off, without first standing a mile or two, or even more, to the

westward, in order to clear the land. This was so much clear gain to the

Swash, which was running off at racing speed, on a north-east course,

while her most dangerous enemy was still heading to the westward. As for

the cutter, she kept away; but it was soon apparent that the brig had

the heels of her, dead before the wind.

Darkness now began to close around the three vessels; the brig and the

schooner soon becoming visible to each other principally by means of

their night-glasses; though the steamer's position could be easily

distinguished by means of her flaming chimney. This latter vessel stood

to the westward for a quarter of an hour, when her commander appeared to

become suddenly conscious of the ground he was losing, and he wore short

round, and went off before the wind, under steam and canvas; intending

to meet the chase off the northern side of the island. The very person

who had hailed the Swash, as she was leaving the wharf, who had passed

her in Hell-Gate, with Jack Tier in his boat, and who had joined her

off Throgmorton's, was now on her deck, urging her commander by every

consideration not to let the brig escape. It was at his suggestion

that the course was changed. Nervous, and eager to seize the brig, he

prevailed on the commander of the steamer to alter his course. Had he

done no more than this, all might have been well; but so exaggerated

were his notions of the Swash's sailing, that, instead of suffering the

steamer to keep close along the eastern side of the island, he persuaded

her commander of the necessity of standing off a long distance to the

northward and eastward, with a view to get ahead of the chase. This was

not bad advice, were there any certainly that Spike would stand on, of

which, however, he had no intention.

The night set in dark and cloudy; and, the instant that Spike saw, by

means of the flaming chimney, that the steamer had wore, and was going

to the eastward of Blok, his plan was laid. Calling to Mulford, he

communicated it to him, and was glad to find that his intelligent

mate was of his own way of thinking. The necessary orders were given,

accordingly, and everything was got ready for its execution.

In the meantime, the two revenue craft were much in earnest. The

schooner was one of the fastest in the service, and had been placed

under Montauk, as described, in the confident expectation of her being

able to compete with even the Molly Swash successfully, more especially

if brought upon a bowline. Her commander watched the receding form of

the brig with the closest attention, until it was entirely swallowed up

in the darkness, under the land, towards which he then sheered himself,

in order to prevent the Swash from hauling up, and turning to windward,

close in under the shadow of the island. Against this manoeuvre,

however, the cutter had now taken an effectual precaution, and her

people were satisfied that escape in that way was impossible.

On the other hand, the steamer was doing very well. Driven by the

breeze, and propelled by her wheels, away she went, edging further and

further from the island, as the person from the Custom-House succeeded,

as it might be, inch by inch, in persuading the captain of the necessity

of his so doing. At length a sail was dimly seen ahead, and then

no doubt was entertained that the brig had got to the northward and

eastward of them. Half an hour brought the steamer alongside of this

sail, which turned out to be a brig that had come over the shoals, and

was beating into the ocean, on her way to one of the southern ports. Her

captain said there had nothing passed to the eastward.

Round went the steamer, and in went all her canvas. Ten minutes later

the look-out saw a sail to the westward, standing before the wind. Odd

as it might seem, the steamer's people now fancied they were sure of the

Swash. There she was, coming directly for them, with squared yards! The

distance was short, or a vessel could not have been seen by that light,

and the two craft were soon near each other. A gun was actually cleared

on board the steamer, ere it was ascertained that the stranger was the

schooner! It was now midnight, and nothing was in sight but the coasting

brig. Reluctantly, the revenue people gave the matter up; the Molly

Swash having again eluded them, though by means unknown.

CHAPTER IV.

“Leander dived for love, Leucadia's cliff

The Lesbian Sappho leap'd from in a miff,

To punish Phaon; Icarus went dead,

Because the wax did not continue stiff;

And, had he minded what his father said,

He had not given a name unto his watery bed.”

Sands.

We must now advance the time several days, and change the scene to a

distant part of the ocean; within the tropics indeed. The females had

suffered slight attacks of sea-sickness, and recovered from them, and

the brig was safe from all her pursuers. The manner of Spike's escape

was simple enough, and without any necromancy. While the steamer, on the

one hand, was standing away to the northward and eastward, in order to

head him off, and the schooner was edging in with the island, in order

to prevent his beating up to windward of it, within its shadows, the

brig had run close round the northern margin of the land, and hauled up

to leeward of the island, passing between it and the steamer. All this

time, her movements were concealed from the schooner by the island

itself, and from the steamer, by its shadow and dark back-ground,

aided by the distance. By making short tacks, this expedient answered

perfectly well; and, at the very moment when the two revenue vessels

met, at midnight, about three leagues to leeward of Blok Island, the

brigantine, Molly Swash, was just clearing its most weatherly point, on

the larboard tack, and coming out exactly at the spot where the steamer

was when first seen that afternoon. Spike stood to the westward, until

he was certain of having the island fairly between him and his pursuers,

when he went about, and filled away on his course, running out to sea

again on an easy bowline. At sunrise the next day he was fifty miles to

the southward and eastward of Montauk; the schooner was going into New

London, her officers and people quite chop-fallen; and the steamer

was paddling up the Sound, her captain being fully persuaded that the

runaways had returned in the direction from which they had come, and

might yet be picked up in that quarter.

The weather was light, just a week after the events related in the close

of the last chapter. By this time the brig had got within the influence

of the trades; and, it being the intention of Spike to pass to the

southward of Cuba, he had so far profited by the westerly winds, as to

get well to the eastward of the Mona Passage, the strait through which

he intended to shape his course on making the islands. Early on that

morning Mrs. Budd had taken her seat on the trunk of the cabin, with

a complacent air, and arranged her netting, some slight passages of

gallantry, on the part of the captain, having induced her to propose

netting him a purse. Biddy was going to and fro, in quest of silks and

needles, her mistress having become slightly capricious in her tastes of

late, and giving her, on all such occasions, at least a double allowance

of occupation. As for Rose, she sat reading beneath the shade of the

coach-house deck, while the handsome young mate was within three feet

of her, working up his logarithms, but within the sanctuary of his own

state-room; the open door and window of which, however, gave him every

facility he could desire to relieve his mathematics, by gazing at the

sweet countenance of his charming neighbor. Jack Tier and Josh were both

passing to and fro, as is the wont of stewards, between the camboose

and the cabin, the breakfast table being just then in the course of

preparation. In all other respects, always excepting the man at the

wheel, who stood within a fathom of Rose, Spike had the quarter-deck

to himself, and did not fail to pace its weather-side with an air that

denoted the master and owner. After exhibiting his sturdy, but short,

person in this manner, to the admiring eyes of all beholders, for some

time, the captain suddenly took a seat at the side of the relict, and

dropped into the following discourse.

“The weather is moderate, Madam Budd; quite moderate,” observed Spike,

a sentimental turn coming over him at the moment. “What I call moderate

and agreeable.”

“So much the better for us; the ladies are fond of moderation, sir.”

“Not in admiration, Madam Budd--ha! ha! ha! no, not in admiration.

Immoderation is what they like when it comes to that. I'm a single man,

but I know that the ladies like admiration--mind where you're sheering

to,” the captain said, interrupting himself a little fiercely,

considering the nature of the subject, in consequence of Jack Tier's

having trodden on his toe in passing--“or I'll teach you the navigation

of the quarter-deck, Mr. Burgoo!”

“Moderation--moderation, my good captain,” said the simpering relict.

“As to admiration, I confess that it is agreeable to us ladies; more

especially when it comes from gentlemen of sense, and intelligence, and

experience.”

Rose fidgeted, having heard every word that was said, and her face

flushed; for she doubted not that Harry's ears were as good as her own.

As for the man at the wheel, he turned the tobacco over in his mouth,

hitched up his trousers, and appeared interested, though somewhat

mystified--the conversation was what he would have termed “talking

dictionary,” and he had some curiosity to learn how the captain would

work his way out of it. It is probable that Spike himself had some

similar gleamings of the difficulties of his position, for he looked

a little troubled, though still resolute. It was the first time he

had ever lain yard-arm and yard-arm with a widow, and he had long

entertained a fancy that such a situation was trying to the best of men.

“Yes, Madam Budd, yes,” he said, “exper'ence and sense carry weight with

'em, wherever they go. I'm glad to find that you entertain these just

notions of us gentlemen, and make a difference between boys and them

that's seen and known exper'ence. For my part, I count youngsters under

forty as so much lumber about decks, as to any comfort and calculations

in keepin' a family, as a family ought to be kept.”

Mrs. Budd looked interested, but she remained silent on hearing this

remark, as became her sex.

“Every man ought to settle in life, some time or other, Madam Budd,

accordin' to my notion, though no man ought to be in a boyish haste

about it,” continued the captain. “Now, in my own case, I've been so

busy all my youth--not that I'm very old now, but I'm no boy--but all my

younger days have been passed in trying to make things meet, in a way to

put any lady who might take a fancy to me--”

“Oh! captain--that is too strong! The ladies do not take fancies for

gentlemen, but the gentlemen take fancies for ladies!”

“Well, well, you know what I mean, Madam Budd; and so long as the

parties understand each other, a word dropped, or a word put into a

charter-party, makes it neither stronger nor weaker. There's a time,

howsomever, in every man's life, when he begins to think of settling

down, and of considerin' himself as a sort of mooring-chain, for

children and the likes of them to make fast to. Such is my natur', I

will own; and ever since I've got to be intimate in your family, Madam

Budd, that sentiment has grown stronger and stronger in me, till it has

got to be uppermost in all my idees. Bone of my bone, and flesh of my

flesh, as a body might say.”

Mrs. Budd now looked more than interested, for she looked a little

confused, and Rose began to tremble for her aunt. It was evident that

the parties most conspicuous in this scene were not at all conscious

that they were overheard, the intensity of their attention being too

much concentrated on what was passing to allow of any observation

without their own narrow circle. What may be thought still more

extraordinary, but what in truth was the most natural of all, each of

the parties was so intently bent on his, or her, own train of thought,

that neither in the least suspected any mistake.

“Grown with your growth, and strengthened with your strength,” rejoined

the relict, smiling kindly enough on the captain to have encouraged a

much more modest man than he happened to be.

“Yes, Madam Budd--very just that remark; grown with my strength, and

strengthened with my growth, as one might say; though I've not done much

at growing for a good many years. Your late husband, Captain Budd,

often remarked how very early I got my growth; and rated me as an

'able-bodied' hand, when most lads think it an honour to be placed among

the 'or'naries.'”

The relict looked grave; and she wondered at any man's being so singular

as to allude to a first husband, at the very moment he was thinking of

offering himself for a second. As for herself, she had not uttered

as many words in the last four years, as she had uttered in that very

conversation, without making some allusion to her “poor dear Mr. Budd.”

The reader is not to do injustice to the captain's widow, however, by

supposing for a moment that she was actually so weak as to feel any

tenderness for a man like Spike, which would be doing a great wrong

to both her taste and her judgment, as Rose well knew, even while

most annoyed by the conversation she could not but overhear. All that

influenced the good relict was that besetting weakness of her sex, which

renders admiration so universally acceptable; and predisposes a female,

as it might be, to listen to a suitor with indulgence, and some little

show of kindness, even when resolute to reject him. As for Rose, to own

the truth, her aunt did not give her a thought, as yet, notwithstanding

Spike was getting to be so sentimental.

“Yes, your late excellent and honourable consort always said that I got

my growth sooner than any youngster he ever fell in with,” resumed the

captain, after a short pause; exciting fresh wonder in his companion,

that he would persist in lugging in the “dear departed” so very

unseasonably. “I am a great admirer of all the Budd family, my good

lady, and only wish my connection with it had never tarminated; if

tarminated it can be called.”

“It need not be terminated, Captain Spike, so long as friendship exists

in the human heart.”

“Ay, so it is always with you ladies; when a man is bent on suthin'

closer and more interestin' like, you're for putting it off on

friendship. Now friendship is good enough in its way, Madam Budd, but

friendship is n't love.”

“Love!” echoed the widow, fairly starting, though she looked down at her

netting, and looked as confused as she knew how. “That is a very decided

word, Captain Spike, and should never be mentioned to a woman's ear

lightly.”

So the captain now appeared to think, too, for no sooner had he

delivered himself of the important monosyllable, than he left the

widow's side, and began to pace the deck, as it might be to moderate

his own ardour. As for Rose, she blushed, if her more practised aunt did

not; while Harry Mulford laughed heartily, taking good care, however,

not to be heard. The man at the wheel turned the tobacco again, gave his

trousers another hitch, and wondered anew whither the skipper was bound.

But the drollest manifestation of surprise came from Josh, the steward,

who was passing along the lee-side of the quarter-deck, with a tea-pot

in his hand, when the energetic manner of the captain sent the words

“friendship is n't love” to his ears. This induced him to stop for a

single instant, and to cast a wondering glance behind him; after which

he moved on toward the galley, mumbling as he went--“Lub! what he want

of lub, or what lub want of him! Well, I do t'ink Captain Spike bowse

his jib out pretty 'arly dis mornin'.”

Captain Spike soon got over the effects of his effort, and the confusion

of the relict did not last any material length of time. As the former

had gone so far, however, he thought the present an occasion as good as

another to bring matters to a crisis.

“Our sentiments sometimes get to be so strong, Madam Budd,” resumed the

lover, as he took his seat again on the trunk, “that they run away with

us. Men is liable to be run away with as well as ladies. I once had a

ship run away with me, and a pretty time we had of it. Did you ever hear

of a ship's running away with her people, Madam Budd, just as your horse

ran away with your buggy?”

“I suppose I must have heard of such things, sir, my education having

been so maritime, though just at this moment I cannot recall an

instance. When my horse ran away, the buggy was cap-asided. Did your

vessel cap-aside on the occasion you mention?”

“No, Madam Budd, no. The ship was off the wind at the time I mean, and

vessels do not capsize when off the wind. I'll tell you how it happened.

We was a scuddin' under a goose-wing foresail--”

“Yes, yes,” interrupted the relict, eagerly. “I've often heard of that

sail, which is small, and used only in tempests.”

“Heavy weather, Madam Budd--only in heavy weather.”

“It is amazing to me, captain, how you seamen manage to weigh the

weather. I have often heard of light weather and heavy weather, but

never fairly understood the manner of weighing it.”

“Why we do make out to ascertain the difference,” replied the captain, a

little puzzled for an answer; “and I suppose it must be by means of the

barometer, which goes up and down like a pair of scales. But the time I

mean, we was a scuddin' under a goose-wing foresail--”

“A sail made of goose's wings, and a beautiful object it must be; like

some of the caps and cloaks that come from the islands, which are all

of feathers, and charming objects are they. I beg pardon--you had your

goose's wings spread--”

“Yes, Madam Budd, yes; we was steering for a Mediterranean port,

intending to clear a mole-head, when a sea took us under the

larboard-quarter, gave us such a sheer to-port as sent our cat-head

ag'in a spile, and raked away the chain-plates of the top-mast

back-stays, bringing down all the forrard hamper about our ears.”

This description produced such a confusion in the mind of the widow,

that she was glad when it came to an end. As for the captain, fearful

that the “goose's wings” might be touched upon again, he thought it

wisest to attempt another flight on those of Cupid.

“As I was sayin', Madam Budd, friendship is n't love; no, not a bit of

it! Friendship is a common sort of feelin': but love, as you must know

by exper'ence, Madam Budd, is an uncommon sort of feelin'.”

“Fie, Captain Spike, gentlemen should never allude to ladies knowing

any thing about love. Ladies respect, and admire, and esteem, and have

a regard for gentlemen; but it is almost too strong to talk about their

love.”

“Yes, Madam Budd, yes; I dare say it is so, and ought to be so; and I

ask pardon for having said as much as I did. But my love for your niece

is of so animated and lastin' a natur', that I scarce know what I did

say.”

“Captain Spike, you amaze me! I declare I can hardly breathe for

astonishment. My niece! Surely you do not mean Rosy!”

“Who else should I mean? My love for Miss Rose is so very decided

and animated, I tell you, Madam Budd, that I will not answer for the

consequences, should you not consent to her marryin' me.”

“I can scarce believe my ears! You, Stephen Spike, and an old friend of

her uncle's, wishing to marry his niece!”

“Just so, Madam Budd; that's it, to a shavin'. The regard I have for the

whole family is so great, that nothin' less than the hand of Miss Rose

in marriage can, what I call, mitigate my feelin's.”

Now the relict had not one spark of tenderness herself in behalf of

Spike; while she did love Rose better than any human being, her own self

excepted. But she had viewed all the sentiment of that morning, and all

the fine speeches of the captain, very differently from what the present

state of things told her she ought to have viewed them; and she felt the

mortification natural to her situation. The captain was so much bent on

the attainment of his own object, that he saw nothing else, and was even

unconscious that his extraordinary and somewhat loud discourse had been

overheard. Least of all did he suspect that his admiration had been

mistaken; and that in what he called “courtin'” the niece, he had been

all the while “courtin'” the aunt. But little apt as she was to discover

any thing, Mrs. Budd had enough of her sex's discernment in a matter of

this sort, to perceive that she had fallen into an awkward mistake, and

enough of her sex's pride to resent it. Taking her work in her hand, she

left her seat, and descended to the cabin, with quite as much dignity

in her manner as it was in the power of one of her height and “build”

to express. What is the most extraordinary, neither she nor Spike

ever ascertained that their whole dialogue had been overheard. Spike

continued to pace the quarter-deck for several minutes, scarce knowing

what to think of the relict's manner, when his attention was suddenly

drawn to other matters by the familiar cry of “sail-ho!”

This was positively the first vessel with which the Molly Swash had

fallen in since she lost sight of two or three craft that had passed

her in the distance, as she left the American coast. As usual, this cry

brought all hands on deck, and Mulford out of his state-room.

It has been stated already that the brig was just beginning to feel

the trades, and it might have been added, to see the mountains of San

Domingo. The winds had been variable for the last day or two, and

they still continued light, and disposed to be unsteady, ranging from

north-east to south-east, with a preponderance in favour of the first

point. At the cry of “sail-ho!” everybody looked in the indicated

direction, which was west, a little northerly, but for a long time

without success. The cry had come from aloft, and Mulford went up as

high as the fore-top before he got any glimpse of the stranger at all.

He had slung a glass, and Spike was unusually anxious to know the result

of his examination.

“Well, Mr. Mulford, what do you make of her?” he called out as soon as

the mate announced that he saw the strange vessel.

“Wait a moment, sir, till I get a look,--she's a long way off, and

hardly visible.”

“Well, sir, well?”

“I can only see the heads of her top-gallant sails. She seems a ship

steering to the southward, with as many kites flying as an Indiaman in

the trades. She looks as if she were carrying royal stun'-sails, sir.”

“The devil she does! Such a chap must not only be in a hurry, but he

must be strong-handed to give himself all this trouble in such light and

var'able winds. Are his yards square?--Is he man-of-war-ish?”

“There's no telling, sir, at this distance; though I rather think its

stun'-sails that I see. Go down and get your breakfast, and in half an

hour I'll give a better account of him.”

This was done, Mrs. Budd appearing at the table with great dignity

in her manner. Although she had so naturally supposed that Spike's

attentions had been intended for herself, she was rather mortified than

hurt on discovering her mistake. Her appetite, consequently, was not

impaired, though her stomach might have been said to be very full.

The meal passed off without any scene, notwithstanding, and Spike soon

re-appeared on deck, still masticating the last mouthful like a man in

a hurry, and a good deal, l'Amricaine. Mulford saw his arrival, and

immediately levelled his glass again.

“Well, what news now, sir?” called out the captain. “You must have a

better chance at him by this time, for I can see the chap from off the

coach-house here.”

“Ay, ay, sir; he's a bit nearer, certainly. I should say that craft is a

ship under stun'-sails, looking to the eastward of south, and that there

are caps with gold bands on her quarter-deck.”

“How low down can you see her?” demanded Spike, in a voice of thunder.

So emphatic and remarkable was the captain's manner in putting this

question, that the mate cast a look of surprise beneath him ere he

answered it. A look with the glass succeeded, when the reply was given.

“Ay, ay, sir; there can be no mistake--it's a cruiser, you may depend on

it. I can see the heads of her topsails now, and they are so square and

symmetrical, that gold bands are below beyond all doubt.”

“Perhaps he's a Frenchman--Johnny Crapaud keeps cruisers in these seas

as well as the rest on'em.”

“Johnny Crapaud's craft don't spread such arms, sir. The ship is either

English or American; and he's heading for the Mona Passage as well as

ourselves.”

“Come down, sir, come down--there's work to be done as soon as you have

breakfasted.”

Mulford did come down, and he was soon seated at the table, with both

Josh and Jack Tier for attendants. The aunt and the niece were in their

own cabin, a few yards distant, with the door open.

“What a fuss'e cap'in make 'bout dat sail,” grumbled Josh, who had been

in the brig so long that he sometimes took liberties with even Spike

himself. “What good he t'ink t'will do to measure him inch by inch?

Bye'm by he get alongside, and den 'e ladies even can tell all about

him.”

“He nat'rally wishes to know who gets alongside,” put in Tier, somewhat

apologetically.

“What matter dat. All sort of folk get alongside of Molly Swash; and

what good it do 'em? Yoh! yoh! yoh! I do remem'er sich times vid'e ole

hussy!”

“What old hussy do you mean?” demanded Jack Tier a little fiercely, and

in a way to draw Mulford's eyes from the profile of Rose's face to the

visages of his two attendants.

“Come, come, gentlemen, if you please; recollect where you are,”

interrupted the mate authoritatively. “You are not now squabbling in

your galley, but are in the cabin. What is it to you, Tier, if Josh does

call the brig an old hussy; she is old, as we all know, and years

are respectable; and as for her being a 'hussy,' that is a term of

endearment sometimes. I've heard the captain himself call the Molly a

'hussy,' fifty times, and he loves her as he does the apple of his eye.”

This interference put an end to the gathering storm as a matter of

course, and the two disputants shortly after passed on deck. No sooner

was the coast clear than Rose stood in the door of her own cabin.

“Do you think the strange vessel is an American?” she asked eagerly.

“It is impossible to say--English or American I make no doubt. But why

do you inquire?”

“But my aunt and myself desire to quit the brig, and if the stranger

should prove to be an American vessel of war, might not the occasion be

favourable?”

“And what reason can you give for desiring to do so?”

“What signifies a reason,” answered Rose with spirit. “Spike is not our

master, and we can come and go as we may see fit.”

“But a reason must be given to satisfy the commander of the vessel of

war. Craft of that character are very particular about the passengers

they receive; nor would it be altogether wise in two unprotected

females to go on board a cruiser, unless in a case of the most obvious

necessity.”

“Will not what has passed this morning be thought a sufficient reason,”

added Rose, drawing nearer to the mate, and dropping her voice so as not

to be heard by her aunt.

Mulford smiled as he gazed at the earnest but attractive countenance of

his charming companion.

“And who could tell it, or how could it be told? Would the commander of

a vessel of war incur the risk of receiving such a person as yourself on

board his vessel, for the reason that the master of the craft she was in

when he fell in with her desired to marry her?”

Rose appeared vexed, but she was at once made sensible that it was not

quite as easy to change her vessel at sea, as to step into a strange

door in a town. She drew slowly back into her own cabin silent and

thoughtful; her aunt pursuing her netting the whole time with an air of

dignified industry.

“Well, Mr. Mulford, well,” called out Spike at the head of the cabin

stairs, “what news from the coffee?”

“All ready, sir,” answered the mate, exchanging significant glances with

Rose. “I shall be up in a moment.”

That moment soon came, and Mulford was ready for duty. While below,

Spike had caused certain purchases to be got aloft, and the main-hatch

was open and the men collected around it, in readiness to proceed with

the work. Harry asked no questions, for the preparations told him what

was about to be done, but passing below, he took charge of the duty

there, while the captain superintended the part that was conducted on

deck. In the course of the next hour eight twelve-pound carronades were

sent up out of the hold, and mounted in as many of the ports which lined

the bulwarks of the brigantine. The men seemed to be accustomed to the

sort of work in which they were now engaged, and soon had their light

batteries in order, and ready for service. In the mean time the two

vessels kept on their respective courses, and by the time the guns were

mounted, there was a sensible difference in their relative positions.

The stranger had drawn so near the brigantine as to be very obvious from

the latter's deck, while the brigantine had drawn so much nearer to the

islands of San Domingo and Porto Rico, as to render the opening between

them, the well-known Mona Passage, distinctly visible.

Of all this Spike appeared to be fully aware, for he quitted the work

several times before it was finished, in order to take a look at the

stranger, and at the land. When the batteries were arranged, he and

Mulford, each provided with a glass, gave a few minutes to a more

deliberate examination of the first.

“That's the Mona ahead of us,” said the captain; “of that there can be

no question, and a very pretty land-fall you've made of it, Harry. I'll

allow you to be as good a navigator as floats.”

“Nevertheless, sir, you have not seen fit to let me know whither the

brig is really bound this voyage.”

“No matter for that, young man--no matter, as yet. All in good time.

When I tell you to lay your course for the Mona, you can lay your course

for the Mona; and, as soon as we are through the passage, I'll let you

know what is wanted next--if that bloody chap, who is nearing us, will

let me.”

“And why should any vessel wish to molest us on our passage, Captain

Spike?”

“Why, sure enough! It's war-times, you know, and war-times always bring

trouble to the trader--though it sometimes brings profit, too.”

As Spike concluded, he gave his mate a knowing wink, which the other

understood to mean that he expected himself some of the unusual profit

to which he alluded. Mulford did not relish this secret communication,

for the past had induced him to suspect the character of the trade in

which his commander was accustomed to engage. Without making any sort

of reply, or encouraging the confidence by even a smile, he levelled his

glass at the stranger, as did Spike, the instant he ceased to grin.

“That's one of Uncle Sam's fellows!” exclaimed the captain, dropping the

glass. “I'd swear to the chap in any admiralty court on 'arth.”

“'T is a vessel of war, out of all doubt,” returned the mate, “and under

a cloud of canvas. I can make out the heads of her courses now, and see

that she is carrying hard, for a craft that is almost close-hauled.”

“Ay, ay; no merchantmen keeps his light stun'-sails set, as near the

wind as that fellow's going. He's a big chap, too--a frigate, at least,

by his canvas.”

“I do not know, sir--they build such heavy corvettes now-a-days, that I

should rather take her for one of them. They tell me ships are now sent

to sea which mount only two-and-twenty guns, but which measure quite a

thousand tons.”

“With thunderin' batteries, of course.”

“With short thirty-twos and a few rapping sixty-eight Paixhans--or

Columbiads, as they ought in justice to be called.”

“And you think this chap likely to be a craft of that sort?”

“Nothing is more probable, sir. Government has several, and, since this

war has commenced, it has been sending off cruiser after cruiser into

the Gulf. The Mexicans dare not send a vessel of war to sea, which would

be sending them to Norfolk, or New York, at once; but no one can say

when they may begin to make a prey of our commerce.”

“They have taken nothing as yet, Mr. Mulford, and, to tell you the

truth, I'd much rather fall in with one of Don Montezuma's craft than

one of Uncle Sam's.”

“That is a singular taste, for an American, Captain Spike, unless you

think, now our guns are mounted, we can handle a Mexican,” returned

Mulford coldly. “At all events, it is some answer to those who ask 'What

is the navy about?' that months of war have gone by, and not an American

has been captured. Take away that navy, and the insurance offices in

Wall-street would tumble like a New York party-wall in a fire.”

“Nevertheless, I'd rather take my chance, just now, with Don Montezuma

than with Uncle Sam.”

Mulford did not reply, though the earnest manner in which Spike

expressed himself, helped to increase his distrust touching the nature

of the voyage. With him the captain had no further conference, but it

was different as respects the boatswain. That worthy was called aft, and

for half an hour he and Spike were conversing apart, keeping their eyes

fastened on the strange vessel most of the time.

It was noon before all uncertainly touching the character of the

stranger ceased. By that time, however, both vessels were entering the

Mona Passage; the brig well to windward, on the Porto Rico side; while

the ship was so far to leeward as to be compelled to keep everything

close-hauled, in order to weather the island. The hull of the last could

now be seen, and no doubt was entertained about her being a cruiser,

and one of some size, too. Spike thought she was a frigate; but Mulford

still inclined to the opinion that she was one of the new ships; perhaps

a real corvette, or with a light spar-deck over her batteries. Two or

three of the new vessels were known to be thus fitted, and this might be

one. At length all doubt on the subject ceased, the stranger setting an

American ensign, and getting so near as to make it apparent that she had

but a single line of guns. Still she was a large ship, and the manner

that she ploughed through the brine, close-hauled as she was, extorted

admiration even from Spike.

“We had better begin to shorten sail, Mr. Mulford,” the captain at

length most reluctantly remarked. “We might give the chap the slip,

perhaps, by keeping close in under Porto Rico, but he would give us a

long chase, and might drive us away to windward, when I wish to keep off

between Cuba and Jamaica. He's a traveller; look, how he stands up to it

under that could of canvas!”

Mulford was slow to commence on the studding-sails, and the cruiser was

getting nearer and nearer. At length a gun was fired, and a heavy shot

fell about two hundred yards short of the brig, and a little out of line

with her. On this hint, Spike turned the hands up, and began to shorten

sail. In ten minutes the Swash was under her topsail, mainsail and jib,

with her light sails hanging in the gear, and all the steering canvas

in. In ten minutes more the cruiser was so near as to admit of the faces

of the three or four men whose heads were above the hammock-cloths

being visible, when she too began to fold her wings. In went her royals,

topgallant-sails, and various kites, as it might be by some common

muscular agency; and up went her courses. Everything was done at once.

By this time she was crossing the brig's wake, looking exceedingly

beautiful, with her topsails lifting, her light sails blowing out, and

even her heavy courses fluttering in the breeze. There flew the glorious

stars and stripes also; of brief existence, but full of recollections!

The moment she had room, her helm went up, her bows fell off, and down

she came, on the weather quarter of the Swash, so near as to render a

trumpet nearly useless.

On board the brig everybody was on deck; even the relict having

forgotten her mortification in curiosity. On board the cruiser no one

was visible, with the exception of a few men in each top, and a group of

gold-banded caps on the poop. Among these officers stood the captain, a

red-faced, middle-aged man, with the usual signs of his rank about him;

and at his side was his lynx-eyed first lieutenant. The surgeon and

purser were also there, though they stood a little apart from the more

nautical dignitaries. The hail that followed came out of a trumpet that

was thrust through the mizzen-rigging; the officer who used it taking

his cue from the poop.

“What brig is that?” commenced the discourse.

“The Molly Swash, of New York, Stephen Spike, master.”

“Where from, and whither bound?”

“From New York, and bound to Key West and a market.”

A pause succeeded this answer, during which the officers on the poop

of the cruiser held some discourse with him of the trumpet. During the

interval the cruiser ranged fairly up abeam.

“You are well to windward of your port, sir,” observed he of the trumpet

significantly.

“I know it; but it's war times, and I didn't know but there might be

piccaroons hovering about the Havanna.”

“The coast is clear, and our cruisers will keep it so. I see you have a

battery, sir!”

“Ay, ay; some old guns that I've had aboard these ten years: they're

useful, sometimes, in these seas.”

“Very true. I'll range ahead of you, and as soon as you've room, I'll

thank you to heave-to. I wish to send a boat on board you.”

Spike was sullen enough on receiving this order, but there was no help

for it. He was now in the jaws of the lion, and his wisest course was

to submit to the penalties of his position with the best grace he could.

The necessary orders were consequently given, and the brig no sooner got

room than she came by the wind and backed her topsail. The cruiser went

about, and passing to windward, backed her main-topsail just forward of

the Swash's beam. Then the latter lowered a boat, and sent it, with

a lieutenant and a midshipman in its stern-sheets, on board the

brigantine. As the cutter approached, Spike went to the gangway to

receive the strangers.

Although there will be frequent occasion to mention this cruiser, the

circumstances are of so recent occurrence, that we do not choose to

give either her name, or that of any one belonging to her. We shall,

consequently, tell the curious, who may be disposed to turn to their

navy-lists and blue-books, that the search will be of no use, as all the

names we shall use, in reference to this cruiser, will be fictitious.

As much of the rest of our story as the reader please may be taken for

gospel; but we tell him frankly, that we have thought it most expedient

to adopt assumed names, in connection with this vessel and all her

officers. There are good reasons for so doing; and, among others, is

that of abstaining from arming a clique to calumniate her commander,

(who, by the way, like another commander in the Gulf that might be

named, and who has actually been exposed to the sort of tracasserie to

which there is allusion, is one of the very ablest men in the service,)

in order to put another in his place.

The officer who now came over the side of the Swash we shall call

Wallace; he was the second lieutenant of the vessel of war. He was about

thirty, and the midshipman who followed him was a well-grown lad of

nineteen. Both had a decided man-of-war look, and both looked a little

curiously at the vessel they had boarded.

“Your servant, sir,” said Wallace, touching his cap in reply to Spike's

somewhat awkward bow. “Your brig is the Molly Swash, Stephen Spike,

bound from New York to Key West and a market.”

“You've got it all as straight, lieutenant, as if you was a readin' it

from the log.”

“The next thing, sir, is to know of what your cargo is composed?”

“Flour; eight hundred barrels of flour.”

“Flour! Would you not do better to carry that to Liverpool? The

Mississippi must be almost turned into paste by the quantity of flour it

floats to market.”

“Notwithstanding that, lieutenant, I know Uncle Sam's economy so

well, as to believe I shall part with every barrel of my flour to his

contractors, at a handsome profit.”

“You read Whig newspapers principally, I rather think, Mr. Spike,”

answered Wallace, in his cool, deliberate way, smiling, however, as he

spoke.

We may just as well say here, that nature intended this gentleman for

a second lieutenant, the very place he filled. He was a capital second

lieutenant, while he would not have earned his rations as first. So well

was he assured of this peculiarity in his moral composition, that he did

not wish to be the first lieutenant of anything in which he sailed.

A respectable seaman, a well-read and intelligent man, a capital deck

officer, or watch officer, he was too indolent to desire to be anything

more, and was as happy as the day was long, in the easy berth he filled.

