But no--he surely is not dreaming.
Another minute makes it clear,
A scream, a rush, a burning tear,
From Inez' cheek, dispel the fear
That bliss like his is only seeming.
Washington Alston.
A moment of appalled surprise succeeded the instant when Harry and Rose
first ascertained the real character of the vessel that had entered the
haven of the Dry Tortugas. Then the first turned toward Jack Tier, and
sternly demanded an explanation of his apparent faithlessness.
“Rascal,” he cried, “has this treachery been intended? Did you not see
the brig and know her?”
“Hush, Harry--_dear_ Harry,” exclaimed Rose, entreatingly. “My life for
it, Jack has _not_ been faithless.”
“Why, then, has he not let us know that the brig was coming? For more
than an hour has he been aloft, on the look-out, and here are we taken
quite by surprise. Rely on it, Rose, he has seen the approach of the
brig, and might have sooner put us on our guard.”
“Ay, ay, lay it on, maty,” said Jack, coolly, neither angry nor
mortified, so far as appearances went, at these expressions of
dissatisfaction; “my back is used to it. If I did n't know what it is to
get hard raps on the knuckles, I should be but a young steward. But, as
for this business, a little reflection will tell you I am not to blame.”
“Give us your own explanations, for without them I shall trust you no
longer.”
“Well, sir, what good would it have done, _had_ I told you the brig was
standing for this place? There she came down, like a race-horse, and
escape for you was impossible. As the wind is now blowin', the Molly
would go two feet to the boat's one, and a chase would have been
madness.”
“I don't know that, sirrah” answered the mate. “The boat might have got
into the smaller passages of the reef, where the brig could not enter,
or she might have dodged about among these islets, until it was night,
and then escaped in the darkness.”
“I thought of all that, Mr. Mulford, but it came too late. When I first
went aloft, I came out on the north-west side of the lantern, and took
my seat, to look out for the sloop-of-war, as you bade me, sir. Well,
there I was sweepin' the horizon with the glass for the better part of
an hour, sometimes fancyin' I saw her, and then givin' it up; for
to this moment I am not sartain there is n't a sail off here to the
westward, turning up toward the light on a bowline; but if there be,
she's too far off to know anything partic'lar about her. Well, sir,
there I sat, looking for the Poughkeepsie, for the better part of an
hour, when I thought I would go round on t' other side of the lantern
and take a look to windward. My heart was in my mouth, I can tell you,
Miss Rose, when I saw the brig; and I felt both glad and sorry. Glad on
my own account, and sorry on your'n. There she was, however, and no help
for it, within two miles of this very spot, and coming down as if she
despised touching the water at all. Now, what could I do? There was n't
time, Mr. Mulford, to get the boat out, and the mast stepped, afore we
should have been within reach of canister, and Stephen Spike would not
have spared _that,_ in order to get you again within his power.”
“Depend on it, Harry, this is all true,” said Rose, earnestly. “I know
Jack well, and can answer for his fidelity. He wishes to, and if he can
he _will_ return to the brig, whither he thinks his duty calls him, but
he will never willingly betray _us_--least of all, _me_. Do I speak as I
ought, Jack?”
“Gospel truth, Miss Rose, and Mr. Mulford will get over this squall,
as soon as he comes to think of matters as he ought. There 's my hand,
maty, to show I bear no malice.”
“I take it, Jack, for I must believe you honest, after all you have done
for us. Excuse my warmth, which, if a little unreasonable, was somewhat
natural under the circumstances. I suppose our case is now hopeless, and
that we shall all be soon on board the brig again; for Spike will hardly
think of abandoning me again on an island provisioned and fitted as is
this!”
“It's not so sartain, sir, that you fall into his hands at all,” put
in Jack. “The men of the brig will never come here of their own accord,
depend on that, for sailors don't like graves. Spike has come in here
a'ter the schooner's chain, that he dropped into the water when he made
sail from the sloop-of-war, at the time he was here afore, and is not
expectin' to find us here. No--no--he thinks we are beatin' up toward
Key West this very minute, if, indeed, he has missed us at all. 'T is
possible he believes the boat has got adrift by accident, and has no
thought of our bein' out of the brig.”
“That is impossible, Jack. Do you suppose he is ignorant that Rose is
missing?”