The first lieutenant had been his messmate as a midshipman, and ranked

him but two on the list in his present commission; but he did not envy

him in the least. On the contrary, one of his greatest pleasures was to

get. “Working Willy,” as he called his senior, over a glass of wine, or

a tumbler of “hot stuff,” and make him recount the labours of the day.

On such occasions, Wallace never failed to compare the situation of

“Working Willy” with his own gentlemanlike ease and independence. As

second lieutenant, his rank raised him above most of the unpleasant duty

of the ship, while it did not raise him high enough to plunge him into

the never-ending labours of his senior. He delighted to call himself the

“ship's gentleman,” a sobriquet he well deserved, on more accounts than

one.

“You read Whig newspapers principally, I rather think, Mr. Spike,”

answered the lieutenant, as has been just mentioned, “while we on board

the Poughkeepsie indulge in looking over the columns of the Union, as

well as over those of the Intelligencer, when by good luck we can lay

our hands on a stray number.”

“That ship, then, is called the Poughkeepsie, is she, sir?” inquired

Spike.

“Such is her name, thanks to a most beneficent and sage provision of

Congress, which has extended its parental care over the navy so far as

to imagine that a man chosen by the people to exercise so many of the

functions of a sovereign, is not fit to name a ship. All our two and

three deckers are to be called after states; the frigates after rivers;

and the sloops after towns. Thus it is that our craft has the honour

to be called the United States ship the 'Poughkeepsie,' instead of

the 'Arrow,' or the 'Wasp,' or the 'Curlew,' or the 'Petrel,' as might

otherwise have been the case. But the wisdom of Congress is manifest,

for the plan teaches us sailors geography.”

“Yes, sir, yes, one can pick up a bit of l'arnin' in that way cheap. The

Poughkeepsie, Captain--?”

“The United States' ship Poughkeepsie, 20, Captain Adam Mull, at your

service. But, Mr. Spike, you will allow me to look at your papers. It is

a duty I like, for it can be performed quietly, and without any fuss.”

Spike looked distrustfully at his new acquaintance, but went for his

vessel's papers without any very apparent hesitation. Every thing was

en regle, and Wallace soon got through with the clearance, manifest,

&c. Indeed the cargo, on paper at least, was of the simplest and least

complicated character, being composed of nothing but eight hundred

barrels of flour.

“It all looks very well on paper, Mr. Spike,” added the boarding

officer. “With your permission, we will next see how it looks in sober

reality. I perceive your main hatch is open, and I suppose it will be no

difficult matter just to take a glance at your hold.”

“Here is a ladder, sir, that will take us at once to the half-deck, for

I have no proper 'twixt decks in this craft; she's too small for that

sort of outfit.”

“No matter, she has a hold, I suppose, and that can contain cargo. Take

me to it by the shortest road, Mr. Spike, for I am no great admirer of

trouble.”

Spike now led the way below, Wallace following, leaving the midshipman

on deck, who had fallen into conversation with the relict and her

pretty niece. The half-deck of the brigantine contained spare sails,

provisions, and water, as usual, while quantities of old canvas lay

scattered over the cargo; more especially in the wake of the hatches, of

which there were two besides that which led from the quarter-deck.

“Flour to the number of eight hundred barrels,” said Wallace, striking

his foot against a barrel that lay within his reach. “The cargo is

somewhat singular to come from New York, going to Key West, my dear

Spike?”

“I suppose you know what sort of a place Key West is, sir; a bit of an

island in which there is scarce so much as a potatoe grows.”

“Ay, ay, sir; I know Key West very well, having been in and out a dozen

times. All eatables are imported, turtle excepted. But flour can be

brought down the Mississippi so much cheaper than it can be brought from

New York.”

“Have you any idee, lieutenant, what Uncle Sam's men are paying for

it at New Orleens, just to keep soul and bodies together among the

so'gers?”

“That may be true, sir--quite true, I dare say, Mr. Spike. Have n't you

a bit of a chair that a fellow can sit down on--this half-deck of

your's is none of the most comfortable places to stand in. Thank you,

sir--thank you with all my heart. What lots of old sails you have

scattered about the hold, especially in the wake of the hatches!”

“Why, the craft being little more than in good ballast trim, I keep the

hatches off to air her; and the spray might spit down upon the flour at

odd times but for them 'ere sails.”

“Ay, a prudent caution. So you think Uncle Sam's people will be after

this flour as soon as they learn you have got it snug in at Key West?”

“What more likely, sir? You know how it is with our government--always

wrong, whatever it does! and I can show you paragraphs in letters

written from New Orleens, which tell us that Uncle Sam is paying

seventy-five and eighty per cent. more for flour than anybody else.”

“He must be a flush old chap to be able to do that, Spike.”

“Flush! I rather think he is. Do you know that he is spendin', accordin'

to approved accounts, at this blessed moment, as much as half a million

a day? I own a wish to be pickin' up some of the coppers while they are

scattered about so plentifully.”

“Half a million a day! why that is only at the rate of $187,000,000 per

annum; a mere trifle, Spike, that is scarce worth mentioning among us

mariners.”

“It's so in the newspapers, I can swear, lieutenant.”

“Ay, ay, and the newspapers will swear to it, too, and they that gave

the newspapers their cue. But no matter, our business is with this

flour. Will you sell us a barrel or two for our mess? I heard the

caterer say we should want flour in the course of a week or so.”

Spike seemed embarrassed, though not to a degree to awaken suspicion in

his companion.

“I never sold cargo at sea, long as I've sailed and owned a craft,” he

answered, as if uncertain what to do. “If you'll pay the price I expect

to get in the Gulf, and will take ten barrels, I do n't know but we may

make a trade on't. I shall only ask expected prices.”

“Which will be--?”

“Ten dollars a barrel. For one hundred silver dollars I will put into

your boat ten barrels of the very best brand known in the western

country.”

“This is dealing rather more extensively than I anticipated, but we will

reflect on it.”

Wallance now indolently arose and ascended to the quarter-deck, followed

by Spike, who continued to press the flour on him, as if anxious to make

money. But the lieutenant hesitated about paying a price as high as ten

dollars, or to take a quantity as large as ten barrels.

“Our mess is no great matter after all,” he said carelessly. “Four

lieutenants, the purser, two doctors, the master, and a marine officer,

and you get us all. Nine men could never eat ten barrels of flour, my

dear Spike, you will see for yourself, with the quantity of excellent

bread we carry. You forget the bread.”

“Not a bit of it, Mr. Wallace, since that is your name. But such flour

as this of mine has not been seen in the Gulf this many a day. I ought

in reason to ask twelve dollars for it, and insist on such a ship as

your'n's taking twenty instead of the ten barrels.”

“I thank you, sir, the ten will more than suffice; unless, indeed, the

captain wants some for the cabin. How is it with your steerage messes,

Mr. Archer--do you want any flour?”

“We draw a little from the ship, according to rule, sir, but we can't

go as many puddings latterly as we could before we touched last at the

Havanna,” answered the laughing midshipman. “There is n't a fellow among

us, sir, that could pay a shore-boat for landing him, should we go in

again before the end of another month. I never knew such a place as

Havanna. They say midshipmen's money melts there twice as soon as

lieutenants' money.”

“It's clear, then, you'll not take any of the ten. I am afraid after

all, Mr. Spike, we cannot trade, unless you will consent to let me have

two barrels. I'll venture on two at ten dollars, high as the price is.”

“I should n't forgive myself in six months for making so had a bargain,

lieutenant, so we'll say no more about it if you please.”

“Here is a lady that wishes to say a word to you, Mr. Wallace, before

we go back to the ship, if you are at leisure to hear her, or them--for

there are two of them,” put in Archer.

At this moment Mrs. Budd was approaching with a dignified step, while

Rose followed timidly a little in the rear. Wallace was a good deal

surprised at this application, and Spike was quite as much provoked. As

for Mulford, he watched the interview from a distance, a great deal more

interested in its result than he cared to have known, more especially to

his commanding officer. Its object was to get a passage in the vessel of

war.

“You are an officer of that Uncle Sam vessel,” commenced Mrs. Budd,

who thought that she would so much the more command the respect and

attention of her listener, by showing him early how familiar she was

with even the slang dialect of the seas.

“I have the honour, ma'am, to belong to that Uncle Sam craft,” answered

Wallace gravely, though he bowed politely at the same time, looking

intently at the beautiful girl in the back-ground as he so did.

“So I've been told, sir. She's a beautiful vessel, lieutenant, and is

full jiggered, I perceive.”

For the first time in his life, or at least for the first time since his

first cruise, Wallace wore a mystified look, being absolutely at a loss

to imagine what “full jiggered” could mean. He only looked, therefore,

for he did not answer.

“Mrs. Budd means that you've a full rigged craft,” put in Spike, anxious

to have a voice in the conference, “this vessel being only a half-rigged

brig.”

“Oh! ay; yes, yes--the lady is quite right. We are full jiggered from

our dead-eyes to our eye-bolts.”

“I thought as much, sir, from your ground hamper and top-tackles,” added

the relict smiling. “For my part there is nothing in nature that I

so much admire as a full jiggered ship, with her canvas out of the

bolt-ropes, and her clew-lines and clew-garnets braced sharp, and her

yards all abroad.”

“Yes, ma'am, it is just as you say, a very charming spectacle. Our baby

was born full grown, and with all her hamper aloft just as you see her.

Some persons refer vessels to art, but I think you are quite right in

referring them to nature.”

“Nothing can be more natural to me, lieutenant, than a fine ship

standing on her canvas. It's an object to improve the heart and to

soften the understanding.”

“So I should think, ma'am,” returned Wallace, a little quizzically,

“judging from the effect on yourself.”

This speech, unfortunately timed as it was, wrought a complete change in

Rose's feelings, and she no longer wished to exchange the Swash for the

Poughkeepsie. She saw that her aunt was laughed at in secret, and that

was a circumstance that never failed to grate on every nerve in her

system. She had been prepared to second and sustain the intended

application--she was now determined to oppose it.

“Yes, sir,” resumed the unconscious relict, “and to soften the

understanding. Lieutenant, did you ever cross the Capricorn?”

“No less than six times; three going and three returning, you know.”

“And did Neptune come on board you, and were you shaved?”

“Everything was done secundem artem, ma'am. The razor was quite an

example of what are called in poetry 'thoughts too deep for tears.' ”

“That must have been delightful. As for me, I'm quite a devotee of

Neptune's; but I'm losing time, for no doubt your ship is all ready to

pull away and carry on sail--”

“Aunt, may I say a word to you before you go any further,” put in Rose

in her quiet but very controlling way.

The aunt complied, and Wallace, as soon as left alone, felt like a man

who was released from a quick-sand, into which every effort to extricate

himself only plunged him so much the deeper. At this moment the ship

hailed, and the lieutenant took a hasty leave of Spike, motioned to the

midshipman to precede him, and followed the latter into his boat.

Spike saw his visiter off in person, tending the side and offering the

man-ropes with his own hands. For this civility Wallace thanked him,

calling out as his boat pulled him from the brig's side--“If we 'pull

away,'” accenting the “pull” in secret derision of the relict's mistake,

“you can pull away; our filling the topsail being a sign for you to do

the same.”

“There you go, and joy go with you,” muttered Spike, as he descended

from the gangway. “A pretty kettle of fish would there have been cooked

had I let him have his two barrels of flour.”

The man-of-war's cutter was soon under the lee of the ship, where it

discharged its freight, when it was immediately run up. During the whole

time Wallace had been absent, Captain Mull and his officers remained on

the poop, principally occupied in examining and discussing the merits of

the Swash. No sooner had their officer returned, however, than an order

was given to fill away, it being supposed that the Poughkeepsie had no

further concern with the brigantine. As for Wallace, he ascended to the

poop and made the customary report.

“It's a queer cargo to be carrying to Key West from the Atlantic

coast,” observed the captain in a deliberating sort of manner, as if the

circumstance excited suspicion; “Yet the Mexicans can hardly be in want

of any such supplies.”

“Did you see the flour, Wallace?” inquired the first lieutenant, who was

well aware of his messmate's indolence.

“Yes, sir, and felt it too. The lower hold of the brig is full of flour,

and of nothing else.”

“Ware round, sir--ware round and pass athwart the brig's wake,”

interrupted the captain. “There's plenty of room now, and I wish to pass

as near that craft as we can.”

This manoeuvre was executed. The sloop-of-war no sooner filled her

maintop-sail than she drew ahead, leaving plenty of room for the

brigantine to make sail on her course. Spike did not profit by this

opening, however, but he sent several men aloft forward, where they

appeared to be getting ready to send down the upper yards and the

topgallant-mast. No sooner was the sloop-of-war's helm put up than that

vessel passed close along the brigantine's weather side, and kept

off across her stern on her course. As she did this the canvas was

fluttering aboard her, in the process of making sail, and Mull held a

short discourse with Spike.

“Is anything the matter aloft?” demanded the man-of-war's man.

“Ay, ay; I've sprung my topgallant-mast, and think this a good occasion

to get another up in its place.”

“Shall I lend you a carpenter or two, Mr. Spike?”

“Thank'ee, sir, thank'ee with all my heart; but we can do without them.

It's an old stick, and it's high time a better stood where it does. Who

knows but I may be chased and feel the want of reliable spars.”

Captain Mull smiled and raised his cap in the way of an adieu, when the

conversation ended; the Poughkeepsie sliding off rapidly with a free

wind, leaving the Swash nearly stationary. In ten minutes the two

vessels were more than a mile apart; in twenty, beyond the reach of

shot.

Notwithstanding the natural and common-place manner in which this

separation took place, there was much distrust on board each vessel, and

a good deal of consummate management on the part of Spike. The latter

knew that every foot the sloop-of-war went on her course, carried

her just so far to leeward, placing his own brig, in-so-much, dead

to windward of her. As the Swash's best point of sailing, relatively

considered, was close-hauled, this was giving to Spike a great security

against any change of purpose on the part of the vessel of war. Although

his people were aloft and actually sent down the topgallant-mast, it was

only to send it up again, the spar being of admirable toughness, and as

sound as the day it was cut.

“I don't think, Mr. Mulford,” said the captain sarcastically, “that

Uncle Sam's glasses are good enough to tell the difference in wood at

two leagues' distance, so we'll trust to the old stick a little longer.

Ay, ay, let 'em run off before it, we'll find another road by which to

reach our port.”

“The sloop-of-war is going round the south side of Cuba, Captain Spike,”

answered the mate, “and I have understood you to say that you intended

to go by the same passage.”

“A body may change his mind, and no murder. Only consider, Harry, how

common it is for folks to change their minds. I did intend to pass

between Cuba and Jamaica, but I intend it no longer. Our run from

Montauk has been oncommon short, and I've time enough to spare to go to

the southward of Jamaica too, if the notion takes me.”

“That would greatly prolong the passage, Captain Spike,--a week at

least.”

“What if it does--I've a week to spare; we're nine days afore our time.”

“Our time for what, sir? Is there any particular time set for a vessel's

going into Key West?”

“Don't be womanish and over-cur'ous, Mulford. I sail with sealed orders,

and when we get well to windward of Jamaica, 't will be time enough to

open them.”

Spike was as good as his word. As soon as he thought the sloop-of-war

was far enough to leeward, or when she was hull down, he filled away and

made sail on the wind to get nearer to Porto Rico. Long ere it was dark

he had lost sight of the sloop-of-war, when he altered his course to

south-westerly, which was carrying him in the direction he named, or to

windward of Jamaica.

While this artifice was being practised on board the Molly Swash, the

officers of the Poughkeepsie were not quite satisfied with their own

mode of proceeding with the brigantine. The more they reasoned on the

matter, the more unlikely it seemed to them that Spike could be really

carrying a cargo of flour from New York to Key West, in the expectation

of disposing of it to the United States' contractors, and the more out

of the way did he seem to be in running through the Mona Passage.

“His true course should have been by the Hole in the Wall, and so down

along the north side of Cuba, before the wind,” observed the first

lieutenant. “I wonder that never struck you, Wallace; you, who so little

like trouble.”

“Certainly I knew it, but we lazy people like running off before the

wind, and I did not know but such were Mr. Spike's tastes,” answered the

“ship's gentleman.” “In my judgment, the reluctance he showed to letting

us have any of his flour, is much the most suspicious circumstance in

the whole affair.”

These two speeches were made on the poop, in the presence of the

captain, but in a sort of an aside that admitted of some of the

ward-room familiarity exhibited. Captain Mull was not supposed to hear

what passed, though hear it he in fact did, as was seen by his own

remarks, which immediately succeeded.

“I understood you to say, Mr. Wallace,” observed the captain, a little

drily, “that you saw the flour yourself?”

“I saw the flour-barrels, sir; and as regularly built were they as any

barrels that ever were branded. But a flour-barrel may have contained

something beside flour.”

“Flour usually makes itself visible in the handling; were these barrels

quite clean?”

“Far from it, sir. They showed flour on their staves, like any other

cargo. After all, the man may have more sense than we give him credit

for, and find a high market for his cargo.”

Captain Mull seemed to muse, which was a hint for his juniors not to

continue the conversation, but rather to seem to muse, too. After a

short pause, the captain quietly remarked--“Well, gentlemen, he will

be coming down after us, I suppose, as soon as he gets his new

topgallant-mast on-end, and then we can keep a bright look-out for him.

We shall cruise off Cape St. Antonio for a day or two, and no doubt

shall get another look at him. I should like to have one baking from his

flour.”

But Spike had no intention to give the Poughkeepsie the desired

opportunity. As has been stated, he stood off to the southward on a

wind, and completely doubled the eastern end of Jamaica, when he put his

helm up, and went, with favouring wind and current, toward the northward

and westward. The consequence was, that he did not fall in with the

Poughkeepsie at all, which vessel was keeping a sharp look-out for him

in the neighbourhood of Cape St. Antonio and the Isle of Pines, at the

very moment he was running down the coast of Yucatan. Of all the large

maritime countries of the world, Mexico, on the Atlantic, is that which

is the most easily blockaded, by a superior naval power. By maintaining

a proper force between Key West and the Havanna, and another squadron

between Cape St. Antonio and Loggerhead Key, the whole country, the Bay

of Honduras excepted, is shut up, as it might be in a band-box. It is

true the Gulf would be left open to the Mexicans, were not squadrons

kept nearer in; but, as for anything getting out into the broad

Atlantic, it would be next to hopeless. The distance to be watched

between the Havanna and Key West is only about sixty miles, while that

in the other direction is not much greater.

While the Swash was making the circuit of Jamaica, as described,

her captain had little communication with his passengers. The

misunderstanding with the relict embarrassed him as much as it

embarrassed her; and he was quite willing to let time mitigate her

resentment. Rose would be just as much in his power a fortnight hence

as she was today. This cessation in the captain's attentions gave the

females greater liberty, and they improved it, singularly enough as it

seemed to Mulford, by cultivating a strange sort of intimacy with Jack

Tier. The very day that succeeded the delicate conversation with Mrs.

Budd, to a part of which Jack had been an auditor, the uncouth-looking

steward's assistant was seen in close conference with the pretty

Rose; the subject of their conversation being, apparently, of a most

engrossing nature. From that hour, Jack got to be not only a confidant,

but a favourite, to Mulford's great surprise. A less inviting subject

for tête-à-tête and confidential dialogues, thought the young man,

could not well exist; but so it was; woman's caprices are inexplicable;

and not only Rose and her aunt, but even the captious and somewhat

distrustful Biddy, manifested on all occasions not only friendship, but

kindness and consideration for Jack.

“You quite put my nose out o' joint, you Jack Tier, with 'e lady,”

grumbled Josh, the steward de jure, if not now de facto, of the craft,

“and I neber see nuttin' like it! I s'pose you expect ten dollar, at

least, from dem passenger, when we gets in. But I'd have you to know,

Misser Jack, if you please, dat a steward be a steward, and he do n't

like to hab trick played wid him, afore he own face.”

“Poh! poh! Joshua,” answered Jack good-naturedly, “do n't distress

yourself on a consail. In the first place, you've got no nose to be

put out of joint; or, if you have really a nose, it has no joint. It's

nat'ral for folks to like their own colour, and the ladies prefar me,

because I'm white.”

“No so werry white as all dat, nudder,” grumbled Josh. “I see great

many whiter dan you. But, if dem lady like you so much as to gib you ten

dollar, as I expects, when we gets in, I presumes you'll hand over half,

or six dollar, of dat money to your superior officer, as is law in de

case.”

“Do you call six the half of ten, Joshua, my scholar, eh?”

“Well, den, seven, if you like dat better. I wants just half, and just

half I means to git.”

“And half you shall have, maty. I only wish you would just tell me where

we shall be, when we gets in.”

“How I know, white man? Dat belong to skipper, and better ask him. If he

do n't gib you lick in de chop, p'rhaps he tell you.”

As Jack Tier had no taste for “licks in the chops,” he did not follow

Josh's advice. But his agreeing to give half of the ten dollars to the

steward kept peace in the cabins. He was even so scrupulous of his word,

as to hand to Josh a half-eagle that very day; money he had received

from Rose; saying he would trust to Providence for his own half of the

expected douceur. This concession placed Jack Tier on high grounds with

his “superior officer,” and from that time the former was left to do the

whole of the customary service of the ladies' cabin.

As respects the vessel, nothing worthy of notice occurred until she had

passed Loggerhead Key, and was fairly launched in the Gulf of Mexico.

Then, indeed, Spike took a step that greatly surprised his mate. The

latter was directed to bring all his instruments, charts, &c., and place

them in the captain's state-room, where it was understood they were

to remain until the brig got into port. Spike was but an indifferent

navigator, while Mulford was one of a higher order than common. So much

had the former been accustomed to rely on the latter, indeed, as they

approached a strange coast, that he could not possibly have taken any

step, that was not positively criminal, which would have given his mate

more uneasiness than this.

At first, Mulford naturally enough suspected that Spike intended to push

for some Mexican port, by thus blinding his eyes as to the position of

the vessel. The direction steered, however, soon relieved the mate from

this apprehension. From the eastern extremity of Yucatan, the Mexican

coast trends to the westward, and even to the south of west, for a long

distance, whereas the course steered by Spike was north, easterly. This

was diverging from the enemy's coast instead of approaching it, and the

circumstance greatly relieved the apprehensions of Mulford.

Nor was the sequestration of the mate's instruments the only suspicious

act of Spike. He caused the brig's paint to be entirely altered, and

even went so far toward disguising her, as to make some changes aloft.

All this was done as the vessel passed swiftly on her course, and

everything had been effected, apparently to the captain's satisfaction,

when the cry of “land-ho!” was once more heard. The land proved to be

a cluster of low, small islands, part coral, part sand, that might have

been eight or ten in number, and the largest of which did not possess

a surface of more than a very few acres. Many were the merest islets

imaginable, and on one of the largest of the cluster rose a tall, gaunt

light-house, having the customary dwelling of its keeper at its base.

Nothing else was visible; the broad expanse of the blue waters of the

Gulf excepted. All the land in sight would not probably have made one

field of twenty acres in extent, and that seemed cut off from the

rest of the world, by a broad barrier of water. It was a spot of such

singular situation and accessories, that Mulford gazed at it with a

burning desire to know where he was, as the brig steered through a

channel between two of the islets, into a capacious and perfectly safe

basin, formed by the group, and dropped her anchor in its centre.

CHAPTER V

“He sleeps; but dreams of massy gold,

And heaps of pearl. He stretch'd his hands--

He hears a voice--

“Ill man withhold!'

A pale one near him stands.”

Dana.

It was near night-fall when the Swash anchored among the low and small

islets mentioned. Rose had been on deck, as the vessel approached this

singular and solitary haven, watching the movements of those on board,

as well as the appearance of objects on the land, with the interest her

situation would be-likely to awaken. She saw the light and manageable

craft glide through the narrow and crooked passages that led into the

port, the process of anchoring, and the scene of tranquil solitude

that succeeded; each following the other as by a law of nature. The

light-house next attracted her attention, and, as soon as the sun

disappeared, her eyes were fastened on the lantern, in expectation of

beholding the watchful and warning fires gleaming there, to give the

mariner notice of the position of the dangers that surrounded the place.

Minute went by after minute, however, and the customary illumination

seemed to be forgotten.

“Why is not this light shining?” Rose asked of Mulford, as the young man

came near her, after having discharged his duty in helping to moor the

vessel, and in clearing the decks. “All the light-houses we have passed,

and they have been fifty, have shown bright lights at this hour, but

this.”

“I cannot explain it; nor have I the smallest notion where we are. I

have been aloft, and there was nothing in sight but this cluster of low

islets, far or near. I did fancy, for a moment, I saw a speck like a

distant sail, off here, to the northward and eastward, but I rather

think it was a gull, or some other sea-bird glancing upward on the

wing. I mentioned it to the captain when I came down, and he appeared to

believe it a mistake. I have watched that light-house closely, too, ever

since we came in, and I have not seen the smallest sign of life about

it. It is altogether an extraordinary place!”

“One suited to acts of villany, I fear, Harry!”

“Of that we shall be better judges to-morrow. You, at least, have one

vigilant friend, who will die sooner than harm shall come to you. I

believe Spike to be thoroughly unprincipled; still he knows he can go

so far and no further, and has a wholesome dread of the law. But the

circumstance that there should be such a port as this, with a regular

light-house, and no person near the last, is so much out of the common

way, that I do not know what to make of it.”

“Perhaps the light-house keeper is afraid to show himself, in the

presence of the Swash?”

“That can hardly be, for vessels must often enter the port, if port it

can be called. But Spike is as much concerned at the circumstance that

the lamps are not lighted, as any of us can be. Look, he is about

to visit the building in the boat, accompanied by two of his oldest

sea-dogs.”

“Why might we not raise the anchor, and sail out of this place, leaving

Spike ashore?” suggested Rose, with more decision and spirit than

discretion.

“For the simple reason that the act would be piracy, even if I could get

the rest of the people to obey my orders, as certainly I could not.

No, Rose: you, and your aunt, and Biddy, however, might land at these

buildings, and refuse to return, Spike having no authority over his

passengers.”

“Still he would have the power to make us come back to his brig.

Look, he has left the vessel's side, and is going directly toward the

light-house.”

Mulford made no immediate answer, but remained at Rose's side, watching

the movements of the captain. The last pulled directly to the islet with

the buildings, a distance of only a few hundred feet, the light-house

being constructed on a rocky island that was nearly in the centre of the

cluster, most probably to protect it from the ravages of the waves.

The fact, however, proved, as Mulford did not fail to suggest to his

companion, that the beacon had been erected less to guide vessels into

the haven, than to warn mariners at a distance, of the position of the

whole group.

In less than five minutes after he had landed, Spike himself was seen in

the lantern, in the act of lighting its lamps. In a very short time the

place was in a brilliant blaze, reflectors and all the other parts of

the machinery of the place performing their duties as regularly as if

tended by the usual keeper. Soon after Spike returned on board, and

the anchor-watch was set. Then everybody sought the rest that it was

customary to take at that hour.

Mulford was on deck with the appearance of the sun; but he found that

Spike had preceded him, had gone ashore again, had extinguished the

lamps, and was coming alongside of the brig on his return. A minute

later the captain came over the side.

“You were right about your sail, last night, a'ter all, Mr. Mulford,”

said Spike, on coming aft. “There she is, sure enough; and we shall have

her alongside to strike cargo out and in, by the time the people have

got their breakfasts.”

As Spike pointed toward the light-house while speaking, the mate changed

his position a little, and saw that a schooner was coming down toward

the islets before the wind. Mulford now began to understand the motives

of the captain's proceedings, though a good deal yet remained veiled in

mystery. He could not tell where the brig was, nor did he know precisely

why so many expedients were adopted to conceal the transfer of a cargo

as simple as that of flour. But he who was in the secret left but little

time for reflection; for swallowing a hasty breakfast on deck, he issued

orders enough to his mate to give him quite as much duty as he could

perform, when he again entered the yawl, and pulled toward the stranger.

Rose soon appeared on deck, and she naturally began to question

Harry concerning their position and prospects. He was confessing his

ignorance, as well as lamenting it, when his companion's sweet face

suddenly flushed. She advanced a step eagerly toward the open window of

Spike's state-room, then compressed her full, rich under-lip with the

ivory of her upper teeth, and stood a single instant, a beautiful statue

of irresolution instigated by spirit. The last quality prevailed;

and Mulford was really startled when he saw Rose advance quite to the

window, thrust in an arm, and turn toward him with his own sextant in

her hand. During the course of the passage out, the young man had taught

Rose to assist him in observing the longitude; and she was now ready to

repeat the practice. Not a moment was lost in executing her intention.

Sights were had, and the instrument was returned to its place without

attracting the attention of the men, who were all busy in getting

up purchases, and in making the other necessary dispositions for

discharging the flour. The observations answered the purpose, though

somewhat imperfectly made. Mulford had a tolerable notion of their

latitude, having kept the brig's run in his head since quitting

Yutacan; and he now found that their longitude was about 83 o west from

Greenwich. After ascertaining this fact, a glance at the open chart,

which lay on Spike's desk, satisfied him that the vessel was anchored

within the group of the Dry Tortugas, or at the western termination of

the well-known, formidable, and extensive Florida Reef. He had

never been in that part of the world before, but had heard enough in

sea-gossip, and had read enough in books, to be at once apprised of

the true character of their situation. The islets were American; the

light-house was American; and the haven in which the Swash lay was the

very spot in the contemplation of government for an outer man-of-war

harbour, where fleets might rendezvous in the future wars of that

portion of the world. He now saw plainly enough the signs of the

existence of a vast reef, a short distance to the southward of the

vessel, that formed a species of sea-wall, or mole, to protect the port

against the waves of the gulf in that direction. This reef he knew to be

miles in width.

There was little time for speculation, Spike soon bringing the strange

schooner directly alongside of the brig. The two vessels immediately

became a scene of activity, one discharging, and the other receiving

the flour as fast as it could be struck out of the hold of the Swash and

lowered upon the deck of the schooner. Mulford, however, had practised a

little artifice, as the stranger entered the haven, which drew down upon

him an anathema or two from Spike, as soon as they were alone. The

mate had set the brig's ensign, and this compelled the stranger to be

markedly rude, or to answer the compliment. Accordingly he had shown

the ancient flag of Spain. For thus extorting a national symbol from

the schooner, the mate was sharply rebuked at a suitable moment, though

nothing could have been more forbearing than the deportment of his

commander when they first met.

When Spike returned to his own vessel, he was accompanied by a

dark-looking, well-dressed, and decidedly gentleman-like personage, whom

he addressed indifferently, in his very imperfect Spanish, as Don Wan,

(Don Juan, or John,) or Se¤or Montefalderon. By the latter appellation

he even saw fit to introduce the very respectable-looking stranger to

his mate. This stranger spoke English well, though with an accent.

“Don Wan has taken all the flour, Mr. Mulford, and intends shoving it

over into Cuba, without troubling the custom-house, I believe; but that

is not a matter to give us any concern, you know.”

The wink, and the knowing look by which this speech was accompanied,

seemed particularly disagreeable to Don Juan, who now paid his

compliments to Rose, with no little surprise betrayed in his

countenance, but with the ease and reserve of a gentleman. Mulford

thought it strange that a smuggler of flour should be so polished a

personage, though his duty did not admit of his bestowing much attention

on the little trifling of the interview that succeeded.

For about an hour the work went steadily and rapidly on. During that

time Mulford was several times on board the schooner, as, indeed, was

Josh, Jack Tier, and others belonging to the Swash. The Spanish vessel

was Baltimore, or clipper built, with a trunk-cabin, and had every

appearance of sailing fast. Mulford was struck with her model, and,

while on board of her, he passed both forward and aft to examine

it. This was so natural in a seaman, that Spike, while he noted the

proceeding, took it in good part. He even called out to his mate, from

his own quarter-deck, to admire this or that point in the schooner's

construction. As is customary with the vessels of southern nations, this

stranger was full of men, but they continued at their work, some half

dozen of brawny negroes among them, shouting their songs as they swayed

at the falls, no one appearing to manifest jealousy or concern. At

length Tier came near the mate, and said,

“Uncle Sam will not be pleased when he hears the reason that the keeper

is not in his light-house.”

“And what is that reason, Jack? If you know it, tell it to me.”

“Go aft and look down the companion-way, maty, and see it for yourself.”

Mulford did go aft, and he made an occasion to look down into the

schooner's cabin, where he caught a glimpse of the persons of a man and

a boy, whom he at once supposed had been taken from the light-house.

This one fact of itself doubled his distrust of the character of Spike's

proceedings. There was no sufficient apparent reason why a mere smuggler

should care about the presence of an individual more or less in a

foreign port. Everything that had occurred, looked like pre-concert

between the brig and the schooner; and the mate was just beginning

to entertain the strongest distrust that their vessel was holding

treasonable communication with the enemy, when an accident removed all

doubt on the subject, from his own mind at least. Spike had, once or

twice, given his opinion that the weather was treacherous, and urged

the people of both crafts to extraordinary exertions, in order that the

vessels might get clear of each other as soon as possible. This appeal

had set various expedients in motion to second the more regular work of

the purchases. Among other things, planks had been laid from one vessel

to the other, and barrels were rolled along them with very little

attention to the speed or the direction. Several had fallen on the

schooner's deck with rude shocks, but no damage was done, until one,

of which the hoops had not been properly secured, met with a fall, and

burst nearly at Mulford's feet. It was at the precise moment when the

mate was returning, from taking his glance into the cabin, toward

the side of the Swash. A white cloud arose, and half a dozen of the

schooner's people sprang for buckets, kids, or dishes, in order to

secure enough of the contents of the broken barrel to furnish them with

a meal. At first nothing was visible but the white cloud that succeeded

the fall, and the scrambling sailors in its midst. No sooner, however,

had the air got to be a little clear, than Mulford saw an object lying

in centre of the wreck, that he at once recognised for a keg of the

gunpowder! The captain of the schooner seized this keg, gave a knowing

look at Mulford, and disappeared in the hold of his own vessel, carrying

with him, what was out of all question, a most material part of the true

cargo of the Swash.

At the moment when the flour-barrel burst, Spike was below, in close

conference with his Spanish, or Mexican guest; and the wreck being so

soon cleared away, it is probable that he never heard of the accident.

As for the two crews, they laughed a little among themselves at the

revelation which had been made, as well as at the manner; but to old

sea-dogs like them, it was a matter of very little moment, whether the

cargo was, in reality, flour or gunpowder. In a few minutes the affair

seemed to be forgotten. In the course of another hour the Swash was

light, having nothing in her but some pig-lead, which she used for

ballast, while the schooner was loaded to her hatches, and full. Spike

now sent a boat, with orders to drop a kedge about a hundred yards from

the place where his own brig lay. The schooner warped up to this kedge,

and dropped an anchor of her own, leaving a very short range of cable

out, it being a flat calm. Ordinarily, the trades prevail at the Dry

Tortugas, and all along the Florida Reef. Sometimes, indeed, this breeze

sweeps across the whole width of the Gulf of Mexico, blowing home, as it

is called--reaching even to the coast of Texas. It is subject, however,

to occasional interruptions everywhere, varying many points in its

direction, and occasionally ceasing entirely. The latter was the

condition of the weather about noon on this day, or when the schooner

hauled off from the brig, and was secured at her own anchor.

“Mr. Mulford,” said Spike, “I do not like the state of the atmosphere.

D'ye see that fiery streak along the western horizon--well, sir, as the

sun gets nearer to that streak, there'll be trouble, or I'm no judge of

weather.”

“You surely do not imagine, Captain Spike, that the sun will be any

nearer to that fiery streak, as you call it, when he is about to set,

than he is at this moment?” answered the mate, smiling.

“I'm sure of one thing, young man, and that is, that old heads are

better than young ones. What a man has once seen, he may expect to see

again, if the same leading signs offer. Man the boat, sir, and carry out

the kedge, which is still in it, and lay it off here, about three p'ints

on our larboard bow.”

Mulford had a profound respect for Spike's seamanship, whatever he might

think of his principles. The order was consequently obeyed. The mate was

then directed to send down various articles out of the top, and to get

the top-gallant and royal yards on deck. Spike carried his precautions

so far, as to have the mainsail lowered, it ordinarily brailing at

that season of the year, with a standing gaff. With this disposition

completed, the captain seemed more at his ease, and went below to join

Se¤or Montefalderon in a siesta. The Mexican, for such, in truth, was

the national character of the owner of the schooner, had preceded him

in this indulgence; and most of the people of the brig having laid

themselves down to sleep under the heat of the hour, Mulford soon

enjoyed another favourable opportunity for a private conference with

Rose.

“Harry,” commenced the latter, as soon as they were alone; “I have much

to tell you. While you have been absent I have overheard a conversation

between this Spanish gentleman and Spike, that shows the last is in

treaty with the other for the sale of the brig. Spike extolled his

vessel to the skies, while Don Wan, as he calls him, complains that the

brig is old, and cannot last long; to which Spike answered 'to be sure

she is old, Se¤or Montefalderon, but she will last as long as your war,

and under a bold captain might be made to return her cost a hundred

fold!' What war can he mean, and to what does such a discourse tend?”

“The war alludes to the war now existing between America and Mexico,

and the money to be made is to be plundered at sea, from our own

merchant-vessels. If Don Juan Montefalderon is really in treaty for

the purchase of the brig, it is to convert her into a Mexican cruiser,

either public or private.”

“But this would be treason on the part of Spike!”

“Not more so than supplying the enemy with gunpowder, as he has just

been doing. I have ascertained the reason he was so unwilling to be

overhauled by the revenue steamer, as well as the reason why the

revenue steamer wished so earnestly to overhaul us. Each barrel of flour

contains another of gunpowder, and that has been sold to this Se¤or

Montefalderon, who is doubtless an officer of the Mexican government,

and no smuggler.”

“He has been at New York, this very summer, I know,” continued Rose,

“for he spoke of his visit, and made such other remarks, as leaves no

doubt that Spike expected to find him here, on this very day of the

month. He also paid Spike a large sum of money in doubloons, and took

back the bag to his schooner, when he had done so, after showing the

captain enough was left to pay for the brig could they only agree on the

terms of their bargain.”

“Ay, ay; it is all plain enough now, Spike has determined on a desperate

push for fortune, and foreseeing it might not soon be in his power to

return to New York in safety, he has included his designs on you and

your fortune, in the plot.”

“My fortune! the trifle I possess can scarcely be called a fortune,

Harry!”

“It would be a fortune to Spike, Rose; and I shall be honest enough to

own it would be a fortune to me. I say this frankly, for I do believe

you think too well of me to suppose that I seek you for any other reason

than the ardent love I bear your person and character; but a fact is

not to be denied because it may lead certain persons to distrust our

motives. Spike is poor, like myself; and the brig is not only getting to

be very old, but she has been losing money for the last twelve months.”

Mulford and Rose now conversed long and confidentially, on their

situation and prospects. The mate neither magnified nor concealed the

dangers of both; but freely pointed out the risk to himself, in being

on board a vessel that was aiding and comforting the enemy. It was

determined between there that both would quit the brig the moment an

opportunity offered; and the mate even went so far as to propose an

attempt to escape in one of the boats, although he might incur the

hazards of a double accusation, those of mutiny and larceny, for making

the experiment. Unfortunately, neither Rose, nor her aunt, nor Biddy,

nor Jack Tier had seen the barrel of powder, and neither could testify

as to the true character of Spike's connection with the schooner. It was

manifestly necessary, therefore, independently of the risks that

might be run by “bearding the lion in his den,” to proceed with great

intelligence and caution.

This dialogue between Harry and Rose, occurred just after the turn in

the day, and lasted fully an hour. Each had been too much interested to

observe the heavens, but, as they were on the point of separating, Rose

pointed out to her companion the unusual and most menacing aspect of the

sky in the western horizon. It appeared as if a fiery heat was glowing

there, behind a curtain of black vapour; and what rendered it more

remarkable, was the circumstance that an extraordinary degree of

placidity prevailed in all other parts of the heavens. Mulford scarce

knew what to make of it; his experience not going so far as to enable

him to explain the novel and alarming appearance. He stepped on a gun,

and gazed around him for a moment. There lay the schooner, without a

being visible on board of her, and there stood the light-house, gloomy

in its desertion and solitude. The birds alone seemed to be alive and

conscious of what was approaching. They were all on the wing, wheeling

wildly in the air, and screaming discordantly, as belonged to their

habits. The young man leaped off the gun, gave a loud call to Spike, at

the companion-way, and sprang forward to call all hands.

One minute only was lost, when every seaman on board the Swash, from the

captain to Jack Tier, was on deck. Mulford met Spike at the cabin door,

and pointed toward the fiery column, that was booming down upon the

anchorage, with a velocity and direction that would now admit of no

misinterpretation. For one instant that sturdy old seaman stood aghast;

gazing at the enemy as one conscious of his impotency might have

been supposed to quail before an assault that he foresaw must prove

irresistible. Then his native spirit, and most of all the effects of

training, began to show themselves in him, and he became at once, not

only the man again, but the resolute, practised, and ready commander.

“Come aft to the spring, men--” he shouted--“clap on the spring, Mr.

Mulford, and bring the brig head to wind.”

This order was obeyed as seamen best obey, in cases of sudden and

extreme emergency; or with intelligence, aptitude and power. The brig

had swung nearly round, in the desired direction, when the tornado

struck her. It will be difficult, we do not know but it is impossible,

to give a clear and accurate account of what followed. As most of

our readers have doubtless felt how great is the power of the wind,

whiffling and pressing different ways, in sudden and passing gusts,

they have only to imagine this power increased many, many fold, and

the baffling currents made furious, as it might be, by meeting with

resistance, to form some notion of the appalling strength and frightful

inconstancy with which it blew for about a minute.

Notwithstanding the circumstance of Spike's precaution had greatly

lessened the danger, every man on the deck of the Swash believed the

brig was gone when the gust struck her. Over she went, in fact, until

the water came pouring in above her half-ports, like so many little

cascades, and spouting up through her scupper-holes, resembling the

blowing of young whales. It was the whiffling energy of the tornado

that alone saved her. As if disappointed in not destroying its intended

victim at one swoop, the tornado “let up” in its pressure, like a

dexterous wrestler, making a fresh and desperate effort to overturn

the vessel, by a slight variation in its course. That change saved the

Swash. She righted, and even rolled in the other direction, or what

might be called to windward, with her decks full of water. For a minute

longer these baffling, changing gusts continued, each causing the brig

to bow like a reed to their power, one lifting as another pressed her

down, and then the weight, or the more dangerous part of the tornado was

passed, though it continued to blow heavily, always in whiffling blasts,

several minutes longer.

During the weight of the gust, no one had leisure, or indeed inclination

to look to aught beyond its effect on the brig. Had one been otherwise

disposed, the attempt would have been useless, for the wind had filled

the air with spray, and near the islets even with sand. The lurid but

fiery tinge, too, interposed a veil that no human eye could penetrate.

As the tornado passed onward, however, and the winds lulled, the air

again became clear, and in five minutes after the moment when the Swash

lay nearly on her side, with her lower yard-arm actually within a

few feet of the water, all was still and placid around her, as one is

accustomed to see the ocean in a calm, of a summer's afternoon. Then

it was that those who had been in such extreme jeopardy could breathe

freely and look about them. On board the Swash all was well--not a

rope-yarn had parted, or an eyebolt drawn. The timely precautions of

Spike had saved his brig, and great was his joy thereat.

In the midst of the infernal din of the tornado, screams had ascended

from the cabin, and the instant he could quit the deck with propriety,

Mulford sprang below, in order to ascertain their cause. He apprehended

that some of the females had been driven to leeward when the brig went

over, and that part of the luggage or furniture had fallen on them. In

the main cabin, the mate found Se¤or Montefalderon just quitting his

berth, composed, gentleman-like, and collected. Josh was braced in a

corner nearly grey with fear, while Jack Tier still lay on the cabin

floor, at the last point to which he had rolled. One word sufficed to

let Don Juan know that the gust had passed, and the brig was safe, when

Mulford tapped at the deor of the inner cabin. Rose appeared, pale, but

calm and unhurt.

“Is any one injured?” asked the young man, his mind relieved at once,

as soon as he saw that she who most occupied his thoughts was safe; “we

heard screams from this cabin.”

“My aunt and Biddy have been frightened,” answered Rose, “but neither

has been hurt. Oh, Harry, what terrible thing has happened to us? I

heard the roaring of--”

“ 'T was a tornado,” interrupted Mulford eagerly, “but 't is over. 'T

was one of those sudden and tremendous gusts that sometimes occur within

the tropics, in which the danger is usually in the first shock. If no

one is injured in this cabin, no one is injured at all.”

“Oh, Mr. Mulford--dear Mr. Mulford!” exclaimed the relict, from the

corner into which she had been followed and jammed by Biddy, “Oh, Mr.

Mulford, are we foundered or not?”

“Heaven be praised, not, my dear ma'am, though we came nearer to it than

I ever was before.”

“Are we cap-asided?”

“Nor that, Mrs. Budd; the brig is as upright as a church.”

“Upright!” repeated Biddy, in her customary accent,--“is it as a church?

Sure, then, Mr. Mate, 't is a Presbyterian church that you mane, and

that is always totterin'.”

“Catholic, or Dutch--no church in York is more completely up and down

than the brig at this moment.”

“Get off of me--get off of me, Biddy, and let me rise,” said the widow,

with dignity. “The danger is over I see, and, as we return our thanks

for it, we have the consolation of knowing that we have done our duty.

It is incumbent on all, at such moments, to be at their posts, and to

set examples of decision and prudence.”

As Mulford saw all was well in the cabin, he hastened on deck, followed

by Se¤or Montefalderon. Just as they emerged from the companion-way,

Spike was hailing the forecastle.

“Forecastle, there,” he cried, standing on the trunk himself as he

did so, and moving from side to side, as if to catch a glimpse of some

object ahead.

“Sir,” came back from an old salt, who was coiling up rigging in that

seat of seamanship.

“Where-away is the schooner? She ought to be dead ahead of us, as we

tend now--but blast me if I can see as much as her mast-heads.”

At this suggestion, a dozen men sprang upon guns or other objects, to

look for the vessel in question. The old salt forward, however, had much

the best chance, for he stepped on the heel of the bowsprit, and walked

as far out as the knight-heads, to command the whole view ahead of the

brig. There he stood half a minute, looking first on one side of the

head-gear, then the other, when he gave his trousers a hitch, put a

fresh quid in his mouth, and called out in a voice almost as hoarse as

the tempest, that had just gone by,

“The schooner has gone down at her anchor, sir. There's her buoy

watching still, as if nothing had happened; but as for the craft itself,

there's not so much as a bloody yard-arm, or mast-head of her to be

seen!”

This news produced a sensation in the brig at once, as may be supposed.

Even Se¤or Montefalderon, a quiet, gentleman-like person, altogether

superior in deportment to the bustle and fuss that usually marks the

manners of persons in trade, was disturbed; for to him the blow was

heavy indeed. Whether he were acting for himself, or was an agent of the

Mexican government, the loss was much the same.

“Tom is right enough,” put in Spike, rather coolly for the

circumstances--“that there schooner of yourn has foundered, Don Wan, as

any one can see. She must have cap-sized and filled, for I obsarved

they had left the hatches off, meaning, no doubt, to make an end of the

storage as soon as they had done sleeping.”

“And what has become of all her men, Don Esteban?” for so the Mexican

politely called his companion. “Have all my poor countrymen perished in

this disaster?”

“I fear they have, Don Wan; for I see no head, as of any one swimming.

The vessel lay so near that island next to it, that a poor swimmer would

have no difficulty in reaching the place; but there is no living thing

to be seen. But man the boat, men; we will go to the spot, Se¤or, and

examine for ourselves.”

There were two boats in the water, and along-side of the brig. One was

the Swash's yawl, a small but convenient craft, while the other was much

larger, fitted with a sail, and had all the appearance of having been

built to withstand breezes and seas. Mulford felt perfectly satisfied,

the moment he saw this boat, which had come into the haven in tow of the

schooner, that it had been originally in the service of the light-house

keeper. As there was a very general desire among those on the

quarter-deck to go to the assistance of the schooner, Spike ordered both

boats manned, jumping into the yawl himself, accompanied by Don Juan

Montefalderon, and telling Mulford to follow with the larger craft,

bringing with him as many of the females as might choose to accompany

him. As Mrs. Budd thought it incumbent on her to be active in such a

scene, all did go, including Biddy, though with great reluctance on the

part of Rose.

With the buoy for a guide, Spike had no difficulty in finding the spot

where the schooner lay. She had scarcely shifted her berth in the least,

there having been no time for her even to swing to the gust, but she had

probably cap-sized at the first blast, filled, and gone down instantly.

The water was nearly as clear as the calm, mild atmosphere of the

tropics; and it was almost as easy to discern the vessel, and all her

hamper, as if she lay on a beach. She had sunk as she filled, or on her

side, and still continued in that position. As the water was little more

than three fathoms deep, the upper side was submerged but a few

inches, and her yard-arms would have been out of the water, but for the

circumstance that the yards had canted under the pressure.

At first, no sign was seen of any of those who had been on board this

ill-fated schooner when she went down. It was known that twenty-one

souls were in her, including the man and the boy who had belonged to

the light-house. As the boat moved slowly over this sad ruin, however,

a horrible and startling spectacle came in view. Two bodies were seen,

within a few feet of the surface of the water, one grasped in the arms

of the other, in the gripe of despair. The man held in the grasp, was

kept beneath the water solely by the death-lock of his companion, who

was himself held where he floated, by the circumstance that one of his

feet was entangled in a rope. The struggle could not have been long

over, for the two bodies were slowly settling toward the bottom when

first seen. It is probable that both these men had more than once risen

to the surface in their dreadful struggle. Spike seized a boat-hook,

and made an effort to catch the clothes of the nearest body, but

ineffectually, both sinking to the sands beneath, lifeless, and without

motion. There being no sharks in sight, Mulford volunteered to dive and

fasten a line to one of these unfortunate men, whom Don Juan declared at

once was the schooner's captain. Some little time was lost in procuring

a lead-line from the brig, when the lead was dropped alongside of the

drowned. Provided with another piece of the same sort of line, which had

a small running bowline around that which was fastened to the lead,

the mate made his plunge, and went down with great vigour of arm. It

required resolution and steadiness to descend so far into salt water;

but Harry succeeded, and rose with the bodies, which came up with the

slightest impulse. All were immediately got into the boat, and away the

latter went toward the light-house, which was nearer and more easy of

access than the brig.

It is probable that one of these unfortunate men might have been revived

under judicious treatment; but he was not fated to receive it. Spike,

who knew nothing of such matters, undertook to direct everything, and,

instead of having recourse to warmth and gentle treatment, he ordered

the bodies to be rolled on a cask, suspended them by the heels, and

resorted to a sort of practice that might have destroyed well men,

instead of resuscitating those in whom the vital spark was dormant, if

not actually extinct.

Two hours later, Rose, seated in her own cabin, unavoidably overheard

the following dialogue, which passed in English, a language that Se¤or

Montefalderon spoke perfectly well, as has been said.

“Well, Se¤or,” said Spike, “I hope this little accident will not prevent

our final trade. You will want the brig now, to take the schooner's

place.”

“And how am I to pay you for the brig, Se¤or Spike, even if I buy her?”

“I'll ventur' to guess there is plenty of money in Mexico. Though they

do say the government is so backward about paying, I have always found

you punctual, and am not afraid to put faith in you ag'in.”

“But I have no longer any money to pay you half in hand, as I did for

the powder, when last in New York.”

“The bag was pretty well lined with doubloons when I saw it last,

Se¤or.”

“And do you know where that bag is; and where there is another that

holds the same sum?”

Spike started, and he mused in silence some little time, ere he again

spoke.

“I had forgotten,” he at length answered. “The gold must have all gone

down in the schooner, along with the powder!”

“And the poor men!”

“Why, as for the men, Se¤or, more may be had for the asking; but powder

and doubloons will be hard to find, when most wanted. Then the men were

poor men, accordin' to my idees of what an able seaman should be, or

they never would have let their schooner turn turtle with them as she

did.”

“We will talk of the money, Don Esteban, if you please,” said the

Mexican, with reserve.

“With all my heart, Don Wan--nothing is more agreeable to me than

money. How many of them doubloons shall fall to my share, if I raise the

schooner and put you in possession of your craft again?”

“Can that be done, Se¤or?” demanded Don Juan earnestly.

“A seaman can do almost anything, in that way, Don Wan, if you will give

him time and means. For one-half the doubloons I can find in the wrack,

the job shall be done.”

“You can have them,” answered Don Juan, quietly, a good deal surprised

that Spike should deem it necessary to offer him any part of the sum he

might find. “As for the powder, I suppose that is lost to my country.”

“Not at all, Don Wan. The flour is well packed around it, and I don't

expect it would take any harm in a month. I shall not only turn over

the flour to you, just as if nothing had happened, but I shall put four

first-rate hands aboard your schooner, who will take her into port for

you, with a good deal more sartainty than forty of the men you had. My

mate is a prime navigator.”

This concluded the bargain, every word of which was heard by Rose, and

every word of which she did not fail to communicate to Mulford, the

moment there was an opportunity. The young man heard it with great

interest, telling Rose that he should do all he could to assist in

raising the schooner, in the hope that something might turn up to enable

him to escape in her, taking off Rose and her aunt. As for his carrying

her into a Mexican port, let them trust him for that! Agreeably to the

arrangement, orders were given that afternoon to commence the necessary

preparations for the work, and considerable progress was made in them

by the time the Swash's people were ordered to knock off work for the

night.

After the sun had set, the reaction in the currents again commenced,

and it blew for a few hours heavily, during the night. Toward morning,

however, it moderated, and when the sun re-appeared it scarcely ever

diffused its rays over a more peaceful or quiet day. Spike caused all

hands to be called, and immediately set about the important business he

had before him.

In order that the vessel might be as free as possible, Jack Tier

was directed to skull the females ashore, in the brig's yawl; Se¤or

Montefalderon, a man of polished manners, as we maintain is very apt to

be the case with Mexican gentlemen, whatever may be the opinion of this

good republic on the subject just at this moment, asked permission to be

of the party. Mulford found an opportunity to beg Rose, if they landed

at the light, to reconnoitre the place well, with a view to ascertain

what facilities it could afford in an attempt to escape. They did land

at the light, and glad enough were Mrs. Budd, Rose and Biddy to place

their feet on terra  firma after so long a confinement to the narrow

limits of a vessel.

“Well,” said Jack Tier, as they walked up to the spot where the

buildings stood, “this is a rum place for a light'us, Miss Rose, and I

don't wonder the keeper and his mess-mates has cleared out.”

“I am very sorry to say,” observed Se¤or Montefalderon, whose

countenance expressed the concern he really felt, “that the keeper and

his only companion, a boy, were on board the schooner, and have perished

in her, in common with so many of my poor countrymen. There are the

graves of two whom we buried here last evening, after vain efforts to

restore them to life!”

“What a dreadful catastrophe it has been, Se¤or,” said Rose, whose sweet

countenance eloquently expressed the horror and regret she so naturally

felt--“Twenty fellow-beings hurried into eternity without even an

instant for prayer!”

“You feel for them, Se¤orita--it is natural you should, and it is

natural that I, their countryman and leader, should feel for them, also.

I do not know what God has in reserve for my unfortunate country! We

may have cruel and unscrupulous men among us, Se¤orita, but we have

thousands who are just, and brave, and honourable.”

“So Mr. Mulford tells me, Se¤or; and he has been much in your ports, on

the west coast.”

“I like that young man, and wonder not a little at his and your

situation in this brig--” rejoined the Mexican, dropping his voice so

as not to be heard by their companions, as they walked a little ahead

of Mrs. Budd and Biddy. “The Se¤or Spike is scarcely worthy to be his

commander or your guardian.”

“Yet you find him worthy of your intercourse and trust, Don Juan?”

The Mexican shrugged his shoulders, and smiled equivocally; still, in

a melancholy manner. It would seem he did not deem it wise to push this

branch of the subject further, since he turned to another.

“I like the Se¤or Mulford,” he resumed, “for his general deportment and

principles, so far as I can judge of him on so short an acquaintance.”

“Excuse me, Se¤or,” interrupted Rose, hurriedly--“but you never saw him

until you met him here.”

“Never--I understand you, Se¤orita, and can do full justice to the young

man's character. I am willing to think he did not know the errand of his

vessel, or I should not have seen him now. But what I most like him for,

is this: Last night, during the gale, he and I walked the deck together,

for an hour. We talked of Mexico, and of this war, so unfortunate for

my country already, and which may become still more so, when he uttered

this noble sentiment--'My country is more powerful than yours, Se¤or

Montefalderon,' he said, 'and in this it has been more favoured by God.

You have suffered from ambitious rulers, and from military rule, while

we have been advancing under the arts of peace, favoured by a most

beneficent Providence. As for this war, I know but little about it,

though I dare say the Mexican government may have been wrong in some

things that it might have controlled and some that it might not--but

let right be where it will, I am sorry to see a nation that has taken

so firm a stand in favour of popular government, pressed upon so hard

by another that is supposed to be the great support of such principles.

America and Mexico are neighbours, and ought to be friends; and while

I do not, cannot blame my own country for pursuing the war with vigour,

nothing would please me more than to hear peace proclaimed.'”

“That is just like Harry Mulford,” said Rose, thoughtfully, as soon as

her companion ceased to speak. “I do wish, Se¤or, that there could be no

use for this powder, that is now buried in the sea.”

Don Juan Montefalderon smiled, and seemed a little surprised that

the fair young thing at his side should have known of the treacherous

contents of the flour-barrels. No doubt he found it inexplicable, that

persons like Rose and Mulford should, seemingly, be united with one like

Spike; but he was too well bred, and, indeed, too effectually mystified,

to push the subject further than might be discreet.

By this time they were near the entrance of the lighthouse, into which

the whole party entered, in a sort of mute awe at its silence and

solitude. At Se¤or Montefalderon's invitation, they ascended to

the lantern, whence they could command a wide and fair view of the

surrounding waters. The reef was much more apparent from that elevation

than from below; and Rose could see that numbers of its rocks were bare,

while on other parts of it there was the appearance of many feet of

water. Rose gazed at it with longing eyes, for, from a few remarks that

had fallen from Mulford, she suspected he had hopes of escaping among

its channels and coral.

As they descended and walked through the buildings, Rose also took good

heed of the supplies the place afforded. There were flour, and beef, and

pork, and many other of the common articles of food, as well as water

in a cistern, that caught it as it flowed from the roof of the dwelling.

Water was also to be found in casks--nothing like a spring or a well

existing among those islets. All these things Rose noted, putting them

aside in her memory for ready reference hereafter.

In the mean time the mariners were not idle. Spike moved his brig, and

moored her, head and stern, alongside of the wreck, before the people

got their breakfasts. As soon as that meal was ended, both captain and

mate set about their duty in earnest. Mulford carried out an anchor on

the off-side of the Swash, and dropped it at a distance of about

eighty fathoms from the vessel's beam. Purchases were brought from both

mast-heads of the brig to the chain of this anchor, and were hove upon

until the vessel was given a heel of more than a streak, and the cable

was tolerably taut. Other purchases were got up opposite, and overhauled

down, in readiness to take hold of the schooner's masts. The anchor of

the schooner was weighed by its buoy-rope, and the chain, after being

rove through the upper or opposite hawse-hole, brought in on board the

Swash. Another chain was dropped astern, in such a way, that when the

schooner came upright, it would be sure to pass beneath her keel,

some six or eight feet from the rudder. Slings were then sunk over the

mast-heads, and the purchases were hooked on. Hours were consumed in

these preliminary labours, and the people went to dinner as soon as they

were completed.

When the men had dined, Spike brought one of his purchases to the

windlass, and the other to the capstan, though not until each was

bowsed taut by hand; a few minutes having brought the strain so far on

everything, as to enable a seaman, like Spike, to form some judgment

of the likelihood that his preventers and purchases would stand. Some

changes were found necessary to equalize the strain, but, on the whole,

the captain was satisfied with his work, and the crew were soon ordered

to “heave-away; the windlass best.”

In the course of half an hour the hull of the vessel, which lay on its

bilge, began to turn on its keel, and the heads of the spars to rise

above the water. This was the easiest part of the process, all that was

required of the purchases being to turn over a mass which rested on the

sands of the bay. Aided by the long levers afforded by the spars, the

work advanced so rapidly, that, in just one hour's time after his people

had begun to heave, Spike had the pleasure to see the schooner standing

upright, alongside of his own brig, though still sunk to the bottom. The

wreck was secured in this position, by means of guys and preventers, in

order that it might not again cant, when the order was issued to hook on

the slings that were to raise it to the surface. These slings were the

chains of the schooner, one of which went under her keel, while for the

other the captain trusted to the strength of the two hawse-holes, having

passed the cable out of one and in at the other, in a way to serve his

purposes, as has just been stated.

When all was ready, Spike mustered his crew, and made a speech. He told

the men that he was about a job that was out of the usual line of their

duty, and that he knew they had a right to expect extra pay for such

extra work. The schooner contained money, and his object was to get at

it. If he succeeded, their reward would be a doubloon a man, which would

be earning more than a month's wages by twenty-four hours' work. This

was enough. The men wanted to hear no more; but they cheered their

commander, and set about their task in the happiest disposition

possible.

The reader will understand that the object to be first achieved, was to

raise a vessel, with a hold filled with flour and gunpowder, from off

the bottom of the bay to its surface. As she stood, the deck of this

vessel was about six feet under water, and every one will understand

that her weight, so long as it was submerged in a fluid as dense as that

of the sea, would be much more manageable than if suspended in air.

The barrels, for instance, were not much heavier than the water they

displaced, and the wood work of the vessel itself, was, on the whole,

positively lighter than the element in which it had sunk. As for the

water in the hold, that was of the same weight as the water on the

outside of the craft, and there had not been much to carry the schooner

down, beside her iron, the spars that were out of water, and her

ballast. This last, some ten or twelve tons in weight, was in fact the

principal difficulty, and alone induced Spike to have any doubts about

his eventual success. There was no foreseeing the result until he had

made a trial, however; and the order was again given to “heave away.”

To the infinite satisfaction of the Swash's crew, the weight was found

quite manageable, so long as the hull remained beneath the water.

Mulford, with three or four assistants, was kept on board the schooner

lightening her, by getting the other anchor off her bows, and throwing

the different objects overboard, or on the decks of the brig. By the

time the bulwarks reached the surface, as much was gained in this way,

as was lost by having so much of the lighter woodwork rise above the

water. As a matter of course, however, the weight increased as the

vessel rose, and more especially as the lower portion of the spars, the

bowsprit, boom, &c., from being buoyant assistants, became so much dead

weight to be lifted.

Spike kept a watchful eye on his spars, and the extra supports he had

given them. He was moving, the whole time, from point to point, feeling

shrouds and back-stays, and preventers, in order to ascertain the degree

of strain on each, or examining how the purchases stood. As for the

crew, they cheered at their toil, incessantly, passing from capstan bars

to the handspikes, and vice versa. They, too, felt that their task was

increasing in resistance as it advanced, and now found it more difficult

to gain an inch, than it had been at first to gain a foot. They seemed,

indeed, to be heaving their own vessel out, instead of heaving the other

craft up, and it was not long before they had the Swash heeling over

toward the wreck several streaks. The strain, moreover, on everything,

became not only severe, but somewhat menacing. Every shroud, back-stay,

and preventer was as taut as a bar of iron, and the chain-cable that

led to the anchor planted off abeam, was as straight as if the brig were

riding by it in a gale of wind. One or two ominous surges aloft, too,

had been heard, and, though no more than straps and slings settling into

their places under hard strains, they served to remind the crew that

danger might come from that quarter. Such was the state of things, when

Spike called out to “heave and pall,” that he might take a look at the

condition of the wreck.

Although a great deal remained to be done, in order to get the schooner

to float, a great deal had already been done. Her precise condition was

as follows: Having no cabin windows, the water had entered her, when she

capsized, by the only four apertures her construction possessed. These

were the companion-way, or cabin-doors; the sky-light; the main-hatch,

or the large inlet amid-ships, by which cargo went up and down; and the

booby-hatch, which was the counterpart of the companion-way, forward;

being intended to admit of ingress to the forecastle, the apartment of

the crew. Each of these hatch-ways, or orifices, had the usual defences

of “coamings,” strong frame-work around their margins. These coamings

rose six or eight inches above the deck, and answered the double purpose

of strengthening the vessel, in a part, that without them would be

weaker han common, and of preventing any water that might be washing

about the decks from running below. As soon, therefore, as these three

apertures, or their coamings, could be raised above the level of the

water of the basin, all danger of the vessel's receiving any further

tribute of that sort from the ocean would be over. It was to this end,

consequently, that Spike's efforts had been latterly directed, though

they had only in part succeeded. The schooner possessed a good deal of

sheer, as it is termed; or, her two extremities rose nearly a foot above

her centre, when on an even keel. This had brought her extremities first

to the surface, and it was the additional weight which had consequently

been brought into the air that had so much increased the strain, and

induced Spike to pause. The deck forward, as far aft as the foremast,

and aft as far forward as the centre of the trunk, or to the sky-light,

was above the water, or at least awash; while all the rest of it was

covered. In the vicinity of the main-hatch there were several inches of

water; enough indeed to leave the upper edge of the coamings submerged

by about an inch. To raise the keel that inch by means of the purchases,

Spike well knew would cost him more labour, and would incur more risk

than all that had been done previously, and he paused before he would

attempt it.

The men were now called from the brig and ordered to come on board the

schooner. Spike ascertained by actual measurement how much was wanted

to bring the coamings of the main-hatch above the water, until which,

he knew, pumping and bailing would be useless. He found it was quite an

inch, and was at a great loss to know how that inch should be obtained.

Mulford advised another trial with the handspikes and bars, but to this

Spike would not consent. He believed that the masts of the brig had

already as much pressure on them as they would bear. The mate next

proposed getting the main boom off the vessel, and to lighten the craft

by cutting away her bowsprit and masts. The captain was well enough

disposed to do this, but he doubted whether it would meet with the

approbation of “Don Wan,” who was still ashore with Rose and her aunt,

and who probably looked forward to recovering his gunpowder by means

of those very spars. At length the carpenter hit upon a plan that was

adopted.

This plan was very simple, though it had its own ingenuity. It will

be remembered that water could now only enter the vessel's hold at the

main-hatch, all the other hatchways having their coamings above the

element. The carpenter proposed, therefore, that the main-hatches, which

had been off when the tornado occurred, but which had been found on deck

when the vessel righted, should now be put on, oakum being first laid

along in their rabbetings, and that the cracks should be stuffed with

additional oakum, to exclude as much water as possible. He thought that

two or three men, by using caulking irons for ten minutes, would make

the hatch-way so tight that very little water would penetrate. While

this was doing, he himself would bore as many holes forward and aft

as he could, with a two inch auger, out of which the water then in the

vessel would be certain to run. Spike was delighted with this project,

and gave the necessary orders on the spot.

This much must be said of the crew of the Molly Swash--whatever they did

in their own profession, they did intelligently and well. On the present

occasion they maintained their claim to this character, and were both

active and expert. The hatches were soon on, and, in an imperfect

manner, caulked. While this was doing, the carpenter got into a boat,

and going under the schooner's bows, where a whole plank was out of

water, he chose a spot between two of the timbers, and bored a hole as

near the surface of the water as he dared to do. Not satisfied with one

hole, however, he bored many--choosing both sides of the vessel to make

them, and putting some aft as well as forward. In a word, in the course

of twenty minutes the schooner was tapped in at least a dozen places,

and jets of water, two inches in diameter, were spouting from her on

each bow, and under each quarter.