“Sartain of it, maty, if Mrs. Budd has read the letter well that Miss
Rose left for her, and Biddy has obeyed orders. If they've followed
instructions, Miss Rose is thought to be in her state-room, mournin' for
a young man who was abandoned on a naked rock, and Jack Tier, havin' eat
somethin' that has disagreed with him, is in his berth. Recollect, Spike
will not be apt to look into Miss Rose's state-room or my berth, to see
if all this is true. The cook and Josh are both in my secret, and know
I mean to come back, and when the fit is over I have only to return to
duty, like any other hand. It is my calculation that Spike believes both
Miss Rose and myself on board the Molly at this very moment.”
“And the boat--what can he suppose has become of the boat?”
“Sartainly, the boat makes the only chance ag'in us. But the boat was
ridin' by its painter astarn, and accidents sometimes happen to such
craft. Then we two are the wery last he will suspect of havin' made off
in the boat by ourselves. There'll be Mrs. Budd and Biddy as a sort
of pledge that Miss Rose is aboard, and as for Jack Tier, he is too
insignificant to occupy the captain's thoughts just now. He will
probably muster the people for'ard, when he finds the boat is gone, but
I do not think he'll trouble the cabins or state-rooms.”
Mulford admitted that this was _possible,_ though it scarcely seemed
probable to him. There was no help, however, for the actual state of
things, and they all now turned their attention to the brig, and to the
movements of those on board her. Jack Tier had swung-to the outer-door
of the house, as soon as the Swash came in view through it, and
fortunately none of the windows on that side of the building had been
opened at all. The air entered to windward, which was on the rear of the
dwelling, so that it was possible to be comfortable and yet leave the
front, in view from the vessel, with its deserted air. As for the brig,
she had already anchored and got both her boats into the water. The
yawl was hauled alongside, in readiness for any service that might
be required of it, while the launch had been manned at once, and was
already weighing the anchor, and securing the chain to which Tier had
alluded. All this served very much to lessen the uneasiness of Mulford
and Rose, as it went far to prove that Spike had not come to the
Dry Tortugas in quest of them, as, at first, both had very naturally
supposed. It might, indeed, turn out that his sole object was to obtain
this anchor and chain, with a view to use them in raising the ill-fated
vessel that had now twice gone to the bottom.
“I wish an explanation with you, Jack, on one other point,” said the
mate, after all three had been for sometime observing the movements on
board and around the Swash. “Do you actually intend to get on board the
brig?”
“If it's to be done, maty. My v'y'ge is up with you and Miss Rose. I
may be said to have shipped for Key West and a market, and the market's
found at this port.”
“You will hardly leave us _yet,_ Jack,” said Rose, with a manner and
emphasis that did not fail to strike her betrothed lover, though he
could in no way account for either. That Rose should not wish to be
left alone with him in that solitary place was natural enough; or, might
rather be referred to education and the peculiar notions of her sex; but
he could not understand why so much importance should be attached to
the presence of a being of Jack Tier's mould and character. It was
true, that there was little choice, under present circumstances, but
it occurred to Mulford that Rose had manifested the same strange
predilection when there might have been something nearer to a selection.
The moment, however, was not one for much reflection on the subject.
“You will hardly leave us yet, Jack?” said Rose, in the manner related.
“It's now or never, Miss Rose. If the brig once gets away from this
anchorage without me, I may never lay eyes on her ag'in. Her time is
nearly up, for wood and iron wont hold together always, any more than
flesh and blood. Consider how many years I've been busy in huntin' her
up, and how hard 't will be to lose that which has given me so many
weary days and sleepless nights to find.”
Rose said no more. If not convinced, she was evidently silenced, while
Harry was left to wonder and surmise, as best he might. Both quitted the
subject, to watch the people of the brig. By this time the anchor had
been lifted, and the chain was heaving in on board the vessel, by means
of a line that had been got around its bight. The work went on rapidly,
and Mulford observed to Rose that he did not think it was the intention
of Spike to remain long at the Tortugas, inasmuch as his brig was riding
by a very short range of cable. This opinion was confirmed, half an hour
later, when it was seen that the launch was hooked on and hoisted in
again, as soon as the chain and anchor of the schooner were secured.