Spike and Mulford noted the effect. Some water, doubtless, still worked

itself into the vessel about the main-hatch, but that more flowed from

her by means of the outlets just named, was quite apparent. After close

watching at the outlets for some time, Spike was convinced that the

schooner was slowly rising, the intense strain that still came from the

brig producing that effect as the vessel gradually became lighter. By

the end of half an hour, there could be no longer any doubt, the holes,

which had been bored within an inch of the water, being now fully two

inches above it. The auger was applied anew, still nearer to the surface

of the sea, and as fresh outlets were made, those that began to manifest

a dulness in their streams were carefully plugged.

Spike now thought it was time to take a look at the state of things on

deck. Here, to his joy, he ascertained that the coamings had actually

risen a little above the water. The reader is not to suppose by this

rising of the vessel, that she had become sufficiently buoyant, in

consequence of the water that had run out of her, to float of herself.

This was far from being the case; but the constant upward pressure from

the brig, which, on mechanical principles, tended constantly to bring

that craft upright, had the effect to lift the schooner as the latter

was gradually relieved from the weight that pressed her toward the

bottom.

The hatches were next removed, when it was found that the water in the

schooner's hold had so far lowered, as to leave a vacant space of quite

a foot between the lowest part of the deck and its surface. Toward the

two extremities of the vessel this space necessarily was much increased,

in consequence of the sheer. Men were now sent into the hatchway with

orders to hook on to the flour-barrels--a whip having been rigged in

readiness to hoist them on deck. At the same time gangs were sent to the

pumps, though Spike still depended for getting rid of the water somewhat

on the auger--the carpenter continuing to bore and plug his holes as new

opportunities offered, and the old outlets became useless. It was true

this expedient would soon cease, for the water having found its level

in the vessel's hold, was very nearly on a level also with that on the

outside. Bailing also was commenced, both forward and aft.

Spike's next material advantage was obtained by means of the cargo. By

the time the sun had set, fully two hundred barrels had been rolled into

the hatchway, and passed on deck, whence about half of them were sent

in the lighthouse boat to the nearest islet, and the remainder were

transferred to the deck of the brig. These last were placed on the off

side of the Swash, and aided in bringing her nearer upright. A great

deal was gained in getting rid of these barrels. The water in the

schooner lowered just as much as the space they had occupied,-and the

vessel was relieved at once of twenty tons in weight.

Just after the sun had set, Se¤or Don Juan Montefalderon and his party

returned on board. They had staid on the island to the last moment, at

Rose's request, for she had taken as close an observation of everything

as possible, in order to ascertain if any means of concealment existed,

in the event of her aunt, Biddy, and herself quitting the brig. The

islets were all too naked and too small, however; and she was compelled

to return to the Swash, without any hopes derived from this quarter.

Spike had just directed the people to get their suppers as the Mexican

came on board. Together they descended to the schooner's deck, where

they had a long but secret conference. Se¤or Montefalderon was a calm,

quiet and reasonable man, and while he felt as one would be apt to

feel who had recently seen so many associates swept suddenly out of

existence, the late catastrophe did not in the least unman him. It is

too much the habit of the American people to receive their impressions

from newspapers, which throw off their articles unreflectingly, and

often ignorantly, as crones in petticoats utter their gossip. In a word,

the opinions thus obtained are very much on a level, in value, with the

thoughts of those who are said to think aloud, and who give utterance

to all the crudities and trivial rumours that may happen to reach their

ears. In this manner, we apprehend, very false notions of our neighbours

of Mexico have become circulated among us. That nation is a mixed race,

and has necessarily the various characteristics of such an origin, and

it is unfortunately little influenced by the diffusion of intelligence

which certainly exists here. Although an enemy, it ought to be

acknowledged, however, that even Mexico has her redeeming points.

Anglo-Saxons as we are, we have no desire unnecessarily to illustrate

that very marked feature in the Anglo-Saxon character, which prompts

the mother stock to calumniate all who oppose it, but would rather adopt

some of that chivalrous courtesy of which so much that is lofty and

commendable is to be found among the descendants of Old Spain.

The Se¤or Montefalderon was earnestly engaged in what he conceived to be

the cause of his country. It was scarcely possible to bring together two

men impelled by motives more distinct than Spike and this gentleman.

The first was acting under impulses of the lowest and most grovelling

nature; while the last was influenced by motives of the highest. However

much Mexico may, and has, weakened her cause by her own punic faith,

instability, military oppression, and political revolutions, giving to

the Texans in particular ample justification for their revolt, it

was not probable that Don Juan Montefalderon saw the force of all the

arguments that a casuist of ordinary ingenuity could certainly adduce

against his country; for it is a most unusual thing to find a man

anywhere, who is willing to admit that the positions of an opponent

are good. He saw in the events of the day, a province wrested from his

nation; and, in his reasoning on the subject, entirely overlooking the

numerous occasions on which his own fluctuating government had given

sufficient justification, not to say motives, to their powerful

neighbours to take the law into their own hands, and redress themselves,

he fancied all that has occurred was previously planned; instead of

regarding it, as it truly is, as merely the result of political events

that no man could have foreseen, that no man had originally imagined, or

that any man could control.

Don Juan understood Spike completely, and quite justly appreciated not

only his character, but his capabilities. Their acquaintance was not of

a day, though it had ever been marked by that singular combination of

caution and reliance that is apt to characterize the intercourse

between the knave and the honest man, when circumstances compel not only

communication, but, to a certain extent, confidence. They now paced the

deck of the schooner, side by side, for fully an hour, during which

time the price of the vessel, the means, and the mode of payment and

transfer, were fully settled between them.

“But what will you do with your passengers, Don Esteban?” asked the

Mexican pleasantly, when the more material points were adjusted. “I

feel a great interest in the young lady in particular, who is a charming

se¤orita, and who tells me that her aunt brought her this voyage on

account of her health. She looks much too blooming to be out of health,

and if she were, this is a singular voyage for an invalid to make!”

“You don't understand human natur' yet, altogether, I see, Don Wan,”

answered Spike, chuckling and winking. “As you and I are not only good

friends, but what a body may call old friends, I'll let you into a

secret in this affair, well knowing that you'll not betray it. It's

quite true that the old woman thinks her niece is a pulmonary, as they

call it, and that this v'y'ge is recommended for her, but the gal is as

healthy as she's handsom'.”

“Her constitution, then, must be very excellent, for it is seldom I

have seen so charming a young woman. But if the aunt is misled in this

matter, how has it been with the niece?”

Spike did not answer in words, but he leered upon his companion, and he

winked.

“You mean to be understood that you are in intelligence with each other,

I suppose, Don Esteban,” returned the Se¤or Montefalderon, who did not

like the captain's manner, and was willing to drop the discourse.

Spike then informed his companion, in confidence, that he and Rose were

affianced, though without the aunt's knowledge,--that he intended to

marry the niece the moment he reached a Mexican port with the brig, and

that it was their joint intention to settle in the country. He added

that the affair required management, as his intended had property, and

expected more, and he begged Don Juan to aid him, as things drew near to

a crisis. The Mexican evaded an answer, and the discourse dropped.

The moon was now shining, and would continue to throw its pale light

over the scene for two or three hours longer. Spike profited by the

circumstance to continue the work of lightening the schooner. One of the

first things done next was to get up the dead, and to remove them to the

boat. This melancholy office occupied an hour, the bodies being landed

on the islet, near the powder, and there interred in the sands. Don Juan

Montefalderon attended on this occasion, and repeated some prayers over

the graves, as he had done in the morning, in the cases of the two who

had been buried near the light-house.

While this melancholy duty was in the course of performance, that

of pumping and bailing was continued, under the immediate personal

superintendence of Mulford. It would not be easy to define, with perfect

clearness, the conflicting feelings by which the mate of the Swash

was now impelled. He had no longer any doubt on the subject of Spike's

treason, and had it not been for Rose, he would not have hesitated a

moment about making off in the light-house boat for Key West, in order

to report all that had passed to the authorities. But not only Rose was

there, and to be cared for, but what was far more difficult to get along

with, her aunt was with her. It is true, Mrs. Budd was no longer Spike's

dupe; but under any circumstances she was a difficult subject to manage,

and most especially so in all matters that related to the sea. Then the

young man submitted, more or less, to the strange influence which a fine

craft almost invariably obtains over those that belong to her. He did

not like the idea of deserting the Swash, at the very moment he would

not have hesitated about punishing her owner for his many misdeeds. In a

word, Harry was too much of a tar not to feel a deep reluctance to

turn against his cruise, or his voyage, however much either might be

condemned by his judgment, or even by his principles.

It was quite nine o'clock when the Se¤or Montefalderon and Spike

returned from burying the dead. No sooner did the last put his foot

on the deck of his own vessel, than he felt the fall of one of the

purchases which had been employed in raising the schooner. It was so far

slack as to satisfy him that the latter now floated by her own buoyancy,

though it might be well to let all stand until morning, for the purposes

of security. Thus apprised of the condition of the two vessels, he gave

the welcome order to “knock off for the night.”

CHAPTER VI

“At the piping of all hands,

When the judgment signal's spread--

When the islands and the land,

And the seas give up their dead,

And the south and the north shall come;

When the sinner is dismayed,

And the just man is afraid,

Then heaven be thy aid,

Poor Tom.”

Brainard.

The people had now a cessation from their toil. Of all the labour known

to sea-faring men, that of pumping is usually thought to be the most

severe. Those who work at it have to be relieved every minute, and it is

only by having gangs to succeed each other, that the duty can be done at

all with anything like steadiness. In the present instance, it is true,

that the people of the Swash were sustained by the love of gold, but

glad enough were they when Mulford called out to them to “knock off, and

turn in for the night.” It was high time this summons should be made,

for not only were the people excessively wearied, but the customary

hours of labour were so far spent, that the light of the moon had some

time before begun to blend with the little left by the parting sun. Glad

enough were all hands to quit the toil; and two minutes were scarcely

elapsed ere most of the crew had thrown themselves down, and were buried

in deep sleep. Even Spike and Mulford took the rest they needed, the

cook alone being left to look out for the changes in the weather. In a

word, everybody but this idler was exhausted with pumping and bailing,

and even gold had lost its power to charm, until nature was recruited by

rest.

The excitement produced by the scenes through which they had so lately

passed, caused the females to sleep soundly, too. The death-like

stillness which pervaded the vessel contributed to their rest, and Rose

never woke, from the first few minutes after her head was on her pillow,

until near four in the morning. The deep quiet seemed ominous to one

who had so lately witnessed the calm which precedes the tornado, and she

arose. In that low latitude and warm season, few clothes were necessary,

and our heroine was on deck in a very few minutes. Here she found the

same grave-like sleep pervading everything. There was not a breath of

air, and the ocean seemed to be in one of its profoundest slumbers. The

hard-breathing of Spike could be heard through the open windows of his

state-room, and this was positively the only sound that was audible. The

common men, who lay scattered about the decks, more especially from

the mainmast forward, seemed to be so many logs, and from Mulford no

breathing was heard.

The morning was neither very dark nor very light, it being easy to

distinguish objects that were near, while those at a distance were

necessarily lost in obscurity. Availing herself of the circumstance,

Rose went as far as the gangway, to ascertain if the cook were at his

post. She saw him lying near his galley, in as profound a sleep as any

of the crew. This she felt to be wrong, and she felt alarmed, though she

knew not why. Perhaps it was the consciousness of being the only person

up and awake at that hour of deepest night, in a vessel so situated as

the Swash, and in a climate in which hurricanes seem to be the natural

offspring of the air. Some one must be aroused, and her tastes,

feelings, and judgment, all pointed to Harry Mulford as the person she

ought to awaken. He slept habitually in his clothes--the lightest summer

dress of the tropics; and the window of his little state-room was always

open for air. Moving lightly to the place, Rose laid her own little,

soft hand on the arm of the young man, when the latter was on his

feet in an instant. A single moment only was necessary to regain his

consciousness, when Mulford left the state-room and joined Rose on the

quarter-deck.

“Why am I called, Rose,” the young man asked, attempering his voice to

the calm that reigned around him; “and why am I called by you?”

Rose explained the state of the brig, and the feeling which induced her

to awaken him. With woman's gentleness she now expressed her regret for

having robbed Harry of his rest; had she reflected a moment, she might

have kept watch herself, and allowed him to obtain the sleep he must

surely so much require.

But Mulford laughed at this; protested he had never been awakened at a

more favourable moment, and would have sworn, had it been proper, that

a minute's further sleep would have been too much for him. After these

first explanations, Mulford walked round the decks, carefully felt how

much strain there was on the purchases, and rejoined Rose to report that

all was right, and that he did not consider it necessary to call even

the cook. The black was an idler in no sense but that of keeping watch,

and he had toiled the past day as much as any of the men, though it was

not exactly at the pumps.

A long and semi-confidential conversation now occurred between Harry and

Rose. They talked of Spike, the brig, and her cargo, and of the delusion

of the captain's widow. It was scarcely possible that powder should be

so much wanted at the Havanna as to render smuggling, at so much cost,

a profitable adventure; and Mulford admitted his convictions that the

pretended flour was originally intended for Mexico. Rose related the

tenor of the conversation she had overheard between the two parties, Don

Juan and Don Esteban, and the mate no longer doubted that it was Spike's

intention to sell the brig to the enemy. She also alluded to what had

passed between herself and the stranger.

Mulford took this occasion to introduce the subject of Jack Tier's

intimacy and favour with Rose. He even professed to feel some jealousy

on account of it, little as there might be to alarm most men in the

rivalry of such a competitor. Rose laughed, as girls will laugh when

there is question of their power over the other sex, and she fairly

shook her rich tresses as she declared her determination to continue to

smile on Jack to the close of the voyage. Then, as if she had said

more than she intended, she added with woman's generosity and

tenderness,--“After all, Harry, you know how much I promised to you even

before we sailed, and how much more since, and have no just cause to

dread even Jack. There is another reason, however, that ought to set

your mind entirely at case on his account. Jack is married, and has

a partner living at this very moment, as he does not scruple to avow

himself.”

A hissing noise, a bright light, and a slight explosion, interrupted the

half-laughing girl, and Mulford, turning on his heel, quick as thought,

saw that a rocket had shot into the air, from a point close under

the bows of the brig. He was still in the act of moving toward the

forecastle, when, at the distance of several leagues, he saw the

explosion of another rocket high in the air. He knew enough of the

practices of vessels of war, to feel certain that these were a signal

and its answer from some one in the service of government. Not at all

sorry to have the career of the Swash arrested, before she could pass

into hostile hands, or before evil could befall Rose, Mulford reached

the forecastle just in time to answer the inquiry that was immediately

put to him, in the way of a hail. A gig, pulling four oars only, with

two officers in its stern-sheets, was fairly under the vessel's bows,

and the mate could almost distinguish the countenance of the officer who

questioned him, the instant he showed his head and shoulders above the

bulwarks.

“What vessels are these?” demanded the stranger, speaking in the

authoritative manner of one who acted for the state, but not speaking

much above the usual conversational tone.

“American and Spanish,” was the answer. “This brig is American--the

schooner alongside is a Spaniard, that turned turtle in a tornado,

about six-and-thirty hours since, and on which we have been hard at

work trying to raise her, since the gale which succeeded the tornado has

blown its pipe out.”

“Ay, ay, that's the story, is it? I did not know what to make of you,

lying cheek by jowl, in this fashion. Was anybody lost on board the

schooner?”

“All hands, including every soul aft and forward, the supercargo

excepted, who happened to be aboard here. We buried seventeen bodies

this afternoon on the smallest of the Keys that you see near at hand,

and two this morning alongside of the light. But what boat is that, and

where are you from, and whom are you signalling?”

“The boat is a gig,” answered the stranger, deliberately, “and she

belongs to a cruiser of Uncle Sam's, that is off the reef, a short bit

to the eastward, and we signalled our captain. But I'll come on board

you, sir, if you please.”

Mulford walked aft to meet the stranger at the gangway, and was

relieved, rather than otherwise, at finding that Spike was already on

the quarter-deck. Should the vessel of war seize the brig, he could

rejoice at it, but so strong were his professional ideas of duty to the

craft he sailed in, that he did not find it in his heart to say aught

against her. Were any mishap to befall it, or were justice to be done,

he preferred that it might be done under Spike's own supervision, rather

than under his.

“Call all hands, Mr. Mulford,” said Spike, as they met. “I see a streak

of day coming yonder in the east--let all hands be called at once. What

strange boat is this we have alongside?”

This question was put to the strangers, Spike standing on his

gangway-ladder to ask it, while the mate was summoning the crew. The

officer saw that a new person was to be dealt with, and in his quiet,

easy way, he answered, while stretching out his hands to take the

man-rope--“Your servant, sir--we are man-of-war's men, belonging to one

of Uncle Sam's craft, outside, and have just come in to pay you a visit

of ceremony. I told one, whom I suppose was your mate, that I would just

step on board of you.”

“Ay, ay--one at a time, if you please. It's war-time, and I cannot

suffer armed boat's crews to board me at night, without knowing

something about them. Come up yourself, if you please, but order your

people to stay in the boat. Here, muster about this gangway, half a

dozen of you, and keep an eye on the crew of this strange boat.”

These orders had no effect on the cool and deliberate lieutenant, who

ascended the brig's side, and immediately stood on her deck. No sooner

had he and Spike confronted each other, than each gave a little start,

like that of recognition, and the lieutenant spoke.

“Ay, ay--I believe I know this vessel now. It is the Molly Swash, of

New York, bound to Key West, and a market; and I have the honour to see

Captain Stephen Spike again.”

It was Mr. Wallace, the second lieutenant of the sloop-of-war that had

boarded the brig in the Mona Passage, and to avoid whom Spike had gone

to the southward of Jamaica. The meeting was very mal-â-propos, but it

would not do to betray that the captain and owner of the vessel thought

as much as this; on the contrary, Wallace was warmly welcomed, and

received, not only as an old acquaintance, but as a very agreeable

visiter. To have seen the two, as they walked aft together, one might

have supposed that the meeting was conducive of nothing but a very

mutual satisfaction, it was so much like that which happens between

those who keep up a hearty acquaintance.

“Well, I'm glad to see you again, Captain Spike,” cried Wallace, after

the greetings were passed, “if it be only to ask where you flew to, the

day we left you in the Mona Passage? We looked out for you with all our

eyes, expecting you would be down between San Domingo and Jamaica, but I

hardly think you got by us in the night. Our master thinks you must have

dove, and gone past loon-fashion. Do you ever perform that manoeuvre?”

“No, we've kept above water the whole time, lieutenant,” answered

Spike, heartily; “and that is more than can be said of the poor fellow

alongside of us. I was so much afraid of the Isle of Pines, that I went

round Jamaica.”

“You might have given the Isle of Pines a berth, and still have passed

to the northward of the Englishmen,” said Wallace, a little drily.

“However, that island is somewhat of a scarecrow, and we have been to

take a look at it ourselves. All's right there, just now. But you seem

light; what have you done with your flour?”

“Parted with every barrel of it. You may remember I was bound to Key

West, and a market. Well, I found my market here, in American waters.”

“You have been lucky, sir. This 'emporium' does not seem to be exactly a

commercial emporium.”

“The fact is, the flour is intended for the Havanna; and I fancy it is

to be shipped for slavers. But I am to know nothing of all that, you'll

understand, lieutenant. If I sell my flour in American waters, at two

prices, it's no concern of mine what becomes of it a'terwards.”

“Unless it happen to pass into enemy's hands, certainly not; and you are

too patriotic to deal with Mexico, just now, I'm sure. Pray, did that

flour go down when the schooner turned turtle?”

“Every barrel of it; but Don Wan, below there, thinks that most of it

may yet be saved, by landing it on one of those Keys to dry. Flour, well

packed, wets in slowly. You see we have some of it on deck.”

“And who may Don Wan be, sir, pray? We are sent here to look after Dons

and Donas, you know.”

“Don Wan is a Cuban merchant, and deals in such articles as he wants. I

fell in with him among the reefs here, where he was rummaging about in

hopes of meeting with a wrack, he tells me, and thinking to purchase

something profitable in that way; but finding I had flour, he agreed

to take it out of me at this anchorage, and send me away in ballast

at once. I have found Don Wan Montefalderon ready pay, and very

honourable.”

Wallace then requested an explanation of the disaster, to the details

of which he listened with a sailor's interest. He asked a great many

questions, all of which bore on the more nautical features of the event;

and, day having now fairly appeared, he examined the purchases and

backings of the Swash with professional nicety. The schooner was no

lower in the water than when the men had knocked off work the previous

night; and Spike set the people at the pumps and their bailing again,

as the most effectual method of preventing their making any indiscreet

communications to the man-of-war's men.

About this time the relict appeared on deck, when Spike gallantly

introduced the lieutenant anew to his passengers. It is true he knew

no name to use, but that was of little moment, as he called the officer

“the lieutenant,” and nothing else.

Mrs. Budd was delighted with this occasion to show-off, and she soon

broke out on the easy, indolent, but waggish Wallace, in a strain to

surprise him, notwithstanding the specimen of the lady's skill from

which he had formerly escaped.

“Captain Spike is of opinion, lieutenant, that our cast-anchor here is

excellent, and I know the value of a good cast-anchor place; for my

poor Mr. Budd was a sea-faring man, and taught me almost as much of your

noble profession as he knew himself.”

“And he taught you, ma'am,” said Wallace, fairly opening his eyes, under

the influence of astonishment, “to be very particular about cast-anchor

places!”

“Indeed he did. He used to say, that roads-instead were never as good,

for such purposes, as land that's locked havens, for the anchors would

return home, as he called it, in roads-instead.”

“Yes, ma'am,” answered Wallace, looking very queer at first, as if

disposed to laugh outright, then catching a glance of Rose, and

changing his mind; “I perceive that Mr. Budd knew what he was about, and

preferred an anchorage where he was well land-locked, and where there

was no danger of his anchors coming home, as so often happens in your

open roadsteads.”

“Yes, that's just it! That was just his notion! You cannot feel how

delightful it is, Rose, to converse with one that thoroughly understands

such subjects! My poor Mr. Budd did, indeed, denounce roads-instead, at

all times calling them 'savage.'”

“Savage, aunt,” put in Rose, hoping to stop the good relict by her own

interposition--“that is a strange word to apply to an anchorage!”

“Not at all, young lady,” said Wallace gravely. “They are often wild

berths, and wild berths are not essentially different from wild beasts.

Each is savage, as a matter of course.”

“I knew I was right!” exclaimed the widow. “Savage cast-anchors come of

wild births, as do savage Indians. Oh! the language of the ocean, as my

poor Mr. Budd used to say, is eloquence tempered by common sense!”

Wallace stared again, but his attention was called to other things, just

at that moment. The appearance of Don Juan Montefalderon y Castro

on deck, reminded him of his duty, and approaching that gentleman he

condoled with him on the grave loss he had sustained. After a few civil

expressions on both sides, Wallace made a delicate allusion to the

character of the schooner.

“Under other circumstances,” he said, “it might be my duty to inquire a

little particularly as to the nationality of your vessel, Se¤or, for we

are at war with the Mexicans, as you doubtless know.”

“Certainly,” answered Don Juan, with an unmoved air and great politeness

of manner, “though it would be out of my power to satisfy you.

Everything was lost in the schooner, and I have not a paper of any sort

to show you. If it be your pleasure to make a prize of a vessel in this

situation, certainly it is in your power to do it. A few barrels of wet

flour are scarce worth disputing about.”

Wallace now seemed a little ashamed, the sang froid of the other

throwing dust in his eyes, and he was in a hurry to change the subject.

Se¤or Don Juan was very civilly condoled with again, and he was made to

repeat the incidents of the loss, as if his auditor took a deep interest

in what he said, but no further hint was given touching the

nationality of the vessel. The lieutenant's tact let him see that Se¤or

Montefalderon was a person of a very different calibre from Spike, as

well as of different habits; and he did not choose to indulge in the

quiet irony that formed so large an ingredient in his own character,

with this new acquaintance. He spoke Spanish himself, with tolerable

fluency, and a conversation now occurred between the two, which was

maintained for some time with spirit and a very manifest courtesy.

This dialogue between Wallace and the Spaniard gave Spike a little

leisure for reflection. As the day advanced the cruiser came more and

more plainly in view, and his first business was to take a good survey

of her. She might have been three leagues distant, but approaching with

a very light breeze, at the rate of something less than two knots in the

hour. Unless there was some one on board her who was acquainted with

the channels of the Dry Tortugas, Spike felt little apprehension of the

ship's getting very near to him; but he very well understood that, with

the sort of artillery that was in modern use among vessels of war, he

would hardly be safe could the cruiser get within a league. That near

Uncle Sam's craft might certainly come without encountering the hazards

of the channels, and within that distance she would be likely to get in

the course of the morning, should he have the complaisance to wait for

her. He determined, therefore, not to be guilty of that act of folly.

All this time the business of lightening the schooner proceeded.

Although Mulford earnestly wished that the man-of-war might get an

accurate notion of the true character and objects of the brig, he could

not prevail on himself to become an informer. In order to avoid the

temptation so to do, he exerted himself in keeping the men at their

tasks, and never before had pumping and bailing been carried on with

more spirit. The schooner soon floated of herself, and the purchases

which led to the Swash were removed. Near a hundred more barrels of the

flour had been taken out of the hold of the Spanish craft, and had

been struck on the deck of the brig, or sent to the Key by means of the

boats. This made a material change in the buoyancy of the vessel, and

enabled the bailing to go on with greater facility. The pumps were never

idle, but two small streams of water were running the whole time toward

the scuppers, and through them into the sea.

At length the men were ordered to knock off, and to get their

breakfasts. This appeared to arouse Wallace, who had been chatting,

quite agreeably to himself, with Rose, and seemed reluctant to depart,

but who now became sensible that he was neglecting his duty. He called

away his boat's crew, and took a civil leave of the passengers; after

which he went over the side. The gig was some little distance from the

Swash, when Wallace rose and asked to see Spike, with whom he had a word

to say at parting.

“I will soon return,” he said, “and bring you forty or fifty fresh men,

who will make light work with your wreck. I am certain our commander

will consent to my doing so, and will gladly send on board you two or

three boat's crews.”

“If I let him,” muttered Spike between his teeth, “I shall be a poor,

miserable cast-anchor devil, that's all.”

To Wallace, however, he expressed his hearty acknowledgments; begged him

not to be in a hurry, as the worst was now over, and the row was still

a long one. If he got back toward evening it would be all in good time.

Wallace waved his hand, and the gig glided away. As for Spike, he

sat down on the plank-sheer where he had stood, and remained there

ruminating intently for two or three minutes. When he descended to the

deck his mind was fully made up. His first act was to give some private

orders to the boatswain, after which he withdrew to the cabin, whither

he summoned Tier, without delay.

“Jack,” commenced the captain, using very little circumlocution in

opening his mind, “you and I are old shipmates, and ought to be old

friends, though I think your natur' has undergone some changes since we

last met. Twenty years ago there was no man in the ship on whom I could

so certainly depend as on Jack Tier; now, you seem given up altogether

to the women. Your mind has changed even more than your body.”

“Time does that for all of us, Captain Spike,” returned Tier coolly.

“I am not what I used to be, I'll own, nor are you yourself, for that

matter. When I saw you last, noble captain, you were a handsome man

of forty, and could go aloft with any youngster in the brig; but, now,

you're heavy, and not over-active.”

“I!--Not a bit of change has taken place in me for the last thirty

years. I defy any man to show the contrary. But that's neither here

nor there; you are no young woman, Jack, that I need be boasting of my

health and beauty before you. I want a bit of real sarvice from you, and

want it done in old-times fashion; and I mean to pay for it in old-times

fashion, too.”

As Spike concluded, he put into Tier's hand one of the doubloons that

he had received from Se¤or Montefalderon, in payment for the powder. The

doubloons, for which so much pumping and bailing were then in process,

were still beneath the waters of the gulf.

“Ay, ay, sir,” returned Jack, smiling and pocketing the gold, with

a wink of the eye, and a knowing look; “this does resemble old times

sum'at. I now begin to know Captain Spike, my old commander again, and

see that he's more like himself than I had just thought him. What am

I to do for this, sir? speak plain, that I may be sartain to steer the

true course.”

“Oh, just a trifle, Jack--nothing that will break up the ground-tier of

your wits, my old shipmate. You see the state of the brig, and know that

she is in no condition for ladies.”

“'T would have been better all round, sir, had they never come aboard at

all,” answered Jack, looking dark.

Spike was surprised, but he was too much bent on his projects to heed

trifles.

“You know what sort of flour they're whipping out of the schooner, and

must understand that the brig will soon be in a pretty litter. I do not

intend to let them send a single barrel of it beneath my hatches again,

but the deck and the islands must take it all. Now I wish to relieve my

passengers from the confinement this will occasion, and I have ordered

the boatswain to pitch a tent for them on the largest of these here

Tortugas; and what I want of you, is to muster food and water, and

other women's knicknacks, and go ashore with them, and make them as

comfortable as you can for a few days, or until we can get this schooner

loaded and off.”

Jack Tier looked at his commander as if he would penetrate his most

secret thoughts. A short pause succeeded, during which the steward's

mate was intently musing, then his countenance suddenly brightened; he

gave the doubloon a fillip, and caught it on the palm of his hand as

it descended, and he uttered the customary “Ay, ay, sir,” with apparent

cheerfulness. Nothing more passed between these two worthies, who now

parted, Jack to make his arrangements, and Spike to “tell his yarn,” as

he termed the operation in his own mind, to Mrs. Budd, Rose, and Biddy.

The widow listened complacently, though she seemed half doubting,

half ready to comply. As for Rose, she received the proposal with

delight--The confinement of the vessel having become irksome to her. The

principal obstacle was in overcoming the difficulties made by the aunt,

Biddy appearing to like the notion quite as much as “Miss Rosy.” As for

the light-house, Mrs. Budd had declared nothing would induce her to go

there; for she did not doubt that the place would soon be, if it were

not already, haunted. In this opinion she was sustained by Biddy; and

it was the knowledge of this opinion that induced Spike to propose the

tent.

“Are you sure, Captain Spike, it is not a desert island?” asked the

widow; “I remember that my poor Mr. Budd always spoke of desert islands

as horrid places, and spots that every one should avoid.”

“What if it is, aunty,” said Rose eagerly, “while we have the brig here,

close at hand. We shall suffer none of the wants of such a place, so

long as our friends can supply us.”

“And such friends, Miss Rose,” exclaimed Spike, a little sentimentally

for him, “friends that would undergo hunger and thirst themselves,

before you should want for any comforts.”

“Do, now, Madam Budd,” put in Biddy in her hearty way, “it's an island,

ye'll remimber: and sure that's just what ould Ireland has ever been,

God bless it! Islands make the pleasantest risidences.”

“Well I'll venture to oblige you and Biddy, Rosy, dear,” returned the

aunt, still half reluctant to yield; “but you'll remember, that if I

find it at all a desert island, I'll not pass the night on it on any

account whatever.”

With this understanding the party was transferred to the shore. The

boatswain had already erected a sort of a tent, on a favourable spot,

using some of the old sails that had covered the flour-barrels, not

only for the walls, but for a carpet of some extent also. This tent was

ingeniously enough contrived. In addition to the little room that was

entirely enclosed, there was a sort of piazza, or open verandah, which

would enable its tenants to enjoy the shade in the open air. Beneath

this verandah, a barrel of fresh water was placed, as well as three or

four ship's stools, all of which had been sent ashore with the materials

for constructing the tent. The boat had been going and coming for some

time, and the distance being short, the “desert island” was soon a

desert no longer. It is true that the supplies necessary to support

three women for as many days, were no great matter, and were soon

landed, but Jack Tier had made a provision somewhat more ample. A

capital caterer, he had forgotten nothing within the compass of his

means, that could contribute to the comfort of those who had been put

especially under his care. Long before the people “knocked off” for

their dinners, the arrangements were completed, and the boatswain was

ready to take his leave.

“Well, ladies,” said that grum old salt, “I can do no more for you, as

I can see. This here island is now almost as comfortable as a ship that

has been in blue water for a month, and I do n't know how it can be made

more comfortabler.”

This was only according to the boatswain's notion of comfort; but Rose

thanked him for his care in her winning way, while her aunt admitted

that, “for a place that was almost a desert island, things did look

somewhat promising.” In a few minutes the men were all gone, and the

islet was left to the sole possession of the three females, and their

constant companion, Jack Tier. Rose was pleased with the novelty of

her situation, though the islet certainly did deserve the opprobrium of

being a “desert island.” There was no shade but that of the tent, and

its verandah-like covering, though the last, in particular, was quite

extensive. There was no water, that in the barrel and that of the ocean

excepted. Of herbage there was very little on this islet, and that was

of the most meagre and coarse character, being a long wiry grass, with

here and there a few stunted bushes. The sand was reasonably firm,

however, more especially round the shore, and the walking was far from

unpleasant. Little did Rose know it, but a week earlier, the spot would

have been next to intolerable to her, on account of the musquitoes,

gallinippers, and other similar insects of the family of tormentors; but

everything of the sort had temporarily disappeared in the currents of

the tornado. To do Spike justice, he was aware of this circumstance,

or he might have hesitated about exposing females to the ordinary

annoyances of one of these spots. Not a musquito, or anything of the

sort was left, however, all having gone to leeward, in the vortex which

had come so near sweeping off the Mexican schooner.

“This place will do very well, aunty, for a day or two,” cried Rose

cheerfully, as she returned from a short excursion, and threw aside her

hat, one made to shade her face from the sun of a warm climate, leaving

the sea-breeze that was just beginning to blow, to fan her blooming and

sunny cheeks. “It is better than the brig. The worst piece of land is

better than the brig.”

“Do not say that, Rose--not if it's a desert island, dear; and this is

desperately like a desert island; I am almost sorry I ventured on it.”

“It will not be deserted by us, aunty, until we shall see occasion to do

so. Why not endeavour to get on board of yonder ship, and return to New

York in her; or at least induce her captain to put us ashore somewhere

near this, and go home by land. Your health never seemed better than it

is at this moment; and as for mine, I do assure you, aunty, dear, I am

as perfectly well as I ever was in my life.”

“All from this voyage. I knew it would set you up, and am delighted to

hear you say as much. Biddy and I were talking of you this very morning,

my child, and we both agreed that you were getting to be yourself again.

Oh, ships, and brigs, and schooners, full-jigger or half-jigger, for

pulmonary complaints, say I! My poor Mr. Budd always maintained that the

ocean was the cure for all diseases, and I determined that to sea you

should go, the moment I became alarmed for your health.”

The good widow loved Rose most tenderly, and she was obliged to use

her handkerchief to dry the tears from her eyes as she concluded. Those

tears sprung equally from a past feeling of apprehension, and a present

feeling of gratitude. Rose saw this, and she took a seat at her aunt's

side, touched herself, as she never failed to be on similar occasions

with this proof of her relative's affection. At that moment even Harry

Mulford would have lost a good deal in her kind feelings toward him, had

he so much as smiled at one of the widow's nautical absurdities. At such

times, Rose seemed to be her aunt's guardian and protectress, instead

of reversing the relations, and she entirely forgot herself the many

reasons which existed for wishing that she had been placed in childhood,

under the care of one better qualified than the well-meaning relict of

her uncle, for the performance of her duties.

“Thank you, aunty--thank'ee, dear aunty,” said Rose, kissing the widow

affectionately. “I know that you mean the best for me, though you are a

little mistaken in supposing me ill. I do assure you, dear,” patting

her aunt's cheek, as if she herself had been merely a playful child, “I

never was better; and if I have been pulmonary, I am entirely cured, and

am now ready to return home.”

“God be praised for this, Rosy. Under His divine providence, it is all

owing to the sea. If you really feel so much restored, however, I do not

wish to keep you a moment longer on a ship's board than is necessary.

We owe something to Captain Spike's care, and cannot quit him too

unceremoniously; but as soon as he is at liberty to go into a harbour,

I will engage him to do so, and we can return home by land--unless,

indeed, the brig intends to make the home voyage herself.”

“I do not like this brig, aunty, and now we are out of her, I wish we

could keep out of her. Nor do I like your Captain Spike, who seems to me

anything but an agreeable gentleman.”

“That's because you arn't accustomed to the sea. My poor Mr. Budd had

his ways, like all the rest of them; it takes time to get acquainted

with them. All sailors are so.”

Rose bent her face involuntarily, but so low as to conceal the

increasing brightness of her native bloom, as she answered,

“Harry Mulford is not so, aunty, dear--and he is every inch a sailor.”

“Well, there is a difference, I must acknowledge, though I dare say

Harry will grow every day more and more like all the rest of them. In

the end, he will resemble Captain Spike.”

“Never,” said Rose, firmly.

“You can't tell, child. I never saw your uncle when he was Harry's

age, for I was n't born till he was thirty, but often and often has he

pointed out to me some slender, genteel youth, and say, 'just such a lad

was I at twenty,' though nothing could be less alike, at the moment he

was speaking, than they two. We all change with our years. Now I was

once as slender, and almost--not quite, Rosy, for few there are that

be--but almost as handsome as you yourself.”

“Yes, aunty, I've heard that before,” said Rose, springing up, in order

to change the discourse; “but Harry Mulford will never become like

Stephen Spike. I wish we had never known the man, dearest aunty.”

“It was all your own doings, child. He's a cousin of your most intimate

friend, and she brought him to the house; and one could n't offend Mary

Mulford, by telling her we did n't like her cousin.”

Rose seemed vexed, and she kept her little foot in motion, patting the

sail that formed the carpet, as girls will pat the ground with their

feet when vexed. This gleam of displeasure was soon over, however, and

her countenance became as placid as the clear, blue sky that formed

the vault of the heavens above her head. As if to atone for the passing

rebellion of her feelings, she threw her arms around her aunt's neck;

after which she walked away, along the beach, ruminating on her present

situation, and of the best means of extricating their party from the

power of Spike.

It requires great familiarity with vessels and the seas, for one to

think, read, and pursue the customary train of reasoning on board a ship

that one has practised ashore. Rose had felt this embarrassment during

the past month, for the whole of which time she had scarcely been in a

condition to act up to her true character, suffering her energies, and

in some measure her faculties, to be drawn into the vortex produced by

the bustle, novelties, and scenes of the vessel and the ocean. But, now

she was once more on the land, diminutive and naked as was the islet

that composed her present world, and she found leisure and solitude for

reflection and decision. She was not ignorant of the nature of a vessel

of war, or of the impropriety of unprotected females placing themselves

on board of one; but gentlemen of character, like the officers of the

ship in sight, could hardly be wanting in the feelings of their caste;

and anything was better than to return voluntarily within the power of

Spike. She determined within her own mind that voluntarily she would

not. We shall leave this young girl, slowly wandering along the beach of

her islet, musing on matters like these, while we return to the vessels

and the mariners.

A good breeze had come in over the reef from the Gulf, throwing the

sloop-of-war dead to leeward of the brigantine's anchorage. This was the

reason that the former had closed so slowly. Still the distance between

the vessels was so small, that a swift cruiser, like the ship of war,

would soon have been alongside of the wreckers, but for the intervening

islets and the intricacies of their channels. She had made sail on the

wind, however, and was evidently disposed to come as near to the danger

as her lead showed would be safe, even if she did not venture among

them.

Spike noted all these movements, and he took his measures accordingly.

The pumping and bailing had been going on since the appearance of light,

and the flour had been quite half removed from the schooner's hold. That

vessel consequently floated with sufficient buoyancy, and no further

anxiety was felt on account of her sinking. Still, a great deal of water

remained in her, the cabin itself being nearly half full. Spike's object

was to reduce this water sufficiently to enable him to descend into the

state-room which Se¤or Montefalderon had occupied, and bring away the

doubloons that alone kept him in the vicinity of so ticklish a neighbour

as the Poughkeepsie. Escape was easy enough to one who knew the

passages of the reef and islets; more especially since the wind had so

fortunately brought the cruiser to leeward. Spike most apprehended a

movement upon him in the boats, and he had almost made up his mind,

should such an enterprise be attempted, to try his hand in beating

it off with his guns. A good deal of uncertainty on the subject of

Mulford's consenting to resist the recognised authorities of the

country, as well as some doubts of a similar nature in reference to two

or three of the best of the foremast hands, alone left him at all in

doubt as to the expediency of such a course. As no boats were lowered

from the cruiser, however, the necessity of resorting to so desperate

a measure, did not occur, and the duty of lightening the schooner had

proceeded without interruption. As soon as the boatswain came off from

the islet, he and the men with him were directed to take the hands and

lift the anchors, of which it will be remembered the Swash had several

down. Even Mulford was shortly after set at work on the same duty; and

these expert and ready seamen soon had the brig clear of the ground.

As the schooner was anchored, and floated without assistance, the Swash

rode by her.

Such was the state of things when the men turned to, after having had

their dinners. By this time, the sloop-of-war was within half a league

of the bay, her progress having been materially retarded by the set of

the current, which was directly against her. Spike saw that a collision

of some sort or other must speedily occur, and he determined to take the

boatswain with him, and descend into the cabin of the schooner in

quest of the gold. The boatswain was summoned, and Se¤or Montefalderon

repeated in this man's presence the instructions that he thought it

necessary for the adventurers to follow, in order to secure the prize.

Knowing how little locks would avail on board a vessel, were the men

disposed to rob him, that gentleman had trusted more to secreting his

treasure, than to securing it in the more ordinary way. When the story

had again been told, Spike and his boatswain went on board the schooner,

and, undressing, they prepared to descend into the cabin. The captain

paused a single instant to take a look at the sloop-of-war, and to

examine the state of the weather. It is probable some new impression

was made on him by this inquiry, for, hailing Mulford, he ordered him

to loosen the sails, and to sheet home, and hoist the foretopsail. In

a word, to “see all ready to cast off, and make sail on the brig at the

shortest notice.” With this command he disappeared by the schooner's

companion-way.

Spike and his companion found the water in the cabin very much deeper

than they had supposed. With a view to comfort, the cabin-floor had

been sunk much lower than is usual on board American vessels, and this

brought the water up nearly to the arm-pits of two men as short as our

captain and his sturdy little boatswain. The former grumbled a good

deal, when he ascertained the fact, and said something about the mate's

being better fitted to make a search in such a place, but concluding

with the remark, that “the man who wants ticklish duty well done, must

see to it himself.”

The gold-hunters groped their way cautiously about the cabin for some

time, feeling for a drawer, in which they had been told they should find

the key of Se¤or Montefalderon's state-room door. In this Spike himself

finally succeeded, he being much better acquainted with cabins and their

fixtures, than the boatswain.

“Here it is, Ben,” said the captain, “now for a dive among the Don's

val'ables. Should you pick up anything worth speaking of, you can

condemn it for salvage, as I mean to cast off, and quit the wrack the

moment we've made sure of the doubloons.”

“And what will become of all the black flour that is lying about, sir?”

asked the boatswain with a grin.

“It may take care of itself. My agreement will be up as soon as the

doubloons are found. If the Don will come down handsomely with his share

of what will be left, I may be bought to put the kegs we have in the

brig ashore for him somewhere in Mexico; but my wish is to get out of

the neighbourhood of that bloody sloop-of-war, as soon as possible.”

“She makes but slow headway ag'in the current, sir; but a body would

think she might send in her boats.”

“The boats might be glad to get back again,” muttered Spike. “Ay, here

is the door unlocked, and we can now fish for the money.”

Some object had rolled against the state-room door, when the vessel was

capsized, and there was a good deal of difficulty in forcing it open.

They succeeded at last, and Spike led the way by wading into the small

apartment. Here they began to feel about beneath the water, and by a

very insufficient light, in quest of the hidden treasure. Spike and

his boatswain differed as to the place which had just been described

to them, as men will differ even in the account of events that pass

directly before their eyes. While thus employed, the report of a heavy

gun came through the doors of the cabin, penetrating to the recess in

which they were thus employed.

“Ay, that's the beginning of it!” exclaimed Spike. “I wonder that the

fool has put it off so long.”

“That gun was a heavy fellow, Captain Spike,” returned the boatswain;

“and it sounded in my ears as if't was shotted.”

“Ay, ay, I dare say you're right enough in both opinions. They put such

guns on board their sloops-of-war, now-adays, as a fellow used to find

in the lower batteries of a two-decker only in old times; and as for

shot, why Uncle Sam pays, and they think it cheaper to fire one out of a

gun, than to take the trouble of drawing it.”

“I believe here's one of the bags, Captain Spike,” said the boatswain,

making a dip, and coming up with one-half of the desired treasure in his

fist. “By George, I've grabbed him, sir; and the other bag can't be far

off.”

“Hand that over to me,” said the captain, a little authoritatively, “and

take a dive for the next.”

As the boatswain was obeying this order, a second gun was heard, and

Spike thought that the noise made by the near passage of a large shot

was audible also. He called out to Ben to “bear a hand, as the ship

seems in 'arnest.” But the head of the boatswain being under water

at the time, the admonition was thrown away. The fellow soon came up,

however, puffing like a porpoise that has risen to the surface to blow.

“Hand it over to me at once,” said Spike, stretching out his unoccupied

hand to receive the prize; “we have little time to lose.”

“That's sooner said than done, sir,” answered the boat-swain; “a box

has driven down upon the bag, and there's a tight jam. I got hold of the

neck of the bag, and pulled like a horse, but it wouldn't come no how.”

“Show me the place, and let me have a drag at it. There goes another of

his bloody guns!”

Down went Spike, and the length of time he was under water, proved how

much he was in earnest. Up he came at length, and with no better luck

than his companion. He had got hold of the bag, satisfied himself by

feeling its outside that it contained the doubloons, and hauled with all

his strength, but it would not come. The boatswain now proposed to take

a jamming hitch with a rope around the neck of the bag, which was long

enough to admit of such a fastening, and then to apply their united

force. Spike assented, and the boatswain rummaged about for a piece of

small rope to suit his purpose. At this moment Mulford appeared at the

companion-way to announce the movements on the part of the sloop-of-war.

He had been purposely tardy, in order to give the ship as much time as

possible; but he saw by the looks of the men that a longer delay might

excite suspicion.

“Below there!” called out the mate.

“What's wanting, sir?--what's wanting, sir?” answered Spike; “let's know

at once.”

“Have you heard the guns, Captain Spike?”

“Ay, ay, every grumbler of them. They've done no mischief, I trust, Mr.

Mulford?”

“None as yet, sir; though the last shot, and it was a heavy fellow,

passed just above the schooner's deck. I've the topsail sheeted home and

hoisted, and it's that which has set them at work. If I clewed up again,

I dare say they'd not fire another gun.”

“Clew up nothing, sir, but see all clear for casting off and making sail

through the South Pass. What do you say, Ben, are you ready for a drag?”

“All ready, sir,” answered the boatswain, once more coming up to

breathe. “Now for it, sir; a steady pull, and a pull all together.”

They did pull, but the hitch slipped, and both went down beneath the

water. In a moment they were up again, puffing a little and swearing

a great deal. Just then another gun, and a clatter above their heads,

brought them to a stand.

“What means that, Mr. Mulford?” demanded Spike, a good deal startled.

“It means that the sloop-of-war has shot away the head of this

schooner's foremast, sir, and that the shot has chipp'd a small piece

out of the heel of our maintop-mast--that's all.”

Though excessively provoked at the mate's cool manner of replying, Spike

saw that he might lose all by being too tenacious about securing the

remainder of the doubloons. Pronouncing in very energetic terms on Uncle

Sam, and all his cruisers, an anathema that we do not care to repeat, he

gave a surly order to Ben to “knock-off,” and abandoned his late design.

In a minute he was on deck and dressed.

“Cast off, lads,” cried the captain, as soon as on the deck of his own

brig again, “and four of you man that boat. We have got half of your

treasure, Se¤or Wan, but have been driven from the rest of it, as you

see. There is the bag; when at leisure we'll divide it, and give the

people their share. Mr. Mulford, keep the brig in motion, hauling up

toward the South Pass, while I go ashore for the ladies. I'll meet you

just in the throat of the passage.”

This said, Spike tumbled into his boat, and was pulled ashore. As for

Mulford, though he cast many an anxious glance toward the islet, he

obeyed his orders, keeping the brig standing off and on, under easy

canvas, but working her up toward the indicated passage.

Spike was met by Jack Tier on the beach of the little island.

“Muster the women at once,” ordered the captain, “we have no time to

lose, for that fellow will soon be firing broad-sides, and his shot now

range half a mile beyond us.”

“You'll no more move the widow and her maid, than you'll move the

island,” answered Jack, laconically.

“Why should I not move them? Do they wish to stay here and starve?”

“It's little that they think of that. The sloop-of-war no sooner begun

to fire than down went Mrs. Budd on the canvas floor of the tent, and

set up just such a screaming as you may remember she tried her hand at

the night the revenue craft fired into us. Biddy lay down alongside of

her mistress, and at every gun, they just scream as loud as they can,

as if they fancied they might frighten off Uncle Sam's men from their

duty.”

“Duty!--You little scamp, do you call tormenting honest traders in this

fashion the duty of any man?”

“Well, captain, I'm no ways partic'lar about a word or two. Their

'ways,' if you like that better than duty, sir.”

“Where's Rose? Is she down too, screaming and squalling?”

“No, Captain Spike, no. Miss Rose is endeavouring, like a handsome young

Christian lady as she is, to pacify and mollify her aunt and Biddy; and

right down sensible talk does she give them.”

“Then she at least can go aboard the brig,” exclaimed Spike, with a

sudden animation, and an expression of countenance that Jack did not at

all like.

“I ray-y-ther think she'll wish to hold on to the old lady,” observed

the steward's-mate, a little emphatically.

“You be d--d,” cried Spike, fiercely; “when your opinion is wanted, I'll

ask for it. If I find you've been setting that young woman's mind ag'in

me, I'll toss you overboard, as I would the offals of a shark.”

“Young women's minds, when they are only nineteen, get set ag'in boys of

fifty-six without much assistance.”

“Fifty-six yourself.”

“I'm fifty-three--that I'll own without making faces at it,” returned

Jack, meekly; “and, Stephen Spike, you logged fifty-six your last

birthday, or a false entry was made.”

This conversation did not take place in the presence of the boat's crew,

but as the two walked together toward the tent. They were now in the

verandah, as we have called the shaded opening in front, and actually

within sound of the sweet voice of Rose, as she exhorted her aunt,

in tones a little louder than usual for her to use, to manifest more

fortitude. Under such circumstances Spike did not deem it expedient

to utter that which was uppermost in his mind, but, turning short upon

Tier, he directed a tremendous blow directly between his eyes. Jack saw

the danger and dodged, falling backward to avoid a concussion which he

knew would otherwise be fearful, coming as it would from one of the best

forecastle boxers of his time. The full force of the blow was avoided,

though Jack got enough of it to knock him down, and to give him a pair

of black eyes. Spike did not stop to pick the assistant steward up,

for another gun was fired at that very instant, and Mrs. Budd and Biddy

renewed their screams. Instead of pausing to kick the prostrate Tier, as

had just before been his intention, the captain entered the tent.

A scene that was sufficiently absurd met the view of Spike, when he

found himself in the presence of the females. The widow had thrown

herself on the ground, and was grasping the cloth of the sail on which

the tent had been erected with both her hands, and was screaming at the

top of her voice. Biddy's imitation was not exactly literal, for she had

taken a comfortable seat at the side of her mistress, but in the way of

cries, she rather outdid her principal.

“We must be off,” cried Spike, somewhat unceremoniously. “The

man-of-war is blazing away, as if she was a firin' minute-guns over our

destruction, and I can wait no longer.”

“I'll not stir,” answered the widow--“I can't stir--I shall be shot if I

go out. No, no, no--I'll not stir an inch.”

“We'll be kilt!--we'll be kilt!” echoed Biddy, “and a wicket murther't

will be in that same man, war or no war.”

The captain perceived the uselessness of remonstrance at such a moment,

and perhaps he was secretly rejoiced thereat; but it is certain that he

whipped Rose up under his arm, and walked away with her, as if she had

been a child of two or three years of age. Rose did not scream, but she

struggled and protested vehemently. It was in vain. Already the captain

had carried her half the distance between the tent and the boat, in the

last of which, a minute more would have deposited his victim, when a

severe blow on the back of his head caused Spike to stumble, and he

permitted Rose to escape from his grasp, in the effort to save himself

from a fall. Turning fiercely toward his assailant, whom he suspected

to be one of his boat's crew, he saw Tier standing within a few yards,

levelling a pistol at him.

“Advance a step, and you're a dead man, villain!” screamed Jack, his

voice almost cracked with rage, and the effort he made to menace.

Spike muttered an oath too revolting for our pages; but it was such

a curse as none but an old salt could give vent to, and that in the

bitterness of his fiercest wrath. At that critical moment, while Rose

was swelling with indignation and wounded maiden pride, almost within

reach of his arms, looking more lovely than ever, as the flush of anger

deepened the colour in her cheeks, a fresh and deep report from one

of the guns of the sloop-of-war drew all eyes in her direction. The

belching of that gun seemed to be of double the power of those which had

preceded it, and jets of water, that were twenty feet in height, marked

the course of the formidable missile that was projected from the piece.

The ship had, indeed, discharged one of those monster-cannons that

bear the name of a distinguished French engineer, but which should more

properly be called by the name of the ingenious officer who is at the

head of our own ordnance, as they came originally from his inventive

faculties, though somewhat improved by their European adopter. Spike

suspected the truth, for he had heard of these “Pazans,” as he called

them, and he watched the booming, leaping progress of the eight-inch

shell that this gun threw, with the apprehension that unknown danger is

apt to excite. As jet succeeded jet, each rising nearer and nearer

to his brig, the interval of time between them seeming fearfully to

diminish, he muttered oath upon oath. The last leap that the shell made

on the water was at about a quarter of a mile's distance of the islet on

which his people had deposited at least a hundred and fifty barrels of

his spurious flour:-thence it flew, as it might be without an effort,

with a grand and stately bound into the very centre of the barrels,

exploding at the moment it struck. All saw the scattering of flour,

which was instantly succeeded by the heavy though slightly straggling

explosion of all the powder on the island. A hundred kegs were lighted,

as it might be, in a common flash, and a cloud of white smoke poured out

and concealed the whole islet, and all near it.

Rose stood confounded, nor was Jack Tier in a much better state of mind,

though he still kept the pistol levelled, and menaced Spike. But the

last was no longer dangerous to any there. He recollected that piles

of the barrels encumbered the decks of his vessel, and he rushed to

the boat, nearly frantic with haste, ordering the men to pull for their

lives. In less than five minutes he was alongside, and on the deck of

the Swash--his first order being to--“Tumble every barrel of this bloody

powder into the sea, men. Over with it, Mr. Mulford, clear away the

midship ports, and launch as much as you can through them.”

Remonstrance on the part of Se¤or Montefalderon would have been useless,

had he been disposed to make it; but, sooth to say, he was as ready

to get rid of the powder as any there, after the specimen he had just

witnessed of the power of a Paixhan gun.

Thus it is ever with men. Had two or three of those shells been first

thrown without effect, as might very well have happened under the

circumstances, none there would have cared for the risk they were

running; but the chance explosion which had occurred, presented so vivid

a picture of the danger, dormant and remote as it really was, as to

throw the entire crew of the Swash into a frenzy of exertion.

Nor was the vessel at all free from danger. On the contrary, she ran

very serious risk of being destroyed, and in some degree, in the very

manner apprehended. Perceiving that Spike was luffing up through one of

the passages nearest the reef, which would carry him clear of the group,

a long distance to windward of the point where he could only effect the

same object, the commander of the sloop-of-war opened his fire in good

earnest, hoping to shoot away something material on board the Swash,

before she could get beyond the reach of his shot. The courses steered

by the two vessels, just at that moment, favoured such an attempt,

though they made it necessarily very short-lived. While the Swash was

near the wind, the sloop-of-war was obliged to run off to avoid islets

ahead of her, a circumstance which, while it brought the brig square

with the ship's broadside, compelled the latter to steer on a diverging

line to the course of her chase. It was in consequence of these facts,

that the sloop-of-war now opened in earnest, and was soon canopied in

the smoke of her own fire.

Great and important changes, as has been already mentioned, have been

made in the armaments of all the smaller cruisers within the last few

years. Half a generation since, a ship of the rate--we do not say of the

size--of the vessel which was in chase of Spike and his craft, would not

have had it in her power to molest an enemy at the distance these two

vessels were now apart. But recent improvements have made ships of this

nominal force formidable at nearly a league's distance; more especially

by means of their Paixhans and their shells.

For some little time the range carried the shot directly over the islet

of the tent; Jack Tier and Rose, both of whom were watching all that

passed with intense interest, standing in the open air the whole

time, seemingly with no concern for themselves, so absorbed was each,

notwithstanding all that had passed, in the safety of the brig. As for

Rose, she thought only of Harry Mulford, and of the danger he was in by

those fearful explosions of the shells. Her quick intellect comprehended

the peculiar nature of the risk that was incurred by having the

flour-barrels on deck, and she could not but see the manner in which

Spike and his men were tumbling them into the water, as the quickest

manner of getting rid of them. After what had just passed between Jack

Tier and his commander, it might not be so easy to account for his

manifest, nay, intense interest in the escape of the Swash. This

was apparent by his troubled countenance, by his exclamations, and

occasionally by his openly expressed wishes for her safety. Perhaps it

was no more than the interest the seaman is so apt to feel in the craft

in which he has so long sailed, and which to him has been a home, and

of which Mulford exhibited so much, in his struggles between feeling and

conscience--between a true and a false duty.

As for Spike and his people, we have already mentioned their efforts to

get rid of the powder. Shell after shell exploded, though none very

near the brig, the ship working her guns as if in action. At length the

officers of the sloop-of-war detected a source of error in their aim,

that is of very common occurrence in sea-gunnery. Their shot had been

thrown to ricochet, quartering a low, but very regular succession of

little waves. Each shot striking the water at an acute angle to its

agitated surface, was deflected from a straight line, and described a

regular curve toward the end of its career; or, it might be truer

to say, an irregular curvature, for the deflection increased as the

momentum of the missile diminished.

No sooner did the commanding officer of the sloop-of-war discover this

fact, and it was easy to trace the course of the shots by the jets

of water they cast into the air, and to see as well as to hear the

explosions of the shells, than he ordered the guns pointed more to

windward, as a means of counteracting the departure from the straight

lines. This expedient succeeded in part, the solid shot falling much

nearer to the brig the moment the practice was resorted to. No shell was

fired for some little time after the new order was issued, and Spike

and his people began to hope these terrific missiles had ceased their

annoyance. The men cheered, finding their voices for the first time

since the danger had seemed so imminent, and Spike was heard animating

them to their duty. As for Mulford, he was on the coach-house deck,

working the brig, the captain having confided to him that delicate duty,

the highest proof he could furnish of confidence in his seamanship. The

handsome young mate had just made a half-board, in the neatest manner,

shoving the brig by its means through a most difficult part of the

passage, and had got her handsomely filled again on the same tack,

looking right out into open water, by a channel through which she could

now stand on a very easy bowline. Everything seemed propitious, and the

sloop-of-war's solid shot began to drop into the water, a hundred yards

short of the brig. In this state of things one of the Paixhans belched

forth its angry flame and sullen roar again. There was no mistaking the

gun. Then came its mass of iron, a globe that would have weighed just

sixty-eight pounds, had not sufficient metal been left out of its

interior to leave a cavity to contain a single pound of powder. Its

course, as usual, was to be marked by its path along the sea, as it

bounded, half a mile at a time, from wave to wave. Spike saw by its

undeviating course that this shell was booming terrifically toward

his brig, and a cry to “look out for the shell,” caused the work to be

suspended. That shell struck the water for the last time, within two

hundred yards of the brig, rose dark and menacing in its furious

leap, but exploded at the next instant. The fragments of the iron were

scattered on each side, and ahead. Of the last, three or four fell into

the water so near the vessel as to cast their spray on her decks.

“Overboard with the rest of the powder!” shouted Spike. “Keep the brig

off a little, Mr. Mulford--keep her off, sir; you luff too much, sir.”

“Ay, ay, sir,” answered the mate. “Keep her off, it is.”

“There comes the other shell!” cried Ben, but the men did not quit their

toil to gaze this time. Each seaman worked as if life and death depended

on his single exertions. Spike alone watched the course of the missile.

On it came, booming and hurtling through the air, tossing high the jets,

at each leap it made from the surface, striking the water for its last

bound, seemingly in a line with the shell that had just preceded it.

From that spot it made its final leap. Every hand in the brig was stayed

and every eye was raised as the rushing tempest was heard advancing.

The mass went muttering directly between the masts of the Swash. It had

scarcely seemed to go by when the fierce flash of fire and the sharp

explosion followed. Happily for those in the brig, the projectile

force given by the gun carried the fragments from them, as in the

other instance it had brought them forward; else would few have escaped

mutilation, or death, among their crew.

The flashing of fire so near the barrels of powder that still remained

on their deck, caused the frantic efforts to be renewed, and barrel

after barrel was tumbled overboard, amid the shouts that were now raised

to animate the people to their duty.

“Luff, Mr. Mulford--luff you may, sir,” cried Spike. No answer was

given.

“D'ye hear there, Mr. Mulford?--it is luff you may, sir.”

“Mr. Mulford is not aft, sir,” called out the man at the helm--“but luff

it is, sir.”

“Mr. Mulford not aft! Where's the mate, man? Tell him he is wanted.”

No Mulford was to be found! A call passed round the decks, was sent

below, and echoed through the entire brig, but no sign or tidings could

be had of the handsome mate. At that exciting moment the sloop-of-war

seemed to cease her firing, and appeared to be securing her guns.

CHAPTER VII.

Thou art the same, eternal sea!

The earth has many shapes and forms,

Of hill and valley, flower and tree;

Fields that the fervid noontide warms,

Or winter's rugged grasp deforms,

Or bright with autumn's golden store;

Thou coverest up thy face with storms,

Or smilest serene,--but still thy roar

And dashing foam go up to vex the sea-beat shore:

Lunt.

We shall now advance the time eight-and-forty hours. The baffling winds

and calms that succeeded the tornado had gone, and the trades blew in

their stead. Both vessels had disappeared, the brig leading, doubling

the western extremity of the reef, and going off before both wind and

current, with flowing sheets, fully three hours before the sloop-of-war

could beat up against the latter, to a point that enabled her to do the

same thing. By that time, the Swash was five-and-twenty miles to the

eastward, and consequently but just discernible in her loftiest sails,

from the ship's royal yards. Still, the latter continued the chase; and

that evening both vessels were beating down along the southern margin

of the Florida Reef, against the trades, but favoured by a three or four

knot current, the brig out of sight to windward. Our narrative leads us

to lose sight of both these vessels, for a time, in order to return to

the islets of the Gulf. Eight-and-forty hours had made some changes in

and around the haven of the Dry Tortugas. The tent still stood, and a

small fire that was boiling its pot and its kettle, at no great distance

from it, proved that the tent was still inhabited. The schooner also

rode at her anchors, very much as she had been abandoned by Spike. The

bag of doubloons, however, had been found, and there it lay, tied but

totally unguarded, in the canvas verandah of Rose Budd's habitation.

Jack Tier passed and repassed it with apparent indifference, as he went

to and fro, between his pantry and kitchen, busy as a bee in preparing

his noontide meal for the day. This man seemed to have the islet all to

himself, however, no one else being visible on any part of it. He sang

his song, in a cracked, contre alto voice, and appeared to be happy in

his solitude. Occasionally he talked to himself aloud, most probably

because he had no one else to speak to. We shall record one of his

recitatives, which came in between the strains of a very inharmonious

air, the words of which treated of the seas, while the steward's

assistant was stirring an exceedingly savoury mess that he had concocted

of the ingredients to be found in the united larders of the Swash and

the Mexican schooner.

“Stephen Spike is a capital willian!” exclaimed Jack, smelling at a

ladle filled with his soup--“a capital willian, I call him. To think,

at his time of life, of such a handsome and pleasant young thing as this

Rose Budd; and then to try to get her by underhand means, and by making

a fool of her silly old aunt. It 's wonderful what fools some old aunts

be! Quite wonderful! If I was as great a simpleton as this Mrs. Budd,

I'd never cross my threshhold. Yes, Stephen Spike is a prodigious

willian, as his best friend must own! Well, I gave him a thump on the

head that he'll not forget this v'y'ge. To think of carryin' off that

pretty Rose Budd in his very arms, in so indecent a manner! Yet, the man

has his good p'ints, if a body could only forget his bad ones. He's

a first-rate seaman. How he worked the brig till he doubled the reef,

a'ter she got into open water; and how he made her walk off afore the

wind, with stun'sails alow and aloft, as soon as ever he could make 'em

draw! My life for it, he 'll tire the legs of Uncle Sam's man, afore he

can fetch up with him. For running away, when hard chased, Stephen Spike

has n't his equal on 'arth. But, he's a great willian--a prodigious

willian! I cannot say I actually wish him hanged; but I would rather

have him hanged than see him get pretty Rose in his power. What has

he to do with girls of nineteen? If the rascal is one year old, he's

fifty-six. I hope the sloop-of-war will find her match, and I think she

will. The Molly's a great traveller, and not to be outdone easily. 'T

would be a thousand pities so lovely a craft should be cut off in the

flower of her days, as it might be, and I do hope she'll lead that

bloody sloop on some sunken rock.

“Well, there's the other bag of doubloons. It seems Stephen could not

get it. That's odd, too, for he's great at grabbin' gold. The man bears

his age well; but he's a willian! I wonder whether he or Mulford made

that half-board in the narrow channel. It was well done, and Stephen is

a perfect sailor; but he says Mulford is the same. Nice young man, that

Mulford; just fit for Rose, and Rose for him. Pity to part them. Can

find no great fault with him, except that he has too much conscience.

There's such a thing as having too much, as well as too little

conscience. Mulford has too much, and Spike has too little. For him to

think of carryin' off a gal of nineteen! I say he's fifty-six, if he's

a day. How fond he used to be of this very soup! If I've seen him eat a

quart of it, I've seen him eat a puncheon full of it, in my time. What

an appetite the man has when he's had a hard day's duty on 't! There 's

a great deal to admire, and a great deal to like in Stephen Spike, but

he's a reg'lar willian. I dare say he fancies himself a smart, jaunty

youth ag'in, as I can remember him; a lad of twenty, which was about his

years when I first saw him, by the sign that I was very little turned

of fifteen myself. Spike was comely then, though I acknowledge he's

a willian. I can see him now, with his deep blue roundabout, his

bell-mouthed trowsers, both of fine cloth--too fine for such a

willian--but fine it was, and much did it become him.”

Here Jack made a long pause, during which, though he may have thought

much, he said nothing. Nevertheless, he was n't idle the while. On the

contrary, he passed no less than three several times from the fire

to the tent, and returned. Each time, in going and coming, he looked

intently at the bag of doubloons, though he did not stop at it or touch

it. Some associations connected with Spike's fruitless attempts to

obtain it must have formed its principal interest with this singular

being, as he muttered his captain's name each time in passing, though

he said no more audibly. The concerns of the dinner carried him back

and forth; and in his last visit to the tent, he began to set a small

table--one that had been brought for the convenience of Mrs. Budd and

her niece, from the brig, and which of course still remained on the

islet. It was while thus occupied, that Jack Tier recommenced his

soliloquy.

“I hope that money may do some worthy fellow good yet. It's Mexican

gold, and that's inemy's gold, and might be condemned by law, I do

suppose. Stephen had a hankerin' a'ter it, but he did not get it. It

come easy enough to the next man that tried. That Spike 's a willian,

and the gold was too good for him. He has no conscience at all to think

of a gal of nineteen! And one fit for his betters, in the bargain. The

time has been when Stephen Spike might have pretended to Rose Budd's

equal. That much I'll ever maintain, but that time's gone; and, what is

more, it will never come again. I should like Mulford better if he had a

little less conscience. Conscience may do for Uncle Sam's ships, but

it is sometimes in the way aboard a trading craft. What can a fellow

do with a conscience when dollars is to be smuggled off, or tobacco

smuggled ashore? I do suppose I've about as much conscience as it is

useful to have, and I've got ashore in my day twenty thousand dollars'

worth of stuff, of one sort or another, if I've got ashore the valie

of ten dollars. But Spike carries on business on too large a scale, and

many's the time I've told him so. I could have forgiven him anything but

this attempt on Rose Budd; and he's altogether too old for that, to say

nothing of other people's rights. He's an up-and-down willian, and a

body can make no more, nor any less of him. That soup must be near done,

and I'll hoist the signal for grub.”