Jack Tier watched every movement with palpable uneasiness. His
apprehensions that Spike would obtain all he wanted, and be off before
he could rejoin him, increased at each instant, and he did not scruple
to announce an intention to take the boat and go alongside of the Swash
at every hazard, rather than be left.
“You do not reflect on what you say, Jack,” answered Harry; “unless,
indeed, it be your intention to betray us. How could you appear in the
boat, at this place, without letting it be known that we must be hard
by?”
“That don't follow at all, maty,” answered Jack. “Suppose I go alongside
the brig and own to the captain that I took the boat last night, with
the hope of findin' you, and that failin' to succeed, I bore up for this
port, to look for provisions and water. Miss Rose he thinks on board at
this moment, and in my judgment he would take me at my word, give me a
good cursing, and think no more about it.”
“It would never do, Jack,” interposed Rose, instantly. “It would cause
the destruction of Harry, as Spike would not believe you had not found
him, without an examination of this house.”
“What are they about with the yawl, Mr. Mulford?” asked Jack, whose eye
was never off the vessel for a single moment. “It's gettin' to be so
dark that one can hardly see the boat, but it seems as if they're about
to man the yawl.”
“They are, and there goes a lantern into it. And that is Spike himself
coming down the brig's side this instant.”
“They can only bring a lantern to search this house,” exclaimed Rose.
“Oh! Harry, you are lost!”
“I rather think the lantern is for the light-house,” answered Mulford,
whose coolness, at what was certainly a most trying moment, did not
desert him. “Spike may wish to keep the light burning, for once before,
you will remember, he had it kindled after the keeper was removed. As
for his sailing, he would not be apt to sail until the moon rises; and
in beating back to the wreck the light may serve to let him know the
bearings and position of the reef.”
“There they come,” whispered Rose, half breathless with alarm. “The boat
has left the brig, and is coming directly hither!”
All this was true enough. The yawl had shoved off, and with two men to
row it, was pulling for the wharf in front of the house, and among the
timbers of which lay the boat, pretty well concealed beneath a sort of
bridge. Mulford would not retreat, though he looked to the fastenings
of the door as a means of increasing his chances of defence. In
the stern-sheets of the boat sat two men, though it was not easy to
ascertain who they were by the fading light. One was known to be
Spike, however, and the other, it was conjectured, must be Don Juan
Montefalderon, from the circumstance of his being in the place of
honour. Three minutes solved this question, the boat reaching the wharf
by that time. It was instantly secured, and all four of the men left it.
Spike was now plainly to be discerned by means of the lantern which
he carried in his own hands, He gave some orders, in his customary
authoritative way, and in a high key, after which he led the way from
the wharf, walking side by side with the Señor Montefalderon. These two
last came up within a yard of the door of the house, where they paused,
enabling those within not only to see their persons and the working of
their countenances, but to hear all that was said; this last the more
especially, since Spike never thought it necessary to keep his powerful
voice within moderate limits.
“It's hardly worth while, Don Wan, for you to go into the light-house,”
said Spike. “'T is but a greasy, dirty place at the best, and one's
clothes are never the better for dealin' with ile. Here, Bill, take the
lantern, and get a filled can, that we may go up and trim and fill the
lamp, and make a blaze. Bear a hand, lads, and I'll be a'ter ye afore
you reach the lantern. Be careful with the flame about the ile, for
seamen ought never to wish to see a lighthouse destroyed.”
“What do you expect to gain by lighting the lamps above, Don Esteban?”
demanded the Mexican, when the sailors had disappeared in the
light-house, taking their own lantern with them.
“It's wisest to keep things reg'lar about this spot, Don Wan, which will
prevent unnecessary suspicions. But, as the brig stretches in toward the
reef to-night, on our way back, the light will be a great assistance. I
am short of officers, you know, and want all the help of this sort I can
get.”
“To be sincere with you, Don Esteban, I greatly regret you _are_ so
short of officers, and do not yet despair of inducing you to go and take
off the mate, whom I hear you have left on a barren rock. He was a fine
young fellow, Señor Spike, and the deed was not one that you will wish
to remember a few years hence.”
“The fellow run, and I took him at his word, Don Wan. I'm not obliged to
receive back a deserter unless it suits me.”
“We are all obliged to see we do not cause a fellow creature the loss
of life. This will prove the death of the charming young woman who is so
much attached to him, unless you relent and are merciful!”