This signal was a blue-peter of which one had been brought ashore to

signal the brig; and with which Jack now signalled the schooner. If the

reader will turn his eyes toward the last named vessel, he will find

the guests whom Tier expected to surround his table. Rose, her aunt, and

Biddy were all seated, under an awning made by a sail, on the deck of

the schooner, which now floated so buoyantly as to show that she had

materially lightened since last seen. Such indeed was the fact, and he

who had been the instrument of producing this change, appeared on deck

in the person of Mulford, as soon as he was told that the blue-peter of

Jack Tier was flying.

The boat of the light-house, that in which Spike had landed in quest of

Rose, was lying alongside of the schooner, and sufficiently explained

the manner in which the mate had left the brig. This boat, in fact,

had been fastened astern, in the hurry of getting from under the

sloop-of-war's fire, and Mulford had taken the opportunity of the

consternation and frantic efforts produced by the explosion of the last

shell thrown, to descend from his station on the coach-house into this

boat, to cut the painter, and to let the Swash glide away from him. This

the vessel had done with great rapidity, leaving him unseen under the

cover of her stern. As soon as in the boat, the mate had seized an oar,

and sculled to an islet that was within fifty yards, concealing the

boat behind a low hummock that formed a tiny bay. All this was done

so rapidly, that united to the confusion on board the Swash, no one

discovered the mate or the boat. Had he been seen, however, it is very

little probable that Spike would have lost a moment of time, in the

attempt to recover either. But he was not seen, and it was the general

opinion on board the Swash, for quite an hour, that her handsome mate

had been knocked overboard and killed, by a fragment of the shell that

had seemed to explode almost in the ears of her people. When the reef

was doubled, however, and Spike made his preparations for meeting the

rough water, he hove to, and ordered his own yawl, which was also towing

astern, to be hauled up alongside, in order to be hoisted in. Then,

indeed, some glimmerings of the truth were shed on the crew, who missed

the light-house boat. Though many contended that its painter must also

have been cut by a fragment of the shell, and that the mate had died

loyal to roguery and treason. Mulford was much liked by the crew, and he

was highly valued by Spike, on account of his seamanship and integrity,

this latter being a quality that is just as necessary for one of the

captain's character to meet with in those he trusts as to any other man.

But Spike thought differently of the cause of Mulford's disappearance,

from his crew. He ascribed it altogether to love for Rose, when, in

truth, it ought in justice to have been quite as much imputed to a

determination to sail no longer with a man who was clearly guilty of

treason. Of smuggling, Mulford had long suspected Spike, though he had

no direct proof of the fact; but now he could not doubt that he was not

only engaged in supplying the enemy with the munitions of war, but was

actually bargaining to sell his brig for a hostile cruiser, and possibly

to transfer himself and crew along with her.

It is scarcely necessary to speak of the welcome Mulford received

when he reached the islet of the tent. He and Rose had a long private

conference, the result of which was to let the handsome mate into the

secret of his pretty companion's true feelings toward himself. She had

received him with tears, and a betrayal of emotion that gave him

every encouragement, and now she did not deny her preference. In that

interview the young people plighted to each other their troth. Rose

never doubted of obtaining her aunt's consent in due time, all her

prejudices being in favour of the sea and sailors; and should she not,

she would soon be her own mistress, and at liberty to dispose of herself

and her pretty little fortune as she might choose. But a cypher as she

was, in all questions of real moment, Mrs. Budd was not a person likely

to throw any real obstacle in the way of the young people's wishes; the

true grounds of whose present apprehensions were all to be referred

to Spike, his intentions, and his well-known perseverance. Mulford

was convinced that the brig would be back in quest of the remaining

doubloons, as soon as she could get clear of the sloop-of-war, though

he was not altogether without a hope that the latter, when she found

it impossible to overhaul her chase, might also return in order to

ascertain what discoveries could be made in and about the schooner. The

explosion of the powder, on the islet, must have put the man-of-war's

men in possession of the secret of the real quality of the flour that

had composed her cargo, and it doubtless had awakened all their distrust

on the subject of the Swash's real business in the Gulf. Under all the

circumstances, therefore, it did appear quite as probable that one of

the parties should reappear at the scene of their recent interview as

the other.

Bearing all these things in mind, Mulford had lost no time in completing

his own arrangements. He felt that he had some atonement to make to the

country, for the part he had seemingly taken in the late events, and it

occurred to him, could he put the schooner in a state to be moved, then

place her in the hands of the authorities, his own peace would be made,

and his character cleared. Rose no sooner understood his plans

and motives, than she entered into them with all the ardour and

self-devotion of her sex; for the single hour of confidential and frank

communication which had just passed, doubled the interest she felt in

Mulford and in all that belonged to him. Jack Tier was useful on board

a vessel, though his want of stature and force rendered him less so than

was common with sea-faring men. His proper sphere certainly had been the

cabins, where his usefulness was beyond all cavil; but he was now very

serviceable to Mulford on the deck of the schooner. The first two days,

Mrs. Budd had been left on the islet, to look to the concerns of the

kitchen, while Mulford, accompanied by Rose, Biddy and Jack Tier, had

gone off to the schooner, and set her pumps in motion again. It was

little that Rose could do, or indeed attempt to do, at this toil, but

the pumps being small and easily worked, Biddy and Jack were of great

service. By the end of the second day the pumps sucked; the cargo

that remained in the schooner, as well as the form of her bottom,

contributing greatly to lessen the quantity of the water that was to be

got out of her.

Then it was that the doubloons fell into Mulford's hands, along with

everything else that remained below decks. It was perhaps fortunate that

the vessel was thoroughly purified by her immersion, and the articles

that were brought on deck to be dried were found in a condition to give

no great offence to those who removed them. By leaving the hatches off,

and the cabin doors open, the warm winds of the trades effectually dried

the interior of the schooner in the course of a single night; and when

Mulford repaired on board of her, on the morning of the third day, he

found her in a condition to be fitted for his purposes. On this

occasion Mrs. Budd had expressed a wish to go off to look at her future

accommodations, and Jack was left on the islet to cook the dinner, which

will explain the actual state of things as described in the opening of

this chapter.

As those who toil usually have a relish for their food, the appearance

of the blue-peter was far from being unwelcome to those on board of the

schooner. They got into the boat, and were sculled ashore by Mulford,

who, seaman-like, used only one hand in performing this service. In a

very few minutes they were all seated at the little table, which was

brought out into the tent-verandah for the enjoyment of the breeze.

“So far, well,” said Mulford, after his appetite was mainly appeased;

Rose picking crumbs, and affecting to eat, merely to have the air of

keeping him company; one of the minor proofs of the little attentions

that spring from the affections. “So far, well. The sails are bent, and

though they might be never and better, they can be made to answer. It

was fortunate to find anything like a second suit on board a Mexican

craft of that size at all. As it is, we have foresail, mainsail, and

jib, and with that canvas I think we might beat the schooner down to Key

West in the course of a day and a night. If I dared to venture outside

of the reef, it might be done sooner even, for they tell me there is a

four-knot current sometimes in that track; but I do not like to venture

outside, so short-handed. The current inside must serve our turn, and

we shall get smooth water by keeping under the lee of the rocks. I only

hope we shall not get into an eddy as we go further from the end of the

reef, and into the bight of the coast.”

“Is there danger of that?” demanded Rose, whose quick intellect had

taught her many of these things, since her acquaintance with vessels.

“There may be, looking at the formation of the reef and islands, though

I know nothing of the fact by actual observation. This is my first visit

in this quarter.”

“Eddies are serious matters,” put in Mrs. Budd, “and my poor husband

could not abide them. Tides are good things; but eddies are very

disagreeable.”

“Well, aunty, I should think eddies might sometimes be as welcome as

tides. It must depend, however, very much on the way one wishes to go.”

“Rose, you surprise me! All that you have read, and all that you have

heard, must have shown you the difference. Do they not say 'a man is

floating with the tide,' when things are prosperous with him--and don't

ships drop down with the tide, and beat the wind with the tide? And

don't vessels sometimes 'tide it up to town,' as it is called, and is

n't it thought an advantage to have the tide with you?”

“All very true, aunty; but I do not see how that makes eddies any the

worse.”

“Because eddies are the opposite of tides, child. When the tide goes one

way, the eddy goes another--is n't it so, Harry Mulford? You never heard

of one's floating in an eddy.”

“That's what we mean by an eddy, Mrs. Budd,” answered the handsome mate,

delighted to hear Rose's aunt call him by an appellation so kind and

familiar,--a thing she had never done previously to the intercourse

which had been the consequence of their present situation. “Though I

agree with Rose in thinking an eddy may be a good or a bad thing, and

very much like a tide, as one wishes to steer.”

“You amaze me, both of you! Tides are always spoken of favourably, but

eddies never. If a ship gets ashore, the tide can float her off;

that I've heard a thousand times. Then, what do the newspapers say

of President--, and Governor--, and Congressman--? Why, that they all

'float in the tide of public opinion,' and that must mean something

particularly good, as they are always in office. No, no, Harry; I'll

acknowledge that you do know something about ships; a good deal,

considering how young you are; but you have something to learn about

eddies. Never trust one as long as you live.”

Mulford was silent, and Rose took the occasion to change the discourse.

“I hope we shall soon be able to quit this place,” she said; “for I

confess to some dread of Captain Spike's return.”

“Captain Stephen Spike has greatly disappointed me,” observed the aunt,

gravely. “I do not know that I was ever before deceived in judging

a person. I could have sworn he was an honest, frank, well-meaning

sailor--a character, of all others, that I love; but it has turned out

otherwise.”

“He's a willian!” mutttered Jack Tier.

Mulford smiled; at which speech we must leave to conjecture; but he

answered Rose, as he ever did, promptly and with pleasure.

“The schooner is ready, and this must be our last meal ashore,” he said.

“Our outfit will be no great matter; but if it will carry us down to Key

West, I shall ask no more of it. As for the return of the Swash, I look

upon it as certain. She could easily get clear of the sloop-of-war,

with the start she had, and Spike is a man that never yet abandoned a

doubloon, when he knew where one was to be found.”

“Stephen Spike is like all his fellow-creatures,” put in Jack Tier,

pointedly. “He has his faults, and he has his virtues.”

“Virtue is a term I should never think of applying to such a man,”

returned Mulford, a little surprised at the fellow's earnestness. “The

word is a big one, and belongs to quite another class of persons.”

Jack muttered a few syllables that were unintelligible, when again the

conversation changed.

Rose now inquired of Mulford as to their prospects of getting to Key

West. He told her that the distance was about sixty miles; their route

lying along the north or inner side of the Florida Reef. The whole

distance was to be made against the trade-wind, which was then blowing

about an eight-knot breeze, though, bating eddies, they might expect to

be favoured with the current, which was less strong inside than

outside of the reef. As for handling the schooner, Mulford saw no great

difficulty in that. She was not large, and was both lightly sparred and

lightly rigged. All her top-hamper had been taken down by Spike, and

nothing remained but the plainest and most readily-managed gear. A

fore-and-aft vessel, sailing close by the wind, is not difficult to

steer; will almost steer herself, indeed, in smooth water. Jack Tier

could take his trick at the helm, in any weather, even in running before

the wind, the time when it is most difficult to guide a craft, and Rose

might be made to understand the use of the tiller, and taught to govern

the motions of a vessel so small and so simply rigged, when on a wind

and in smooth water. On the score of managing the schooner, therefore,

Mulford thought there would be little cause for apprehension. Should

the weather continue settled, he had little doubt of safely landing

the whole party at Key West, in the course of the next four-and-twenty

hours. Short sail he should be obliged to carry, as well on account of

the greater facility of managing it, as on account of the circumstance

that the schooner was now in light ballast trim, and would not bear much

canvas. He thought that the sooner they left the islets the better,

as it could not be long ere the brig would be seen hovering around the

spot. All these matters were discussed as the party still sat at table;

and when they left it, which was a few minutes later, it was to remove

the effects they intended to carry away to the boat. This was soon done,

both Jack Tier and Biddy proving very serviceable, while Rose tripped

backward and forward, with a step elastic as a gazelle's, carrying

light burdens. In half an hour the boat was ready. “Here lies the bag of

doubloons still,” said Mulford, smiling. “Is it to be left, or shall we

give it up to the admiralty court at Key West, and put in a claim for

salvage?”

“Better leave it for Spike,” said Jack unexpectedly. “Should he come

back, and find the doubloons, he may be satisfied, and not look for the

schooner. On the other hand, when the vessel is missing, he will think

that the money is in her. Better leave it for old Stephen.”

“I do not agree with you, Tier,” said Rose, though she looked as

amicably at the steward's assistant, as she thus opposed his opinion,

as if anxious to persuade rather than coerce. “I do not quite agree with

you. This money belongs to the Spanish merchant; and, as we take away

with us his vessel, to give it up to the authorities at Key West, I do

not think we have a right to put his gold on the shore and abandon it.”

This disposed of the question. Mulford took the bag, and carried it to

the boat, without waiting to ascertain if Jack had any objection; while

the whole party followed. In a few minutes everybody and everything in

the boat were transferred to the deck of the schooner. As for the tent,

the old sails of which it was made, the furniture it contained, and such

articles of provisions as were not wanted, they were left on the islet,

without regret. The schooner had several casks of fresh water, which

were found in her hold, and she had also a cask or two of salted meats,

besides several articles of food more delicate, that had been provided

by Se¤or Montefalderon for his own use, and which had not been damaged

by the water. A keg of Boston crackers were among these eatables, quite

half of which were still in a state to be eaten. They were Biddy's

delight; and it was seldom that she could be seen when not nibbling at

one of them. The bread of the crew was hopelessly damaged. But Jack had

made an ample provision of bread when sent ashore, and there was still

a hundred barrels of the flour in the schooner's hold. One of these

had been hoisted on deck by Mulford, and opened. The injured flour was

easily removed, leaving a considerable quantity fit for the uses of the

kitchen. As for the keg of gunpowder, it was incontinently committed to

the deep.

Thus provided for, Mulford decided that the time had arrived when he

ought to quit his anchorage. He had been employed most of that morning

in getting the schooner's anchor, a work of great toil to him, though

everybody had assisted. He had succeeded, and the vessel now rode by a

kedge, that he could easily weigh by means of a deck tackle. It remained

now, therefore, to lift this kedge and to stand out of the bay of the

islets. No sooner was the boat secured astern, and its freight disposed

of, than the mate began to make sail. In order to hoist the mainsail

well up, he was obliged to carry the halyards to the windlass. Thus

aided, he succeeded without much difficulty. He and Jack Tier and Biddy

got the jib hoisted by hand; and as for the fore-sail, that would almost

set itself. Of course, it was not touched until the kedge was aweigh.

Mulford found little difficulty in lifting the last, and he soon had the

satisfaction of finding his craft clear of the ground. As Jack Tier was

every way competent to take charge of the forecastle, Mulford now sprang

aft, and took his own station at the helm; Rose acting as his pretty

assistant on the quarter-deck.

There is little mystery in getting a fore-and-aft vessel under way.

Her sails fill almost as a matter of course, and motion follows as a

necessary law. Thus did it prove with the Mexican schooner, which turned

out to be a fast-sailing and an easily-worked craft. She was, indeed, an

American bottom, as it is termed, having been originally built for the

Chesapeake; and, though not absolutely what is understood by a Baltimore

clipper, so nearly of that mould and nature as to possess some of the

more essential qualities. As usually happens, however, when a foreigner

gets hold of an American schooner, the Mexicans had shortened her masts

and lessened her canvas. This circumstance was rather an advantage to

Mulford, who would probably have had more to attend to than he wished

under the original rig of the craft.

Everybody, even to the fastidious Mrs. Budd, was delighted with the easy

and swift movement of the schooner. Mulford, now he had got her under

canvas, handled her without any difficulty, letting her stand toward the

channel through which he intended to pass, with her sheets just taken

in, though compelled to keep a little off, in order to enter between the

islets. No difficulty occurred, however, and in less than ten minutes

the vessel was clear of the channels, and in open water. The sheets were

now flattened in, and the schooner brought close by the wind. A trial of

the vessel on this mode of sailing was no sooner made, than Mulford

was induced to regret he had taken so many precautions against any

increasing power of the wind. To meet emergencies, and under the notion

he should have his craft more under command, the young man had reefed

his mainsail, and taken the bonnets off of the foresail and jib. As the

schooner stood up better than he had anticipated, the mate felt as all

seamen are so apt to feel, when they see that their vessels might be

made to perform more than is actually got out of them. As the breeze was

fresh, however, he determined not to let out the reef; and the labour of

lacing on the bonnets again was too great to be thought of just at that

moment.

We all find relief on getting in motion, when pressed by circumstances.

Mulford had been in great apprehension of the re-appearance of the

Swash all that day; for it was about the time when Spike would be apt

to return, in the event of his escaping from the sloop-of-war, and he

dreaded Rose's again falling into the hands of a man so desperate. Nor

is it imputing more than a very natural care to the young man, to say

that he had some misgivings concerning himself. Spike, by this time,

must be convinced that his business in the Gulf was known; and one

who had openly thrown off his service, as his mate had done, would

unquestionably be regarded as a traitor to his interests, whatever might

be the relation in which he would stand to the laws of the country. It

was probable such an alleged offender would not be allowed to appear

before the tribunals of the land, to justify himself and to accuse the

truly guilty, if it were in the power of the last to prevent it. Great,

therefore, was the satisfaction of our handsome young mate when he found

himself again fairly in motion, with a craft under him, that glided

ahead in a way to prove that she might give even the Swash some trouble

to catch her, in the event of a trial of speed.

Everybody entered into the feelings of Mulford, as the schooner passed

gallantly out from between the islets, and entered the open water.

Fathom by fathom did her wake rapidly increase, until it could no longer

be traced back as far as the sandy beaches that had just been left. In a

quarter of an hour more, the vessel had drawn so far from the land,

that some of the smaller and lowest of the islets were getting to be

indistinct. At that instant everybody had come aft, the females taking

their seats on the trunk, which, in this vessel as in the Swash herself,

gave space and height to the cabin.

“Well,” exclaimed Mrs. Budd, who found the freshness of the sea air

invigorating, as well as their speed exciting, “this is what I call

maritime, Rosy, dear. This is what is meant by the Maritime States,

about which we read so much, and which are commonly thought to be so

important. We are now in a Maritime State, and I feel perfectly happy

after all our dangers and adventures!”

“Yes, aunty, and I am delighted that you are happy,” answered Rose, with

frank affection. “We are now rid of that infamous Spike, and may hope

never to see his face more.”

“Stephen Spike has his good p'ints as well as another,” said Jack Tier,

abruptly.

“I know that he is an old shipmate of yours, Tier, and that you cannot

forget how he once stood connected with you, and am sorry I have said

so much against him,” answered Rose, expressing her concern even more by

her looks and tones, than by her words.

Jack was mollified by this, and he let his feeling be seen, though he

said no more than to mutter, “He's a willian!” words that had frequently

issued from his lips within the last day or two.

“Stephen Spike is a capital seaman, and that is something in any man,”

observed the relict of Captain Budd. “He learned his trade from one who

was every way qualified to teach him, and it's no wonder he should be

expert. Do you expect, Mr. Mulford, to beat the wind the whole distance

to Key West?”

It was not possible for any one to look more grave than the mate did

habitually, while the widow was floundering through her sea-terms. Rose

had taught him that respect for her aunt was to be one of the conditions

of her own regard, though Rose had never opened her lips to him on the

subject.

“Yes, ma'am,” answered the mate, respectfully, “we are in the trades,

and shall have to turn to windward, every inch of the way to Key West.”

“Of what lock is this place the key, Rosy?” asked the aunt, innocently

enough. “I know that forts and towns are sometimes called keys, but they

always have locks of some sort or other. Now, Gibraltar is the key of

the Mediterranean, as your uncle has told me fifty times; and I have

been there, and can understand why it should be,--but I do not know of

what lock this West is the key.”

“It is not that sort of key which is meant, aunty, at all--but quite a

different thing. The key meant is an island.”

“And why should any one be so silly as to call an island a key?”

“The place where vessels unload is sometimes called a key,” answered

Mulford;--“the French calling it a quai, and the Dutch kaye. I suppose

our English word is derived from these. Now, a low, sandy island,

looking somewhat like keys, or wharves, seamen have given them this

name. Key West is merely a low island.”

“Then there is no lock to it, or anything to be unfastened,” said the

widow, in her most simple manner.

“It may turn out to be the key to the Gulf of Mexico, one of these days,

ma'am. Uncle Sam is surveying the reef, and intends to do something

here, I believe. When Uncle Sam is really in earnest, he is capable of

performing great things.”

Mrs. Budd was satisfied with this explanation, though she told Biddy

that evening, that “locks and keys go together, and that the person who

christened the island to which they were going, must have been very

weak in his upper story.” But these reflections on the intellects of her

fellow-creatures were by no means uncommon with the worthy relict; and

we cannot say that her remarks made any particular impression on her

Irish maid.

In the mean time, the Mexican schooner behaved quite to Mulford's

satisfaction. He thought her a little tender in the squalls, of which

they had several that afternoon; but he remarked to Rose, who expressed

her uneasiness at the manner in which the vessel lay over in one of

them, that “she comes down quite easy to her bearings, but it is hard

forcing her beyond them. The vessel needs more cargo to ballast her,

though, on the whole, I find her as stiff as one could expect. I am now

glad that I reefed, and reduced the head sails, though I was sorry at

having done so when we first came out. At this rate of sailing, we ought

to be up with Key West by morning.”

But that rate of sailing did not continue. Toward evening, the breeze

lessened almost to a calm again, the late tornado appearing to have

quite deranged the ordinary stability of the trades. When the sun set,

and it went down into the broad waters of the Gulf a flood of flame,

there was barely a two-knot breeze, and Mulford had no longer

any anxiety on the subject of keeping his vessel on her legs. His

solicitude, now, was confined to the probability of falling in with the

Swash. As yet, nothing was visible, either in the shape of land or in

that of a sail. Between the islets of the Dry Tortugas and the next

nearest visible keys, there is a space of open water, of some forty

miles in width. The reef extends across it, of course; but nowhere does

the rock protrude itself above the surface of the sea. The depth of

water on this reef varies essentially. In some places, a ship of size

might pass on to it, if not across it; while in others a man could wade

for miles. There is one deep and safe channel--safe to those who are

acquainted with it--through the centre of this open space, and which is

sometimes used by vessels that wish to pass from one side to the other;

but it is ever better for those whose business does not call them in

that direction, to give the rocks a good berth, more especially in the

night.

Mulford had gleaned many of the leading facts connected with the

channels, and the navigation of those waters, from Spike and the older

seamen of the brig, during the time they had been lying at the Tortugas.

Such questions and answers are common enough on board ships, and, as

they are usually put and given with intelligence, one of our mate's

general knowledge of his profession, was likely to carry away much

useful information. By conversations of this nature, and by consulting

the charts, which Spike did not affect to conceal after the name of

his port became known, the young man, in fact, had so far made himself

master of the subject, as to have tolerably accurate notions of the

courses, distances, and general peculiarities of the reef. When the sun

went down, he supposed himself to be about half-way across the space of

open water, and some five-and-twenty miles dead to windward of his

port of departure. This was doing very well for the circumstances, and

Mulford believed himself and his companions clear of spike, when, as

night drew its veil over the tranquil sea, nothing was in sight.

A very judicious arrangement was made for the watches on board the

Mexican schooner, on this important night. Mrs. Budd had a great fancy

to keep a watch, for once in her life, and, after the party had supped,

and the subject came up in the natural course of things, a dialogue like

this occurred:

“Harry must be fatigued,” said Rose, kindly, “and must want sleep. The

wind is so light, and the weather appears to be so settled, that I think

it would be better for him to 'turn in,' as he calls it;”--here Rose

laughed so prettily that the handsome mate wished she would repeat

the words,--“better that he should 'turn in' now, and we can call him,

should there be need of his advice or assistance. I dare say Jack Tier

and I can take very good care of the schooner until daylight.”

Mrs. Budd thought it would be no more than proper for one of her

experience and years to rebuke this levity, as well as to enlighten the

ignorance her niece had betrayed.

“You should be cautious, my child, how you propose anything to be done

on a ship's board,” observed the aunt. “It requires great experience and

a suitable knowledge of rigging to give maritime advice. Now, as might

have been expected, considering your years, and the short time you have

been at sea, you have made several serious mistakes in what you have

proposed. In the first place, there should always be a mate on the deck,

as I have heard your dear departed uncle say, again and again; and

how can there be a mate on the deck if Mr. Mulford 'turns in,' as you

propose, seeing that he's the only mate we have. Then you should never

laugh at any maritime expression, for each and all are, as a body might

say, solemnized by storms and dangers. That Harry is fatigued I think is

very probable; and he must set our watches, as they call it, when he can

make his arrangements for the night, and take his rest as is usual.

Here is my watch to begin with; and I'll engage he does not find it

two minutes out of the way, though yours, Rosy dear, like most girl's

time-pieces, is, I'll venture to say, dreadfully wrong. Where is your

chronometer, Mr. Mulford? let us see how this excellent watch of mine,

which was once my poor departed Mr. Budd's, will agree with that piece

of your's, which I have heard you say is excellent.”

Here was a flight in science and nautical language that poor Mulford

could not have anticipated, even in the captain's relict! That Mrs. Budd

should mistake “setting the watch” for “setting our watches,” was not

so very violent a blunder that one ought to be much astonished at it in

her; but that she should expect to find a chronometer that was intended

to keep the time of Greenwich, agreeing with a watch that was set for

the time of New York, betrayed a degree of ignorance that the handsome

mate was afraid Rose would resent on him, when the mistake was made to

appear. As the widow held out her own watch for the comparison, however,

he could not refuse to produce his own. By Mrs. Budd's watch it was past

seven o'clock, while by his own, or the Greenwich-set chronometer, it

was a little past twelve.

“How very wrong your watch is, Mr. Mulford,” cried the good lady,

“notwithstanding all you have said in its favour. It's quite five hours

too fast, I do declare; and now, Rosy dear, you see the importance of

setting watches on a ship's board, as is done every evening, my departed

husband has often told me.”

“Harry's must be what he calls a dog-watch, aunty,” said Rose, laughing,

though she scarce knew at what.

“The watch goes, too,” added the widow, raising the chronometer to her

ear, “though it is so very wrong. Well, set it, Mr. Mulford; then we

will set Rose's, which I'll engage is half an hour out of the way,

though it can never be as wrong as yours.”

Mulford was a good deal embarrassed, but he gained courage by looking at

Rose, who appeared to him to be quite as much mystified as her aunt.

For once he hoped Rose was ignorant; for nothing would be so likely to

diminish the feeling produced by the exposure of the aunt's mistake, as

to include the niece in the same category.

“My watch is a chronometer, you will recollect, Mrs. Budd,” said the

young man.

“I know it; and they ought to keep the very best time--that I've always

heard. My poor Mr. Budd had two, and they were as large as compasses,

and sold for hundreds after his lamented decease.”

“They were ship's chronometers, but mine was made for the pocket. It

is true, chronometers are intended to keep the most accurate time, and

usually they do; this of mine, in particular, would not lose ten seconds

in a twelvemonth, did I not carry it on my person.”

“No, no, it does not seem to lose any, Harry; it only gains,” cried

Rose, laughing.

Mulford was now satisfied, notwithstanding all that had passed on a

previous occasion, that the laughing, bright-eyed, and quick-witted

girl at his elbow, knew no more of the uses of a chronometer than her

unusually dull and ignorant aunt; and he felt himself relieved from all

embarrassment at once. Though he dared not even seem to distrust Mrs.

Budd's intellect or knowledge before Rose, he did not scruple to laugh

at Rose herself, to Rose. With her there was no jealousy on the score

of capacity, her quickness being almost as obvious to all who approached

her as her beauty.

“Rose Budd, you do not understand the uses of a chronometer, I see,”

said the mate, firmly, “notwithstanding all I have told you concerning

them.”

“It is to keep time, Harry Mulford, is it not?”

“True, to keep time--but to keep the time of a particular meridian; you

know what meridian means, I hope?”

Rose looked intently at her lover, and she looked singularly lovely,

for she blushed slightly, though her smile was as open and amicable as

ingenuousness and affection could make it.

“A meridian means a point over our heads--the spot where the sun is at

noon,” said Rose, doubtingly.

“Quite right; but it also means longitude, in one sense. If you draw a

line from one pole to the other, all the places it crosses are on the

same meridian. As the sun first appears in the east, it follows that he

rises sooner in places that are east, than in places that are further

west. Thus it is, that at Greenwich, in England, where there is an

observatory made for nautical purposes, the sun rises about five hours

sooner than it does here. All this difference is subject to rules, and

we know exactly how to measure it.”

“How can that be, Harry? You told me this but the other day, yet have I

forgotten it.”

“Quite easily. As the earth turns round in just twenty-four hours, and

its circumference is divided into three hundred and sixty equal parts,

called degrees, we have only to divide 360 by 24, to know how many of

these degrees are included in the difference produced by one hour of

time. There are just fifteen of them, as you will find by multiplying 24

by 15. It follows that the sun rises just one hour later, each fifteen

degrees of longitude, as you go west, or one hour earlier each fifteen

degrees of longitude as you go east. Having ascertained the difference

by the hour, it is easy enough to calculate for the minutes and

seconds.”

“Yes, yes,” said Rose, eagerly, “I see all that--go on.”

“Now a chronometer is nothing but a watch, made with great care, so as

not to lose or gain more than a few seconds in a twelvemonth. Its whole

merit is in keeping time accurately.”

“Still I do not see how that can be anything more than a very good

watch.”

“You will see in a minute, Rose. For purposes that you will presently

understand, books are calculated for certain meridians, or longitudes,

as at Greenwich and Paris, and those who use the books calculated for

Greenwich, get their chronometers set at Greenwich, and those who use

the Paris, get their chronometers set to Paris time. When I was last

in England, I took this watch to Greenwich, and had it set at the

Observatory by the true solar time. Ever since it has been running

by that time, and what you see here is the true Greenwich time, after

allowing for a second or two that it may have lost or gained.”

“All that is plain enough,” said the much interested Rose--“but of what

use is it all?”

“To help mariners to find their longitude at sea, and thus know where

they are. As the sun passes so far north, and so far south of the

equator each year, it is easy enough to find the latitude, by observing

his position at noon-day; but for a long time seamen had great

difficulty in ascertaining their longitudes. That, too, is done by

observing the different heavenly bodies, and with greater accuracy than

by any other process; but this thought of measuring the time is very

simple, and so easily put in practice, that we all run by it now.”

“Still I cannot understand it,” said Rose, looking so intently, so

eagerly, and so intelligently into the handsome mate's eyes, that he

found it was pleasant to teach her other things besides how to love.

“I will explain it. Having the Greenwich time in the watch, we observe

the sun, in order to ascertain the true time, wherever we may happen

to be. It is a simple thing to ascertain the true time of day by an

observation of the sun, which marks the hours in his track; and when we

get our observation, we have some one to note the time at a particular

instant on the chronometer. By noting the hour, minutes, and seconds, at

Greenwich, at the very instant we observe here, when we have calculated

from that observation the time here, we have only to add, or subtract,

the time here from that of Greenwich, to know precisely how far east or

west we are from Greenwich, which gives us our longitude.”

“I begin to comprehend it again,” exclaimed Rose, delighted at the

acquisition in knowledge she had just made. “How beautiful it is, yet

how simple--but why do I forget it?”

“Perfectly simple, and perfectly sure, too, when the chronometer is

accurate, and the observations are nicely made. It is seldom we are more

than eight or ten miles out of the way, and for them we keep a look-out.

It is only to ascertain the time where you are, by means that are easily

used, then look at your watch to learn the time of day at Greenwich,

or any other meridian you may have selected, and to calculate your

distance, east or west, from that meridian, by the difference in the two

times.”

Rose could have listened all night, for her quick mind readily

comprehended the principle which lies at the bottom of this useful

process, though still ignorant of some of the details. This time she was

determined to secure her acquisition, though it is quite probable that,

woman-like, they were once more lost, almost as easily as made. Mulford,

however, was obliged to leave her, to look at the vessel, before he

stretched himself on the deck, in an old sail; it having been previously

determined that he should sleep first, while the wind was light, and

that Jack Tier, assisted by the females, should keep the first watch.

Rose would not detain the mate, therefore, but let him go his way, in

order to see that all was right before he took his rest.

Mrs. Budd had listened to Mulford's second explanation of the common

mode of ascertaining the longitude, with all the attention of which she

was capable; but it far exceeded the powers of her mind to comprehend

it. There are persons who accustom themselves to think so superficially,

that it becomes a painful process to attempt to dive into any of the

arcana of nature, and who ever turn from such investigations wearied

and disgusted. Many of these persons, perhaps most of them, need only

a little patience and perseverance to comprehend all the more familiar

phenomena, but they cannot command even that much of the two qualities

named to obtain the knowledge they would fain wish to possess. Mrs. Budd

did not belong to a division as high in the intellectual scale as even

this vapid class. Her intellect was unequal to embracing anything of an

abstracted character, and only received the most obvious impressions,

and those quite half the time it received wrong. The mate's reasoning,

therefore, was not only inexplicable to her, but it sounded absurd and

impossible.

“Rosy, dear,” said the worthy relict, as soon as she saw Mulford stretch

his fine frame on his bed of canvas, speaking at the same time in a low,

confidential tone to her niece, “what was it that Harry was telling you

a little while ago? It sounded to me like rank nonsense; and men will

talk nonsense to young girls, as I have so often warned you, child. You

must never listen to their nonsense, Rosy; but remember your catechism

and confirmation vow, and be a good girl.”

To how many of the feeble-minded and erring do those offices of the

church prove a stay and support, when their own ordinary powers of

resistance would fail them! Rose, however, viewed the matter just as it

was, and answered accordingly.

“But this was nothing of that nature, aunty,” she said, “and only an

account of the mode of finding out where a ship is, when out of sight of

land, in the middle of the ocean. We had the same subject up the other

day.”

“And how did Harry tell you, this time, that was done, my dear?”

“By finding the difference in the time of day between two places--just

as he did before.”

“But there is no difference in the time of day, child, when the clocks

go well.”

“Yes, there is, aunty dear, as the sun rises in one place before it does

in another.”

“Rose you've been listening to nonsense now! Remember what I have so

often told you about young men, and their way of talking. I admit Harry

Mulford is a respectable youth, and has respectable connections, and

since you like one another, you may have him, with all my heart, as soon

as he gets a full-jiggered ship, for I am resolved no niece of my poor

dear husband's shall ever marry a mate, or a captain even, unless he has

a full-jiggered ship under his feet. But do not talk nonsense with him.

Nonsense is nonsense, though a sensible man talks it. As for all this

stuff about the time of day, you can see it is nonsense, as the sun

rises but once in twenty-four hours, and of course there cannot be two

times, as you call it.”

“But, aunty dear, it is not always noon at London when it is noon at New

York.”

“Fiddle-faddle, child; noon is noon, and there are no more two noons

than two suns, or two times. Distrust what young men tell you, Rosy, if

you would be safe, though they should tell you you are handsome.”

Poor Rose sighed, and gave up the explanation in despair. Then a smile

played around her pretty mouth. It was not at her aunt that she smiled;

this she never permitted herself to do, weak as was that person, and

weak as she saw her to be; she smiled at the recollection how often

Mulford had hinted at her good looks--for Rose was a female, and had

her own weaknesses, as well as another. But the necessity of acting soon

drove these thoughts from her mind, and Rose sought Jack Tier, to confer

with him on the subject of their new duties.

As for Harry Mulford, his head was no sooner laid on its bunch of sail

than he fell into a profound sleep. There he lay, slumbering as the

seaman slumbers, with no sense of surrounding things. The immense

fatigues of that and of the two preceding days,--for he had toiled

at the pumps even long after night had come, until the vessel was

clear,--weighed him down, and nature was now claiming her influence,

and taking a respite from exertion. Had he been left to himself, it is

probable the mate would not have arisen until the sun had reappeared

some hours.

It is now necessary to explain more minutely the precise condition, as

well as the situation of the schooner. On quitting his port, Mulford had

made a stretch of some two leagues in length, toward the northward and

eastward, when he tacked and stood to the southward. There was enough

of southing in the wind, to make his last course nearly due south. As he

neared the reef, he found that he fell in some miles to the eastward of

the islets,--proof that he was doing very well, and that there was no

current to do him any material harm, if, indeed, there were not actually

a current in his favour. He next tacked to the northward again, and

stood in that direction until near night, when he once more went about.

The wind was now so light that he saw little prospect of getting in with

the reef again, until the return of day; but as he had left orders with

Jack Tier to be called at twelve o'clock, at all events, this gave him

no uneasiness. At the time when the mate lay down to take his rest,

therefore, the schooner was quite five-and-twenty miles to windward of

the Dry Tortugas, and some twenty miles to the northward of the Florida

Reef, with the wind quite light at east-south-east. Such, then, was the

position or situation of the schooner.

As respects her condition, it is easily described. She had but the three

sails bent,--mainsail, foresail, and jib. Her topmasts had been struck,

and all the hamper that belonged to them was below. The mainsail was

single reefed, and the foresail and jib were without their bonnets, as

has already been mentioned. This was somewhat short canvas, but Mulford

knew that it would render his craft more manageable in the event of

a blow. Usually, at that season and in that region, the east trades

prevailed with great steadiness, sometimes diverging a little south of

east, as at present, and generally blowing fresh. But, for a short time

previously to, and ever since the tornado, the wind had been unsettled,

the old currents appearing to regain their ascendancy by fits, and then

losing it, in squalls, contrary currents, and even by short calms.

The conference between Jack Tier and Rose was frank and confidential.

“We must depend mainly on you,” said the latter, turning to look toward

the spot where Mulford lay, buried in the deepest sleep that had ever

gained power over him. “Harry is so fatigued! It would be shameful to

awaken him a moment sooner than is necessary.”

“Ay, ay; so it is always with young women, when they lets a young man

gain their ears,” answered Jack, without the least circumlocution;

“so it is, and so it always will be, I'm afeard. Nevertheless, men is

willians.”

Rose was not affronted at this plain allusion to the power that Mulford

had obtained over her feelings. It would seem that Jack had got to be so

intimate in the cabins, that his sex was, in a measure, forgotten; and

it is certain that his recent services were not. Without a question, but

for his interference, the pretty Rose Budd would, at that moment, have

been the prisoner of Spike, and most probably the victim of his design

to compel her to marry him.

“All men are not Stephen Spikes,” said Rose, earnestly, “and least of

all is Harry Mulford to be reckoned as one of his sort. But, we must

manage to take care of the schooner the whole night, and let Harry get

his rest. He wished to be called at twelve, but we can easily let the

hour go by, and not awaken him.”

“The commanding officer ought not to be sarved so, Miss Rose. What he

says is to be done.”

“I know it, Jack, as to ordinary matters; but Harry left these orders

that we might have our share of rest, and for no other reason at all.

And what is to prevent our having it? We are four, and can divide

ourselves into two watches; one watch can sleep while the other keeps a

look-out.”

“Ay, ay, and pretty watches they would be! There's Madam Budd, now; why,

she's quite a navigator, and knows all about weerin' and haulin', and I

dares to say could put the schooner about, to keep her off the reef, on

a pinch; though which way the craft would come round, could best be told

a'ter it has been done. It's as much as I'd undertake myself, Miss Rose,

to take care of the schooner, should it come on to blow; and as for you,

Madam Budd, and that squalling Irishwoman, you'd be no better than so

many housewives ashore.”

“We have strength, and we have courage, and we can pull, as you have

seen. I know very well which way to put the helm now, and Biddy is as

strong as you are yourself, and could help me all I wished. Then we

could always call you, at need, and have your assistance. Nay, Harry

himself can be called, if there should be a real necessity for it, and I

do wish he may not be disturbed until there is that necessity.”

It was with a good deal of reluctance that Jack allowed himself to

be persuaded into this scheme. He insisted, for a long time, that an

officer should be called at the hour mentioned by himself, and declared

he had never known such an order neglected, “marchant-man, privateer, or

man-of-war.” Rose prevailed over his scruples, however, and there was a

meeting of the three females to make the final arrangements. Mrs. Budd,

a kind-hearted woman, at the worst, gave her assent most cheerfully,

though Rose was a little startled with the nature of the reasoning, with

which it was accompanied.

“You are quite right, Rosy dear,” said the aunt, “and the thing is very

easily done. I've long wanted to keep one watch, at sea; just one watch;

to complete my maritime education. Your poor uncle used to say, 'Give

my wife but one night-watch, and you'd have as good a seaman in her as

heart could wish.' I'm sure I've had night-watches enough with him and

his ailings; but it seems that they were not the sort of watches he

meant. Indeed, I did n't know till this evening there were so many

watches in the world, at all. But this is just what I want, and just

what I'm resolved to have. Tier shall command one watch and I'll command

the other. Jack's shall be the 'dog-watch,' as they call it, and mine

shall be the 'middle-watch,' and last till morning. You shall be in

Jack's watch, Rose, and Biddy shall be in mine. You know a good deal

that Jack do n't know, and Biddy can do a good deal I'm rather too stout

to do. I do n't like pulling ropes, but as for ordering, I'll turn my

back on no captain's widow out of York.”

Rose had her own misgivings on the subject of her aunt's issuing orders

on such a subject to any one, but she made the best of necessity, and

completed the arrangements without further discussion. Her great anxiety

was to secure a good night's rest for Harry, already feeling a woman's

care in the comfort and ease of the man she loved. And Rose did love

Harry Mulford warmly and sincerely. If the very decided preference with

which she regarded him before they sailed, had not absolutely amounted

to passion, it had come so very near it as to render that access of

feeling certain, under the influence of the association and events which

succeeded. We have not thought it necessary to relate a tithe of the

interviews and intercourse that had taken place between the handsome

mate and the pretty Rose Budd, during the month they had now been

shipmates, having left the reader to imagine the natural course of

things, under such circumstances. Nevertheless, the plighted troth had

not been actually given until Harry joined her on the islet, at a moment

when she fancied herself abandoned to a fate almost as serious as death.

Rose had seen Mulford quit the brig, had watched the mode and manner of

his escape, and in almost breathless amazement, and felt how dear to

her he had become, by the glow of delight which warmed her heart,

when assured that he could not, would not, forsake her, even though he

remained at the risk of life. She was now, true to the instinct of

her sex, mostly occupied in making such a return for an attachment so

devoted as became her tenderness and the habits of her mind.

As Mrs. Budd chose what she was pleased to term the 'middle-watch,'

giving to Jack Tier and Rose her 'dog-watch,' the two last were first on

duty. It is scarcely necessary to say, the captain's widow got the names

of the watches all wrong, as she got the names of everything else about

a vessel; but the plan was to divide the night equally between these

quasi mariners, giving the first half to those who were first on the

look-out, and the remainder to their successors. It soon became so calm,

that Jack left the helm, and came and sat by Rose, on the trunk, where

they conversed confidentially for a long time. Although the reader will,

hereafter, be enabled to form some plausible conjectures on the subject

of this dialogue, we shall give him no part of it here. All that need

now be said, is to add, that Jack did most of the talking, that his past

life was the principal theme, and that the terrible Stephen Spike, he

from whom they were now so desirous of escaping, was largely mixed up

with the adventures recounted. Jack found in his companion a deeply

interested listener, although this was by no means the first time they

had gone over together the same story and discussed the same events. The

conversation lasted until Tier, who watched the glass, seeing that its

sands had run out for the last time, announced the hour of midnight.

This was the moment when Mulford should have been called, but when Mrs.

Budd and Biddy Noon were actually awakened in his stead.

“Now, dear aunty,” said Rose, as she parted from the new watch to go

and catch a little sleep herself, “remember you are not to awaken Harry

first, but to call Tier and myself. It would have done your heart good

to have seen how sweetly he has been sleeping all this time. I do not

think he has stirred once since his head was laid on that bunch of

sails, and there he is, at this moment, sleeping like an infant!”

“Yes,” returned the relict, “it is always so with your true maritime

people. I have been sleeping a great deal more soundly, the whole of the

dog-watch, than I ever slept at home, in my own excellent bed. But it's

your watch below, Rosy, and contrary to rule for you to stay on the

deck, after you've been relieved. I've heard this a thousand times.”

Rose was not sorry to lie down; and her head was scarcely on its pillow,

in the cabin, before she was fast asleep. As for Jack, he found a place

among Mulford's sails, and was quickly in the same state.

To own the truth, Mrs. Budd was not quite as much at ease, in her new

station, for the first half hour, as she had fancied to herself might

prove to be the case. It was a flat calm, it is true; but the widow felt

oppressed with responsibility and the novelty of her situation. Time and

again had she said, and even imagined, she should be delighted to fill

the very station she then occupied, or to be in charge of a deck, in a

“middle watch.” In this instance, however, as in so many others, reality

did not equal anticipation. She wished to be doing everything, but did

not know how to do anything. As for Biddy, she was even worse off than

her mistress. A month's experience, or for that matter a twelvemonth's,

could not unravel to her the mysteries of even a schooner's rigging.

Mrs. Budd had placed her “at the wheel,” as she called it, though

the vessel had no wheel, being steered by a tiller on deck, in the

'long-shore fashion. In stationing Biddy, the widow told her that she

was to play “tricks at the wheel,” leaving it to the astounded Irish

woman's imagination to discover what those tricks were. Failing in

ascertaining what might be the nature of her “tricks at the wheel,”

Biddy was content to do nothing, and nothing, under the circumstances,

was perhaps the very best thing she could have done.

Little was required to be done for the first four hours of Mrs. Budd's

watch. All that time, Rose slept in her berth, and Mulford and Jack Tier

on their sail, while Biddy had played the wheel a “trick,” indeed, by

lying down on deck, and sleeping, too, as soundly as if she were in the

county Down itself. But there was to be an end of this tranquillity.

Suddenly the wind began to blow. At first, the breeze came in fitful

puffs, which were neither very strong nor very lasting. This induced

Mrs. Budd to awaken Biddy. Luckily, a schooner without a topsail could

not very well be taken aback, especially as the head-sheets worked on

travellers, and Mrs. Budd and her assistant contrived to manage the

tiller very well for the first hour that these varying puffs of wind

lasted. It is true, the tiller was lashed, and it is also true, the

schooner ran in all directions, having actually headed to all the

cardinal points of the compass, under her present management. At length,

Mrs. Budd became alarmed. A puff of wind came so strong, as to cause the

vessel to lie over so far as to bring the water into the lee scuppers.

She called Jack Tier herself, therefore, and sent Biddy down to awaken

Rose. In a minute, both these auxiliaries appeared on deck. The wind

just then lulled, and Rose, supposing her aunt was frightened at

trifles, insisted on it that Harry should be permitted to sleep on. He

had turned over once, in the course of the night, but not once had he

raised his head from his pillow.

As soon as reinforced, Mrs. Budd began to bustle about, and to give

commands, such as they were, in order to prove that she was unterrified.

Jack Tier gaped at her elbow, and by way of something to do, he laid his

hand on the painter of the Swash's boat, which boat was towing

astern, and remarked that “some know-nothing had belayed it with three

half-hitches.” This was enough for the relict. She had often heard the

saying that “three half-hitches lost the king's long-boat,” and she

busied herself, at once, in repairing so imminent an evil. It was far

easier for the good woman to talk than to act; she became what is called

“all fingers and thumbs,” and in loosening the third half-hitch, she

cast off the two others. At that instant, a puff of wind struck the

schooner again, and the end of the painter got away from the widow, who

had a last glimpse at the boat, as the vessel darted ahead, leaving its

little tender to vanish in the gloom of the night.

Jack was excessively provoked at this accident, for he had foreseen the

possibility of having recourse to that boat yet, in order to escape from

Spike. By abandoning the schooner, and pulling on to the reef, it might

have been possible to get out of their pursuer's hands, when all other

means should fail them. As he was at the tiller, he put his helm up, and

ran off, until far enough to leeward to be to the westward of the boat,

when he might tack, fetch and recover it. Nevertheless, it now blew much

harder than he liked, for the schooner seemed to be unusually tender.

Had he had the force to do it, he would have brailed the foresail. He

desired Rose to call Mulford, but she hesitated about complying.

“Call him--call the mate, I say,” cried out Jack, in a voice that proved

how much he was in earnest. “These puffs come heavy, I can tell you, and

they come often, too. Call him--call him, at once, Miss Rose, for it is

time to tack if we wish to recover the boat. Tell him, too, to brail the

foresail, while we are in stays--that's right; another call will start

him up.”

The other call was given, aided by a gentle shake from Rose's hand.

Harry was on his feet in a moment. A passing instant was necessary to

clear his faculties, and to recover the tenor of his thoughts. During

that instant, the mate heard Jack Tier's shrill cry of “Hard a-lee--get

in that foresail--bear a-hand--in with it, I say!”

The wind came rushing and roaring, and the flaps of the canvas were

violent and heavy.

“In with the foresail, I say,” shouted Jack Tier. “She files round

like a top, and will be off the wind on the other tack presently. Bear

a-hand!--bear a-hand! It looks black as night to windward.”

Mulford then regained all his powers. He sprang to the fore-sheet,

calling on the others for aid. The violent surges produced by the wind

prevented his grasping the sheet as soon as he could wish, and the

vessel whirled round on her heel, like a steed that is frightened.

At that critical and dangerous instant, when the schooner was nearly

without motion through the water, a squall struck the flattened sails,

and bowed her down as the willow bends to the gale. Mrs. Budd and Biddy

screamed as usual, and Jack shouted until his voice seemed cracked, to

“let go the head-sheets.” Mulford did make one leap forward, to execute

this necessary office, when the inclining plane of the deck told him

it was too late. The wind fairly howled for a minute, and over went the

schooner, the remains of her cargo shifting as she capsized, in a way to

bring her very nearly bottom upward.

1. We suppress the names used by Mrs. Budd, out of delicacy

to the individuals mentioned, who are still living.

CHAPTER VIII.

Ay, fare you well, fair gentleman.

As You Like it.

While the tyro believes the vessel is about to capsize at every puff of

wind, the practised seaman alone knows when danger truly besets him in

this particular form. Thus it was with Harry Mulford, when the Mexican

schooner went over, as related in the close of the preceding chapter. He

felt no alarm until the danger actually came. Then, indeed, no one there

was so quickly, or so thoroughly apprized of what the result would be,

and he directed all his exertions to meet the exigency. While there

was the smallest hope of success, he did not lessen, in the least, his

endeavours to save the vessel; making almost superhuman efforts to cast

off the fore-sheet, so as to relieve the schooner from the pressure of

one of her sails. But, no sooner did he hear the barrels in the hold

surging to leeward, and feel by the inclination of the deck beneath his

feet, that nothing could save the craft, than he abandoned the sheet,

and sprang to the assistance of Rose. It was time he did; for, having

followed him into the vessel's lee-waist, she was the first to be

submerged in the sea, and would have been hopelessly drowned, but for

Mulford's timely succour. Women might swim more readily than men, and do

so swim, in those portions of the world where the laws of nature are not

counteracted by human conventions. Rose Budd, however, had received the

vicious education which civilized society inflicts on her sex, and, as a

matter of course, was totally helpless in an element in which it was

the design of Divine Providence she should possess the common means of

sustaining herself, like every other being endued with animal life. Not

so with Mulford: he swam with ease and force, and had no difficulty in

sustaining Rose until the schooner had settled into her new berth, or in

hauling her on the vessel's bottom immediately after.

Luckily, there was no swell, or so little as not to endanger those who

were on the schooner's bilge; and Mulford had no sooner placed her in

momentary safety at least, whom he prized far higher than his own life,

than he bethought him of his other companions. Jack Tier had hauled

himself up to windward by the rope that steadied the tiller, and he had

called on Mrs. Budd to imitate his example. It was so natural for even

a woman to grasp anything like a rope at such a moment, that the widow

instinctively obeyed, while Biddy seized, at random, the first thing of

the sort that offered. Owing to these fortunate chances, Jack and Mrs.

Budd succeeded in reaching the quarter of the schooner, the former

actually getting up on the bottom of the wreck, on to which he was

enabled to float the widow, who was almost as buoyant as cork, as indeed

was the case with Jack himself. All the stern and bows of the vessel

were under water, in consequence of her leanness forward and aft;

but though submerged, she offered a precarious footing, even in these

extremities, to such as could reach them. On the other hand, the place

where Rose stood, or the bilge of the vessel, was two or three feet

above the surface of the sea, though slippery and inclining in shape.

It was not half a minute from the time that Mulford sprang to Rose's

succour, ere he had her on the vessel's bottom. In another half minute,

he had waded down on the schooner's counter, where Jack Tier was lustily

calling to him for “help!” and assisted the widow to her feet, and

supported her until she stood at Rose's side. Leaving the last in her

aunt's arms, half distracted between dread and joy, he turned to the

assistance of Biddy. The rope at which the Irish woman had caught, was

a straggling end that had been made fast to the main channels of the

schooner, for the support of a fender, and had been hauled partly

in-board to keep it out of the water. Biddy had found no difficulty in

dragging herself up to the chains, therefore; and had she been content

to sustain herself by the rope, leaving as much of her body submerged as

comported with breathing, her task would have been easy. But, like most

persons who do not know how to swim, the good woman was fast exhausting

her strength, by vain efforts to walk on the surface of an element that

was never made to sustain her. Unpractised persons, in such situations,

cannot be taught to believe that their greatest safety is in leaving as

much of their bodies as possible beneath the water, keeping the mouth

and nose alone free for breath. But we have seen even instances in

which men, who were in danger of drowning, seemed to believe it might be

possible for them to craw! over the waves on their hands and knees.

The philosophy of the contrary course is so very simple, that one would

fancy a very child might be made to comprehend it; yet, it is rare to

find one unaccustomed to the water, and who is suddenly exposed to its

dangers, that does not resort, under the pressure of present alarm, to

the very reverse of the true means to save his or her life.

Mulford had no difficulty in finding Bridget, whose exclamations of

“murther!” “help!” “he-l-lup!” “Jasus!” and other similar cries, led

him directly to the spot, where she was fast drowning herself by her own

senseless struggles. Seizing her by the arm, the active young mate soon

placed her on her feet, though her cries did not cease until she was

ordered by her mistress to keep silence.

Having thus rescued the whole of his companions from immediate danger,

Mulford began to think of the future. He was seized with sudden surprise

that the vessel did not sink, and for a minute he was unable to account

for the unusual fact. On the former occasion, the schooner had gone

down almost as soon as she fell over; but now she floated with so much

buoyancy as to leave most of her keel and all of her bilge on one side

quite clear of the water. As one of the main hatches was off, and the

cabin-doors, and booby-hatch doors forward were open, and all were

under water, it required a little reflection on the part of Mulford to

understand on what circumstance all their lives now depended. The mate

soon ascertained the truth, however, and we may as well explain it to

the reader in our own fashion, in order to put him on a level with the

young seaman.

The puff of wind, or little squall, had struck the schooner at the

most unfavourable moment for her safety. She had just lost her way in

tacking, and the hull not moving ahead, as happens when a craft is thus

assailed with the motion on her, all the power of the wind was expended

in the direction necessary to capsize her. Another disadvantage arose

from the want of motion. The rudder, which acts solely by pressing

against the water as the vessel meets it, was useless, and it was not

possible to luff, and throw the wind from the sails, as is usually

practised by fore-and-aft rigged craft, in moments of such peril. In

consequence of these united difficulties, the shifting of the cargo

in the hold, the tenderness of the craft itself, and the force of the

squall, the schooner had gone so far over as to carry all three of the

openings to her interior suddenly under water, where they remained, held

by the pressure of the cargo that had rolled to leeward. Had not the

water completely covered these openings, or hatches, the schooner must

have sunk in a minute or two, or by the time Mulford had got all his

companions safe on her bilge. But they were completely submerged, and

so continued to be, which circumstance alone prevented the vessel from

sinking, as the following simple explanation will show.

Any person who will put an empty tumbler, bottom upwards, into a bucket

of water, will find that the water will not rise within the tumbler more

than an inch at most. At that point it is arrested by the resistance of

the air, which, unable to escape, and compressed into a narrow compass,

forms a body that the other fluid cannot penetrate. It is on this simple

and familiar principle, that the chemist keeps his gases, in inverted

glasses, placing them on shelves, slightly submerged in water. Thus it

was, then, that the schooner continued to float, though nearly bottom

upward, and with three inlets open, by which the water could and did

penetrate. A considerable quantity of the element had rushed in at the

instant of capsizing, but meeting with resistance from the compressed

and pent air, its progress had been arrested, and the wreck continued to

float, sustained by the buoyancy that was imparted to it, in containing

so large a body of a substance no heavier than atmospheric air. After

displacing its weight of water, enough of buoyancy remained to raise the

keel a few feet above the level of the sea.

As soon as Mulford had ascertained the facts of their situation, he

communicated them to his companions, encouraging them to hope for

eventual safety. It was true, their situation was nearly desperate,

admitting that the wreck should continue to float for ever, since they

were almost without food, or anything to drink, and had no means of

urging the hull through the water. They must float, too, at the mercy

of the winds and waves, and should a sea get up, it might soon be

impossible for Mulford himself to maintain his footing on the bottom

of the wreck. All this the young man had dimly shadowed forth to him,

through his professional experience; but the certainty of the vessel's

not sinking immediately had so far revived his spirits, as to cause him

to look on the bright side of the future, pale as that glimmering of

hope was made to appear whenever reason cast one of its severe glances

athwart it.

Harry had no difficulty in making Rose comprehend their precise

situation. Her active and clear mind understood at once the causes of

their present preservation, and most of the hazards of the future. It

was not so with Jack Tier. He was composed, even resigned; but he could

not see the reason why the schooner still floated.

“I know that the cabin-doors were open,” he said, “and if they wasn't,

of no great matter would it be, since the joints ar'n't caulked, and

the water would run through them as through a sieve. I'm afeard, Mr.

Mulford, we shall find the wreck going from under our feet afore long,

and when we least wish it, perhaps.”

“I tell you the wreck will float so long as the air remains in its

hold,” returned the mate, cheerfully. “Do you not see how buoyant it

is?--the certain proof that there is plenty of air within. So long as

that remains, the hull must float.”

“I've always understood,” said Jack, sticking to his opinion, “that

wessels floats by vartue of water, and not by vartue of air; and, that

when the water gets on the wrong side on 'em, there's little hope left

of keepin' 'em up.”

“What has become of the boat?” suddenly cried the mate. “I have been so

much occupied as to have forgotten the boat. In that boat we might all

of us still reach Key West. I see nothing of the boat!”

A profound silence succeeded this sudden and unexpected question. All

knew that the boat was gone, and all knew that it had been lost by the

widow's pertinacity and clumsiness; but no one felt disposed to betray

her at that grave moment. Mulford left the bilge, and waded as far aft

as it was at all prudent for him to proceed, in the vain hope that the

boat might be there, fastened by its painter to the schooner's tafferel,

as he had left it, but concealed from view by the darkness of the night.

Not finding what he was after, he returned to his companions, still

uttering exclamations of surprise at the unaccountable loss of the

boat. Rose now told him that the boat had got adrift some ten or fifteen

minutes before the accident befell them, and that they were actually

endeavouring to recover it when the squall which capsized the schooner

struck them.

“And why did you not call me, Rose?” asked Harry, with a little of

gentle reproach in his manner. “It must have soon been my watch on deck,

and it would have been better that I should lose half an hour of my

watch below, than that we should lose the boat.”

Rose was now obliged to confess that the time for calling him had long

been past, and that the faint streak of light, which was just appearing

in the east, was the near approach of day. This explanation was made

gently, but frankly; and Mulford experienced a glow of pleasure at his

heart, even in that moment of jeopardy, when he understood Rose's motive

for not having him disturbed. As the boat was gone, with little or no

prospect of its being recovered again, no more was said about it;

and the window, who had stood on thorns the while, had the relief of

believing that her awkwardness was forgotten.

It was such a relief from an imminent danger to have escaped from

drowning when the schooner capsized, that those on her bottom did not,

for some little time, realize all the terrors of their actual situation.

The inconvenience of being wet was a trifle not to be thought of, and,

in fact, the light summer dresses worn by all, linen or cotton as they

were entirely, were soon effectually dried in the wind. The keel made a

tolerably convenient seat, and the whole party placed themselves on it

to await the return of day, in order to obtain a view of all that their

situation offered in the way of a prospect. While thus awaiting, a

broken and short dialogue occurred.

“Had you stood to the northward the whole night?” asked Mulford,

gloomily, of Jack Tier; for gloomily he began to feel, as all the facts

of their case began to press more closely on his mind. “If so, we must

be well off the reef, and out of the track of wreckers and turtlers. How

had you the wind, and how did you head before the accident happened?”

“The wind was light the whole time, and for some hours it was nearly

calm,” answered Jack, in the same vein; “I kept the schooner's head to

the nor'ard, until I thought we were getting too far off our course,

and then I put her about. I do not think we could have been any great

distance from the reef, when the boat got away from us, and I suppose we

are in its neighbourhood now, for I was tacking to fall in with the boat

when the craft went over.”

“To fall in with the boat! Did you keep off to leeward of it, then, that

you expected to fetch it by tacking?”

“Ay, a good bit; and I think the boat is now away here to windward of

us, drifting athwart our bows.”

This was important news to Mulford. Could he only get that boat, the

chances of being saved would be increased a hundred fold, nay, would

almost amount to a certainty; whereas, so long as the wind held to the

southward and eastward, the drift of the wreck must be toward the open

water, and consequently so much the further removed from the means of

succor. The general direction of the trades, in that quarter of the

world, is east, and should they get round into their old and proper

quarter, it would not benefit them much; for the reef running

south-west, they could scarcely hope to hit the Dry Tortugas again, in

their drift, were life even spared them sufficiently long to float the

distance. Then there might be currents, about which Mulford knew nothing

with certainty; they might set them in any direction; and did they

exist, as was almost sure to be the case, were much more powerful than

the wind in controlling the movements of a wreck.

The mate strained his eyes in the direction pointed out by Jack Tier, in

the hope of discovering the boat through the haze of the morning, and

he actually did discern something that, it appeared to him, might be the

much desired little craft. If he were right, there was every reason to

think the boat would drift down so near them as to enable him to recover

it by swimming. This cheering intelligence was communicated to his

companions, who received it with gratitude and delight. But the approach

of day gradually dispelled that hope, the object which Mulford had

mistaken for the boat, within two hundred yards of the wreck, turning

out to be a small, low, but bare hummock of the reef, at a distance of

more than two miles.

“That is a proof that we are not far from the reef, at least,” cried

Mulford, willing to encourage those around him all he could, and really

much relieved at finding himself so near even this isolated fragment

of terra firma. “This fact is the next encouraging thing to finding

ourselves near the boat, or to falling in with a sail.”

“Ay, ay,” said Jack, gloomily; “boat or no boat, 't will make no great

matter of difference now. There's customers that'll be sartain to take

all the grists you can send to their mill.”

“What things are those glancing about the vessel?” cried Rose, almost in

the same breath; “those dark, sharp-looking sticks--see, there are five

or six of them! and they move as if fastened to something under the

water that pulls them about.”

“Them's the customers I mean, Miss Rose,” answered Jack, in the same

strain as that in which he had first spoken; “they're the same thing at

sea as lawyers be ashore, and seem made to live on other folks. Them's

sharks.”

“And yonder is truly the boat!” added Mulford, with a sigh that almost

amounted to a groan. The light had, by this time, so far returned as to

enable the party not only to see the fins of half a dozen sharks, which

were already prowling about the wreck, the almost necessary consequence

of their proximity to a reef in that latitude, but actually to discern

the boat drifting down toward them, at a distance that promised to carry

it past, within the reach of Mulford's powers of swimming, though not as

near as he could have wished, even under more favourable circumstances.

Had their extremity been greater, or had Rose begun to suffer from

hunger or thirst, Mulford might have attempted the experiment of

endeavoring to regain the boat, though the chances of death by means of

the sharks would be more than equal to those of escape; but still fresh,

and not yet feeling even the heat of the sun of that low latitude, he

was not quite goaded into such an act of desperation. All that remained

for the party, therefore, was to sit on the keel of the wreck, and gaze

with longing eyes at a little object floating past, which, once at their

command, might so readily be made to save them from a fate that already

began to appear terrible in the perspective. Near an hour was thus

consumed, ere the boat was about half a mile to leeward; during which

scarcely an eye was turned from it for one instant, or a word was

spoken.

“It is beyond my reach now,” Mulford at length exclaimed, sighing

heavily, like one who became conscious of some great and irretrievable

loss. “Were there no sharks, I could hardly venture to attempt swimming

so far, with the boat drifting from me at the same time.”

“I should never consent to let you make the trial, Harry,” murmured

Rose, “though it were only half as far.”

Another pause succeeded.

“We have now the light of day,” resumed the mate, a minute or two later,

“and may see our true situation. No sail is in sight, and the wind

stands steadily in its old quarter. Still I do not think we leave the

reef. There, you may see breakers off here at the southward, and it

seems as if more rocks rise above the sea, in that direction. I do

not know that our situation would be any the better, however, were we

actually on them, instead of being on this floating wreck.”

“The rocks will never sink,” said Jack Tier, with so much emphasis as to

startle the listeners.

“I do not think this hull will sink until we are taken off it, or are

beyond caring whether it sink or swim,” returned Mulford.

“I do not know that, Mr. Mulford. Nothing keeps us up but the air in the

hold, you say.”

“Certainly not; but that air will suffice as long as it remains there.”

“And what do you call these things?” rejoined the assistant steward,

pointing at the water near him, in or on which no one else saw anything

worthy of attention.

Mulford, however, was not satisfied with a cursory glance, but went

nearer to the spot where Tier was standing. Then, indeed, he saw to what

the steward alluded, and was impressed by it, though he said nothing.

Hundreds of little bubbles rose to the surface of the water, much as one

sees them rising in springs. These bubbles are often met with in lakes

and other comparatively shallow waters, but they are rarely seen in

those of the ocean. The mate understood, at a glance, that those he

now beheld were produced by the air which escaped from the hold of the

wreck; in small quantities at a time, it was true, but by a constant

and increasing process. The great pressure of the water forced this

air through crevices so minute that, under ordinary circumstances, they

would have proved impenetrable to this, as they were still to the other

fluid, though they now permitted the passage of the former. It might

take a long time to force the air from the interior of the vessel

by such means, but the result was as certain as it might be slow. As

constant dropping will wear a stone, so might the power that kept

the wreck afloat be exhausted by the ceaseless rising of these minute

air-bubbles.

Although Mulford was entirely sensible of the nature of this new source

of danger, we cannot say he was much affected by it at the moment. It

seemed to him far more probable that they must die of exhaustion, long

before the wreck would lose all of its buoyancy by this slow process,

than that even the strongest of their number could survive for such a

period. The new danger, therefore, lost most of its terrors under this

view of the subject, though it certainly did not add to the small sense

of security that remained, to know that inevitably their fate must

be sealed through its agency, should they be able to hold out for a

sufficient time against hunger and thirst. It caused Mulford to muse in

silence for many more minutes.

“I hope we are not altogether without food,” the mate at length said.

“It sometimes happens that persons at sea carry pieces of biscuit in

their pockets, especially those who keep watch at night. The smallest

morsel is now of the last importance.”

At this suggestion, every one set about an examination. The result was,

that neither Mrs. Budd nor Rose had a particle of food, of any sort,

about their persons. Biddy produced from her pockets, however, a whole

biscuit, a large bunch of excellent raisins that she had filched from

the steward's stores, and two apples,--the last being the remains of

some fruit that Spike had procured a month earlier in New York. Mulford

had half a biscuit, at which he had been accustomed to nibble in his

watches; and Jack lugged out, along with a small plug of tobacco, a

couple of sweet oranges. Here, then, was everything in the shape of

victuals or drink, that could be found for the use of five persons, in

all probability for many days. The importance of securing it for equal

distribution, was so obvious, that Mulford's proposal to do so met

with a common assent. The whole was put in Mrs. Budd's bag, and she was

intrusted with the keeping of this precious store.

“It may be harder to abstain from food at first, when we have not

suffered from its want, than it will become after a little endurance,”

said the mate. “We are now strong, and it will be wiser to fast as long

as we conveniently can, to-day, and relieve our hunger by a moderate

allowance toward evening, than to waste our means by too much indulgence

at a time when we are strong. Weakness will be sure to come if we remain

long on the wreck.”

“Have you ever suffered in this way, Harry?” demanded Rose, with

interest.

“I have, and that dreadfully. But a merciful Providence came to my

rescue then, and it may not fail me now. The seaman is accustomed to

carry his life in his hand, and to live on the edge of eternity.”

The truth of this was so apparent as to produce a thoughtful silence.

Anxious glances were cast around the horizon from time to time, in quest

of any sail that might come in sight, but uselessly. None appeared,

and the day advanced without bringing the slightest prospect of relief.

Mulford could see, by the now almost sunken hummocks, that they were

slowly drifting along the reef, toward the southward and eastward, a

current no doubt acting slightly from the north-west. Their proximity

to the reef, however, was of no advantage, as the distance was still

so great as to render any attempt to reach it, even on the part of the

mate, unavailable. Nor would he have been any better off could he have

gained a spot on the rocks that was shallow enough to admit of his

walking, since wading about in such a place would have been less

desirable than to be floating where he was.

The want of water to drink threatened to be the great evil. Of this, the

party on the wreck had not a single drop! As the warmth of the day

was added to the feverish feeling produced by excitement, they all

experienced thirst, though no one murmured. So utterly without means of

relieving this necessity did each person know them all to be, that no

one spoke on the subject at all. In fact, shipwreck never produced

a more complete destitution of all the ordinary agents of helping

themselves, in any form or manner, than was the case here. So sudden and

complete had been the disaster, that not a single article, beyond those

on the persons of the sufferers, came even in view. The masts, sails,

rigging, spare spars, in a word, everything belonging to the vessel was

submerged and hidden from their sight, with the exception of a portion

of the vessel's bottom, which might be forty feet in length, and some

ten or fifteen in width, including that which was above water on both

sides of the keel, though one only of these sides was available to the

females, as a place to move about on. Had Mulford only a boat-hook, he

would have felt it a relief; for not only did the sharks increase in

number, but they grew more audacious, swimming so near the wreck that,

more than once, Mulford apprehended that some one of the boldest of them

might make an effort literally to board them. It is true, he had never

known of one of these fishes attempting to quit his own element in

pursuit of his prey; but such things were reported, and those around the

wreck swam so close, and seemed so eager to get at those who were on it,

that there really might be some excuse for fancying they might resort to

unusual means of effecting their object. It is probable that, like

all other animals, they were emboldened by their own numbers, and were

acting in a sort of concert, that was governed by some of the many

mysterious laws of nature that have still escaped human observation.

Thus passed the earlier hours of that appalling day. Toward noon,

Mulford had insisted on the females dividing one of the oranges between

them, and extracting its juice by way of assuaging their thirst. The

effect was most grateful, as all admitted, and even Mrs. Budd urged

Harry and Tier to take a portion of the remaining orange; but this both

steadily refused. Mulford did consent to receive a small portion of one

of the apples, more with a view of moistening his throat than to appease

his hunger, though it had, in a slight degree, the latter effect also.

As for Jack Tier, he declined even the morsel of apple, saying that

tobacco answered his purpose, as indeed it temporarily might.

It was near sunset, when the steward's assistant called Mulford aside,

and whispered to him that he had something private to communicate. The

mate bade him say on, as they were out of ear-shot of their companions.

“I've been in sitiations like this afore,” said Jack, “and one l'arns

exper'ence by exper'ence. I know how cruel it is on the feelin's to have

the hopes disapp'inted in these cases, and therefore shall proceed with

caution. But, Mr. Mulford, there's a sail in sight, if there is a drop

of water in the Gulf!”

“A sail, Jack! I trust in Heaven you are not deceived!”

“Old eyes are true eyes in such matters, sir. Be careful not to start

the women. They go off like gunpowder, and, Lord help 'em! have no

more command over themselves, when you loosen 'em once, than so many

flying-fish with a dozen dolphins a'ter them. Look hereaway, sir, just

clear of the Irishwoman's bonnet, a little broad off the spot where the

reef was last seen--if that an't a sail, my flame is not Jack Tier.”

A sail there was, sure enough! It was so very distant, however, as to

render its character still uncertain, though Mulford fancied it was a

square-rigged vessel heading to the northward. By its position, it must

be in one of the channels of the reef, and by its course, if he were

not deceived, it was standing through, from the main passage along the

southern side of the rocks, to come out on the northern. All this was

favourable, and at first the young mate felt such a throbbing of the

heart as we all experience when great and unexpected good intelligence

is received. A moment's reflection, however, made him aware how little

was to be hoped for from this vessel. In the first place, her distance

was so great as to render it uncertain even which way she was steering.

Then, there was the probability that she would pass at so great a

distance as to render it impossible to perceive an object as low as the

wreck, and the additional chance of her passing in the night. Under all

the circumstances, therefore, Mulford felt convinced that there was very

little probability of their receiving any succour from the strange sail;

and he fully appreciated Jack Tier's motive in forbearing to give the

usual call of “Sail, ho!” when he made this discovery. Still, he could

not deny himself the pleasure of communicating to Rose the cheering

fact that a vessel was actually in sight. She could not reason on the

circumstances as he had done, and might at least pass several hours of

comparative happiness by believing that there was some visible chance of

delivery.

The females received the intelligence with very different degrees of

hope. Rose was delighted. To her their rescue appeared an event so very

probable now, that Harry Mulford almost regretted he had given rise

to an expectation which he himself feared was to be disappointed. The

feelings of Mrs. Budd were more suppressed. The wreck and her present

situation were so completely at variance with all her former notions of

the sea and its incidents, that she was almost dumb-founded, and

feared either to speak or to think. Biddy differed from either of her

mistresses--the young or the old; she appeared to have lost all hope,

and her physical energy was fast giving way under her profound moral

debility.

From the return of light that day, Mulford had thought, if it were

to prove that Providence had withdrawn its protecting hand from them,

Biddy, who to all appearance ought to be the longest liver among the

females at least, would be the first to sink under her sufferings. Such

is the influence of moral causes on the mere animal.

Rose saw the night shut in around them, amid the solemn solitude of

the ocean, with a mingled sensation of awe and hope. She had prayed

devoutly, and often, in the course of the preceding day, and her

devotions had contributed to calm her spirits. Once or twice, while

kneeling with her head bowed to the keel, she had raised her eyes toward

Harry with a look of entreaty, as if she would implore him to humble his

proud spirit and place himself at her side, and ask that succour from

God which was so much needed, and which indeed it began most seriously

to appear that God alone could yield. The young mate did not comply,

for his pride of profession and of manhood offered themselves as

stumbling-blocks to prevent submission to his secret wishes. Though he

rarely prayed, Harry Mulford was far from being an unbeliever, or

one altogether regardless of his duties and obligations to his Divine

Creator. On the contrary, his heart was more disposed to resort to such

means of self-abasement and submission, than he put in practice, and

this because he had been taught to believe that the Anglo-Saxon mariner

did not call on Hercules, on every occasion of difficulty and distress

that occurred, as was the fashion with the Italian and Romish seamen,

but he put his own shoulder to the wheel, confident that Hercules would

not forget to help him who knew how to help himself. But Harry had great

difficulty in withstanding Rose's silent appeal that evening, as she

knelt at the keel for the last time, and turned her gentle eyes upward

at him, as if to ask him once more to take his place at her side.

Withstand the appeal he did, however, though in his inward spirit he

prayed fervently to God to put away this dreadful affliction from the

young and innocent creature before him. When these evening devotions

were ended, the whole party became thoughtful and silent.

It was necessary to sleep, and arrangements were made to do so, if

possible, with a proper regard for their security. Mulford and Tier

were to have the look-out, watch and watch. This was done that no vessel

might pass near them unseen, and that any change in the weather might be

noted and looked to. As it was, the wind had fallen, and seemed about to

vary, though it yet stood in its old quarter, or a little more easterly,

perhaps. As a consequence, the drift of the wreck, insomuch as it

depended on the currents of the air, was more nearly in a line with the

direction of the reef, and there was little ground for apprehending that

they might be driven further from it in the night. Although that reef

offered in reality no place of safety, that was available to his party,

Mulford felt it as a sort of relief, to be certain that it was not

distant, possibly influenced by a vague hope that some passing wrecker

or turtler might yet pick them up.

The bottom of the schooner and the destitute condition of the party

admitted of only very simple arrangements for the night. The females

placed themselves against the keel in the best manner they could, and

thus endeavoured to get a little of the rest they so much needed. The

day had been warm, as a matter of course, and the contrast produced by

the setting of the sun was at first rather agreeable than otherwise.

Luckily Rose had thrown a shawl over her shoulders, not long before

the vessel capsized, and in this shawl she had been saved. It had been

dried, and it now served for a light covering to herself and her aunt,

and added essentially to their comfort. As for Biddy, she was too hardy

to need a shawl, and she protested that she should not think of using

one, had she been better provided. The patient, meek manner in which

that humble, but generous-hearted creature submitted to her fate, and

the earnestness with which she had begged that “Miss Rosy” might have

her morsel of the portion of biscuit each received for a supper, had

sensibly impressed Mulford in her favour; and knowing how much more

necessary food was to sustain one of her robust frame and sturdy habits,

than to Rose, he had contrived to give the woman, unknown to herself, a

double allowance. Nor was it surprising that Biddy did not detect this

little act of fraud in her favour, for this double allowance was merely

a single mouthful. The want of water had made itself much more

keenly felt than the want of food, for as yet anxiety, excitement and

apprehension prevented the appetite from being much awakened, while the

claims of thirst were increased rather than the reverse, by these very

causes. Still, no one had complained, on this or any other account,

throughout the whole of the long and weary day which had passed.

Mulford took the first look-out, with the intention of catching a

little sleep, if possible, during the middle hours of the night, and of

returning to his duty as morning approached. For the first hour nothing

occurred to divert his attention from brooding on the melancholy

circumstances of their situation. It seemed as if all around him had

actually lost the sense of their cares in sleep, and no sound was

audible amid that ocean waste, but the light washing of the water, as

the gentle waves rolled at intervals against the weather side of the

wreck. It was now that Mulford found a moment for prayer, and seated

on the keel, that he called on the Divine aid, in a fervent but silent

petition to God, to put away this trial from the youthful and beautiful

Rose, at least, though he himself perished. It was the first prayer that

Mulford had made in many months, or since he had joined the Swash--a

craft in which that duty was very seldom thought of.

A few minutes succeeded this petition, when Biddy spoke.

“Missus--Madam Budd--dear Missus”--half whispered the Irish woman,

anxious not to disturb Rose, who lay furthest from her--“Missus, bees ye

asleep at sich a time as this?”

“No, Biddy; sleep and I are strangers to each other, and are likely to

be till morning. What do you wish to say?”

“Anything is better than my own t'oughts, missus dear, and I wants to

talk to ye. Is it no wather at all they'll give us so long as we stay in

this place?”

“There is no one to give it to us but God, poor Biddy, and he alone can

say what, in his gracious mercy, it may please him to do. Ah! Biddy,

I fear me that I did an unwise and thoughtless thing, to bring my poor

Rose to such a place as this. Were it to be done over again, the riches

of Wall Street would not tempt me to be guilty of so wrong a thing!”

The arm of Rose was thrown around her aunt's neck, and its gentle

pressure announced how completely the offender was forgiven.

“I's very sorry for Miss Rose,” rejoined Biddy “and I suffers so much

the more meself in thinking how hard it must be for the like of her to

be wantin' in a swallow of fresh wather.”

“It is no harder for me to bear it, poor Biddy,” answered the gentle

voice of our heroine, “than it is for yourself.”

“Is it meself then? Sure am I, that if I had a quar-r-t of good, swate

wather from our own pump, and that's far betther is it than the Crothon

the best day the Crothon ever seed--but had I a quar-r-t of it, every

dhrap would I give to you, Miss Rose, to app'ase your thirst, I would.”

“Water would be a great relief to us all, just now, my excellent Biddy,”

answered Rose, “and I wish we had but a tumbler full of that you name,

to divide equally among the whole five of us.”

“Is it divide? Then it would be ag'in dividin' that my voice would be

raised, for that same ra'son that the tumbler would never hold as much

as you could dhrink yourself, Miss Rose.”

“Yet the tumbler full would be a great blessing for us all, just now,”

murmured Mrs. Budd.

“And is n't mutthon good 'atin', ladies! Och! if I had but a good swate

pratie, now, from my own native Ireland, and a dhrap of milk to help

wash it down! It's mighty little that a body thinks of sich thrifles

when there's abundance of them; but when there's none at all, they get

to be stronger in the mind than riches and honours.”

“You say the truth, Biddy,” rejoined the mistress, “and there is a

pleasure in talking of them, if one can't enjoy them. I've been thinking

all the afternoon, Rose, what a delicious food is a good roast turkey,

with cranberry sauce; and I wonder, now, that I have not been more

grateful for the very many that Providence has bestowed on me in my

time. My poor Mr. Budd was passionately fond of mutton, and I used

wickedly to laugh at his fondness for it, sometimes, when he always had

his answer ready, and that was that there are no sheep at sea. How true

that is, Rosy dear! there are indeed no sheep at sea!”

“No, aunty,” answered Rose's gentle voice from beneath the

shawl;--“there are no such animals on the ocean, but God is with us here

as much as he would be in New York.”

A long silence succeeded this simple remark of his well beloved, and

the young mate hoped that there would be no more of a dialogue, every

syllable of which was a dagger to his feelings. But nature was stronger

than reflection in Mrs. Budd and Biddy, and the latter spoke again,

after a pause of near a quarter of an hour.

“Pray for me, Missus,” she said, moaningly, “that I may sleep. A bit of

sleep would do a body almost as much good as a bit of bread--I won't say

as much as a dhrap of wather.”

“Be quiet, Biddy, and we will pray for you,” answered Rose, who fancied

by her breathing that her aunt was about to forget her sufferings for a

brief space, in broken slumbers.

“Is it for you I'll do that--and sure will I, Miss Rose. Niver would I

have quitted Ireland, could I have thought there was sich a spot on this

earth as a place where no wather was to be had.”

This was the last of Biddy's audible complaints, for the remainder of

this long and anxious watch of Mulford. He then set himself about an

arrangement which shall be mentioned in its proper place. At twelve

o'clock, or when he thought it was twelve, he called Jack Tier, who in

turn called the mate again at four.

“It looks dark and threatening,” said Mulford, as he rose to his feet

and began to look about him once more, “though there does not appear to

be any wind.”

“It's a flat calm, Mr. Mate, and the darkness comes from yonder cloud,

which seems likely to bring a little rain.”

“Rain! Then God is indeed with us here. You are right, Jack; rain must

fall from that cloud. We must catch some of it, if it be only a drop to

cool Rose's parched tongue.”

“In what?” answered Tier, gloomily. “She may wring her clothes when the

shower is over, and in that way get a drop. I see no other method.”

“I have bethought me of all that, and passed most of my watch in making

the preparations.”

Mulford then showed Tier what he had been about, in the long and

solitary hours of the first watch. It would seem that the young man

had dug a little trench with his knife, along the schooner's bottom,

commencing two or three feet from the keel, and near the spot where

Rose was lying, and carrying it as far as was convenient toward the run,

until he reached a point where he had dug out a sort of reservoir to

contain the precious fluid, should any be sent them by Providence. While

doing this, there were no signs of rain; but the young man knew that a

shower alone could save them from insanity, if not from death; and in

speculating on the means of profiting by one, should it come, he had

bethought him of this expedient. The large knife of a seaman had served

him a good turn, in carrying on his work, to complete which there

remained now very little to do, and that was in enlarging the receptacle

for the water. The hole was already big enough to contain a pint, and it

might easily be sufficiently enlarged to hold double that quantity.

Jack was no sooner made acquainted with what had been done, than he out

knife and commenced tearing splinter after splinter from the planks, to

help enlarge the reservoir. This could only be done by cutting on

the surface, for the wood was not three inches in thickness, and the

smallest hole through the plank, would have led to the rapid escape of

the air and to the certain sinking of the wreck. It required a good

deal of judgment to preserve the necessary level also, and Mulford was

obliged to interfere more than once to prevent his companion from doing

more harm than good. He succeeded, however, and had actually made a

cavity that might contain more than a quart of water, when the first

large drop fell from the heavens. This cavity was not a hole, but a

long, deep trench--deep for the circumstances--so nicely cut on the

proper level, as to admit of its holding a fluid in the quantity

mentioned.

“Rose--dearest--rise, and be ready to drink,” said Mulford, tenderly

disturbing the uneasy slumbers of his beloved. “It is about to rain, and

God is with us here, as he might be on the land.”

“Wather!” exclaimed Biddy, who was awoke with the same call. “What a

blessed thing is good swate wather, and sure am I we ought all to be

thankful that there is such a precious gift in the wor-r-ld.”

“Come, then,” said Mulford, hurriedly, “it will soon rain--I hear it

pattering on the sea. Come hither, all of you, and drink, as a merciful

God furnishes the means.”

This summons was not likely to be neglected. All arose in haste, and the

word “water” was murmured from every lip. Biddy had less self-command

than the others, and she was heard saying aloud,--“Och! and did n't

I dhrame of the blessed springs and wells of Ireland the night, and

haven't I dhrunk at 'em all? but now it's over, and I am awake, no good

has't done me, and I'm ready to die for one dhrap of wather.”

That drop soon came, however, and with it the blessed relief which such

a boon bestows. Mulford had barely time to explain his arrangements, and

to place the party on their knees, along his little reservoir and the

gutter which led to it, when the pattering of the rain advanced along

the sea, with a deep rushing sound. Presently, the uplifted faces and

open mouths caught a few heavy straggling drops, to cool the parched

tongues, when the water came tumbling down upon them in a thousand

little streams. There was scarcely any wind, and merely the skirt of a

large black cloud floated over the wreck, on which the rain fell barely

one minute. But it fell as rain comes down within the tropics, and in

sufficient quantities for all present purposes. Everybody drank, and

found relief, and, when all was over, Mulford ascertained by examination

that his receptacle for the fluid was still full to overflowing. The

abstinence had not been of sufficient length, nor the quantity taken of

large enough amount, to produce injury, though the thirst was generally

and temporarily appeased. It is probable that the coolness of the hour,

day dawning as the cloud moved past, and the circumstance that the

sufferers were wetted to their skins, contributed to the change.

“Oh, blessed, blessed wather!” exclaimed Biddy, as she rose from her

knees; “America, afther all, isn't as dhry a country as some say. I've

niver tasted swater wather in Ireland itself!”

Rose murmured her thanksgiving in more appropriate language. A few

exclamations also escaped Mrs. Budd, and Jack Tier had his sententious

eulogy on the precious qualities of sweet water.

The wind rose as the day advanced, and a swell began to heave the wreck

with a power that had hitherto been dormant. Mulford understood this to

be a sign that there had been a blow at some distance from them, that

had thrown the sea into a state of agitation, which extended itself

beyond the influence of the wind. Eagerly did the young mate examine the

horizon, as the curtain of night arose, inch by inch, as it might be,

on the watery panorama, in the hope that a vessel of some sort or other

might be brought within the view. Nor was he wholly disappointed. The

strange sail seen the previous evening was actually there; and what was

more, so near as to allow her hull to be distinctly visible. It was a

ship, under her square canvas, standing from between divided portions of

the reef, as if getting to the northward, in order to avoid the opposing

current of the Gulf Stream. Vessels bound to Mobile, New Orleans, and

other ports along the coast of the Republic, in that quarter of the

ocean, often did this; and when the young mate first caught glimpses of

the shadowy outline of this ship, he supposed it to be some packet, or

cotton-droger, standing for her port on the northern shore. But a few

minutes removed the veil, and with it the error of this notion. A seaman

could no longer mistake the craft. Her length, her square and massive

hamper, with the symmetry of her spars, and the long, straight outline

of the hull, left no doubt that it was a cruiser, with her hammocks

unstowed. Mulford now cheerfully announced to his companions, that the

ship they so plainly saw, scarcely a gun-shot distant from them, was the

sloop-of-war which had already become a sort of an acquaintance.

“If we can succeed in making them see our signal,” cried Mulford, “all

will yet be well. Come, Jack, and help me to put abroad this shawl, the

only ensign we can show.”

The shawl of Rose was the signal spread. Tier and Mulford stood on the

keel, and holding opposite corners, let the rest of the cloth blow out

with the wind. For near an hour did these two extend their arms, and

try all possible expedients to make their signal conspicuous. But,

unfortunately, the wind blew directly toward the cruiser, and instead of

exposing a surface of any breadth to the vision of those on board her,

it must, at most, have offered little more than a flitting, waving line.

As the day advanced, sail was made on the cruiser. She had stood through

the passage, in which she had been becalmed most of the night,

under short canvas; but now she threw out fold after fold of her

studding-sails, and moved away to the westward, with the stately motion

of a ship before the wind. No sooner had she got far enough to the

northward of the reef, than she made a deviation from her course

as first seen, turning her stern entirely to the wreck, and rapidly

becoming less and less distinct to the eyes of those who floated on it.

Mulford saw the hopelessness of their case, as it respected relief from

this vessel; still, he persevered in maintaining his position on the

keel, tossing and waving the shawl, in all the variations that his

ingenuity could devise. He well knew, however, that their chances of

being seen would have been trebled could they have been ahead instead

of astern of the ship. Mariners have few occasions to look behind them,

while a hundred watchful eyes are usually turned ahead, more especially

when running near rocks and shoals. Mrs. Budd wept like an infant when

she saw the sloop-of-war gliding away, reaching a distance that rendered

sight useless, in detecting an object that floated as low on the water

as the wreck. As for Biddy, unable to control her feelings, the poor

creature actually called to the crew of the departing vessel, as if her

voice had the power to make itself heard, at a distance which already

exceeded two leagues. It was only by means of the earnest remonstrances

of Rose, that the faithful creature could be quieted.

“Why will ye not come to our relaif?” she cried at the top of her voice.

“Here are we, helpless as new-born babies, and ye sailing away from us

in a conthrary way! D'ye not bethink you of the missus, who is much of

a sailor, but not sich a one as to sail on a wrack; and poor Miss Rose,

who is the char-rm and delight of all eyes. Only come and take off Miss

Rose, and lave the rest of us, if ye so likes; for it's a sin and a

shame to lave the likes of her to die in the midst of the ocean, as if

she was no betther nor a fish. Then it will be soon that we shall ag'in

feel the want of wather, and that, too, with nothing but wather to be

seen on all sides of us.”

“It is of no use,” said Harry, mournfully, stepping down from the keel,

and laying aside the shawl. “They cannot see us, and the distance is now

so great as to render it certain they never will. There is only one hope

left. We are evidently set to and fro by the tides, and it is possible

that by keeping in or near this passage, some other craft may appear,

and we be more fortunate. The relief of the rain is a sign that we are

not forgotten by Divine Providence, and with such a protector we ought

not to despair.”

A gloomy and scanty breaking of the fast succeeded. Each person had one

large mouthful of bread, which was all that prudence would authorize

Mulford to distribute. He attempted a pious fraud, however, by placing

his own allowance along with that of Rose's, under the impression that

her strength might not endure privation as well as his own. But the

tender solicitude of Rose was not to be thus deceived. Judging of his

wishes and motives by her own, she at once detected the deception,

and insisted on retaining no more than her proper share. When this

distribution was completed, and the meagre allowance taken, only

sufficient bread remained to make one more similar scanty meal, if meal

a single mouthful could be termed. As for the water, a want of which

would be certain to be felt as soon as the sun obtained its noon-day

power, the shawl was extended over it, in a way to prevent evaporation

as much as possible, and at the same time to offer some resistance to

the fluid's being washed from its shallow receptacle by the motion of

the wreck, which was sensibly increasing with the increase of the wind

and waves.

Mulford had next an anxious duty to perform. Throughout the whole of

the preceding day he had seen the air escaping from the hull, in an

incessant succession of small bubbles, which were formidable through

their numbers, if not through their size. The mate was aware that this

unceasing loss of the buoyant property of the wreck, must eventually

lead to their destruction, should no assistance come, and he had marked

the floating line, on the bottom of the vessel with his knife, ere

darkness set in, on the previous evening. No sooner did his thoughts

recur to this fact, after the excitement of the first hour of daylight

was over, than he stepped to the different places thus marked, and saw,

with an alarm that it would be difficult to describe, that the wreck had

actually sunk into the water several inches within the last few hours.

This was, indeed, menacing their security in a most serious manner,

setting a limit to their existence, which rendered all precaution on the

subject of food and water useless. By the calculations of the mate,

the wreck could not float more than eight-and-forty hours, should it

continue to lose the air at the rate at which it had been hitherto lost.

Bad as all this appeared, things were fated to become much more serious.

The motion of the water quite sensibly increased, lifting the wreck at

times in a way greatly to increase the danger of their situation. The

reader will understand this movement did not proceed from the waves of

the existing wind, but from what is technically called a ground-swell,

or the long, heavy undulations that are left by the tempest that is

past, or by some distant gale. The waves of the present breeze were

not very formidable, the reef making a lee; though they might possibly

become inconvenient from breaking on the weather side of the wreck,

as soon as the drift carried the latter fairly abreast of the passage

already mentioned. But the dangers that proceeded from the heavy

ground-swell, which now began to give a considerable motion to the

wreck, will best explain itself by narrating the incidents as they

occurred.

Harry had left his marks, and had taken his seat on the keel at Rose's

side, impatiently waiting for any turn that Providence might next give

to their situation, when a heavy roll of the wreck first attracted his

attention to this new circumstance.

“If any one is thirsty,” he observed quietly, “he or she had better

drink now, while it may be done. Two or three more such rolls as this

last will wash all the water from our gutters.”

“Wather is a blessed thing,” said Biddy, with a longing expression

of the eyes, “and it would be betther to swallow it than to let it be

lost.”

“Then drink, for Heaven's sake, good woman--it may be the last occasion

that will offer.”

“Sure am I that I would not touch a dhrap, while the missus and Miss

Rosy was a sufferin'.”

“I have no thirst at all,” answered Rose, sweetly, “and have already

taken more water than was good for me, with so little food on my

stomach.”

“Eat another morsel of the bread, beloved,” whispered Harry, in a manner

so urgent that Rose gratefully complied. “Drink, Biddy, and we will

come and share with you before the water is wasted by this increasing

motion.”

Biddy did as desired, and each knelt in turn and took a little of the

grateful fluid, leaving about a gill in the gutters for the use of those

whose lips might again become parched.

“Wather is a blessed thing,” repeated Biddy, for the twentieth time--“a

blessed, blessed thing is wather!”

A little scream from Mrs. Budd, which was dutifully taken up by the

maid, interrupted the speech of the latter, and every eye was turned on

Mulford, as if to ask an explanation of the groaning sound that had been

heard within the wreck. The young mate comprehended only too well. The

rolling of the wreck had lifted a portion of the open hatchway above

the undulating surface of the sea, and a large quantity of the pent air

within the hold had escaped in a body. The entrance of water to supply

the vacuum had produced the groan. Mulford had made new marks on the

vessel's bottom with his knife, and he stepped down to them, anxious and

nearly heart-broken, to note the effect. That one surging of the wreck

had permitted air enough to escape to lower it in the water several

inches. As yet, however, the visible limits of their floating foundation

had not been sufficiently reduced to attract the attention of the

females; and the young man said nothing on the subject. He thought that

Jack Tier was sensible of the existence of this new source of danger,

but if he were, that experienced mariner imitated his own reserve, and

made no allusion to it. Thus passed the day. Occasionally the wreck

rolled heavily, when more air escaped, the hull settling lower and lower

in the water as a necessary consequence. The little bubbles continued

incessantly to rise, and Mulford became satisfied that another day must

decide their fate. Taking this view of their situation, he saw no use in

reserving their food, but encouraged his companions to share the whole

of what remained at sunset. Little persuasion was necessary, and when

night once more came to envelope them in darkness, not a mouthful of

food or a drop of water remained to meet the necessities of the coming

morn. It had rained again for a short time, in the course of the

afternoon, when enough water had been caught to allay their thirst, and

what was almost of as much importance to the females now, a sufficiency

of sun had succeeded to dry their clothes, thus enabling them to sleep

without enduring the chilling damps that might otherwise have prevented

it. The wind had sensibly fallen, and the ground-swell was altogether

gone, but Mulford was certain that the relief had come too late. So much

air had escaped while it lasted as scarce to leave him the hope that

the wreck could float until morning. The rising of the bubbles was

now incessant, the crevices by which they escaped having most probably

opened a little, in consequence of the pressure and the unceasing action

of the currents, small as the latter were.

Just as darkness was shutting in around them for the second time, Rose

remarked to Mulford that it seemed to her that they had not as large a

space for their little world as when they were first placed on it. The

mate, however, successfully avoided an explanation; and when the watch

was again set for the night, the females lay down to seek their repose,

more troubled with apprehensions for a morrow of hunger and thirst,

than by any just fears that might so well have arisen from the physical

certainty that the body which alone kept them from being engulfed in

the sea, could float but a few hours longer. This night Tier kept the

look-out until Jupiter reached the zenith, when Mulford was called to

hold the watch until light returned.

It may seem singular that any could sleep at all in such a situation.

But we get accustomed, in an incredibly short time, to the most violent

changes; and calamities that seem insupportable, when looked at from a

distance, lose half their power if met and resisted with fortitude. The

last may, indeed, be too insignificant a word to be applied to all of

the party on the wreck, on the occasion of which we are writing, though

no one of them all betrayed fears that were troublesome. Of Mulford it

is unnecessary to speak. His deportment had been quiet, thoughtful, and

full of a manly interest in the comfort of others, from the first moment

of the calamity. That Rose should share the largest in his attentions

was natural enough, but he neglected no essential duty to her

companions. Rose, herself, had little hope of being rescued. Her

naturally courageous character, however, prevented any undue exhibitions

of despair, and now it was that the niece became the principal support

of the aunt, completely changing the relations that had formerly existed

between them. Mrs. Budd had lost all the little buoyancy of her mind.

Not a syllable did she now utter concerning ships and their manoeuvres.

She had been, at first, a little disposed to be querulous and

despairing, but the soothing and pious conversation of Rose awakened

a certain degree of resolution in her, and habit soon exercised its

influence over even her inactive mind. Biddy was a strange mixture of

courage, despair, humility, and consideration for others. Not once had

she taken her small allowance of food without first offering it, and

that, too, in perfect good faith, to her “Missus and Miss Rosy;” yet

her moanings for this sort of support, and her complaints of bodily

suffering much exceeded that of all the rest of the party put together.

As for Jack Tier, his conduct singularly belied his appearance. No one

would have expected any great show of manly resolution from the little

rotund, lymphatic figure of Tier; but he had manifested a calmness

that denoted either great natural courage, or a resolution derived from

familiarity with danger. In this particular, even Mulford regarded his

deportment with surprise, not unmingled with respect.

“You have had a tranquil watch, Jack,” said Harry, when he was called by

the person named, and had fairly aroused himself from his slumbers. “Has

the wind stood as it is since sunset?”

“No change whatever, sir. It has blown a good working breeze the whole

watch, and what is surprising not as much lipper has got up as would

frighten a colt on a sea-beach.”

“We must be near the reef, by that. I think the only currents we feel

come from the tide, and they seem to be setting us back and forth,

instead of carrying us in any one settled direction.”

“Quite likely, sir; and this makes my opinion of what I saw an hour

since all the more probable.”

“What you saw! In the name of a merciful Providence, Tier, do not trifle

with me! Has any thing been seen near by?”

“Don't talk to me of your liquors and other dhrinks,” murmured Biddy in

her sleep. “It's wather that is a blessed thing; and I wish I lived, the

night and the day, by the swate pump that's in our own yard, I do.”

“The woman has been talking in her sleep, in this fashion, most of the

watch,” observed Jack, coolly, and perhaps a little contemptuously.

“But, Mr. Mulford, unless my eyes have cheated me, we are near that boat

again. The passage through the reef is close aboard us, here, on our

larboard bow, as it might be, and the current has sucked us in it in a

fashion to bring it in a sort of athwart-hawse direction to us.”

“If that boat, after all, should be sent by Providence to our relief!

How long is it since you saw it, Jack.”

“But a bit since, sir; or, for that matter, I think I see it now. Look

hereaway, sir, just where the dead-eyes of the fore-rigging would bear

from us, if the craft stood upon her legs, as she ought to do. If that

isn't a boat, it's a rock out of water.”

Mulford gazed through the gloom of midnight, and saw, or fancied he saw,

an object that might really be the boat. It could not be very distant

either; and his mind was instantly made up as to the course he would

pursue. Should it actually turn out to be that which he now so much

hoped for, and its distance in the morning did not prove too great for

human powers, he was resolved to swim for it at the hazard of his life.

In the meantime, or until light should return, there remained nothing to

do but to exercise as much patience as could be summoned, and to confide

in God, soliciting his powerful succour by secret prayer.

Mulford was no sooner left alone, as it might be, by Tier's seeking a