“Women have tender looks but tough hearts,” answered Spike, carelessly,
though Mulford felt certain, by the tone of his voice, that great
bitterness of feeling lay smothered beneath the affected indifference of
his manner; “few die of love.”
“The young lady has not been on deck all day; and the Irish woman tells
me that she does nothing but drink water--the certain proof of a high
fever.”
“Ay, ay, she keeps her room if you will, Don Wan, but she is not about
to make a dupe of me by any such tricks. I must go and look to the
lamps, however, and you will find the graves you seek in the rear of
this house, about thirty yards behind it, you'll remember. That's a very
pretty cross you've made, señor, and the skipper of the schooner's soul
will be all the better for settin' it up at the head of his grave.”
“It will serve to let those who come after us know that a Christian
sleeps beneath the sand, Don Esteban,” answered the Mexican, mildly. “I
have no other expectation from this sacred symbol.”
The two now separated, Spike going into the light-house, little in a
hurry, while Don Juan Montefalderon walked round the building to its
rear in quest of the grave. Mulford waited a moment for Spike to get a
short distance up the stairs of the high tower he had to ascend, when
placing the arm of Rose within his own, he opened the door in the
rear of the house, and walked boldly toward the Mexican. Don Juan was
actually forcing the pointed end of his little cross into the sand,
at the head of his countryman's grave, when Mulford and his trembling
companion reached the spot. Although night had shut in, it was not so
dark that persons could not be recognised at small distances. The Señor
Montefalderon was startled at an apparition so sudden and unexpected,
when Mulford saluted him by name; but recognising first the voice of
Harry, and then the persons of himself and his companion,
surprise, rather than alarm, became the emotion that was uppermost.
Notwithstanding the strength of the first of these feelings, he
instantly saluted the young couple with the polished ease that marked
his manner, which had much of the courtesy of a Castilian in it,
tempered a little, perhaps, by the greater flexibility of a Southern
American.
“I _see_ you,” exclaimed Don Juan, “and must believe my eyes. Without
their evidence, however, I could scarce believe it can be you two, one
of whom I thought on board the brig, and the other suffering a most
miserable death on a naked rock.”
“I am aware of your kind feelings in our behalf, Don Juan,” said
Mulford, “and it is the reason I now confide in you. I was taken off
that rock by means of the boat, which you doubtless have missed; and
this is the gentle being who has been the means of saving my life. To
her and Jack Tier, who is yonder, under the shadows of the house, I owe
my not being the victim of Spike's cruelty.”
“I now comprehend the whole matter, Don Henriquez. Jack Tier has managed
the boat for the señorita; and those whom we were told were too ill to
be seen on deck, have been really out of the brig!”
“Such are the facts, señor, and from _you_ there is no wish to conceal
them. We are then to understand that the absence of Rose and Jack from
the brig is not known to Spike.”
“I believe not, señor. He has alluded to both, once or twice to-day, as
being ill below; but would you not do well to retire within the shade of
the dwelling, lest a glance from the lantern might let those in it know
that I am not alone.”
“There is little danger, Don Juan, as they who stand near a light cannot
well see those who are in the darkness. Beside, they are high in the
air, while we are on the ground, which will greatly add to the obscurity
down here. We can retire, nevertheless, as I have a few questions to
ask, which may as well be put in perfect security, as put where there is
any risk.”
The three now drew near the house, Rose actually stepping within its
door, though Harry remained on its exterior, in order to watch the
proceedings of those in the light-house. Here the Señor Montefalderon
entered into a more detailed explanation of what had occurred on board
the brig, since the appearance of day, that very morning. According to
his account of the matter, Spike had immediately called upon the people
to explain the loss of the boat. Tier was not interrogated on this
occasion, it being understood he had gone below and turned in, after
having the look-out for fully half the night. As no one could, or would,
give an account of the manner in which the boat was missing, Josh was
ordered to go below and question Jack on the subject. Whether it was
from consciousness of his connection with the escape of Jack, and
apprehensions of the consequences, or from innate good-nature, and
a desire to befriend the lovers, this black now admitted that Jack
confessed to him that the boat had got away from him while endeavouring
to shift the turns of its painter from a cleet where they ought not
to be, to their proper place. This occurred early in Jack's watch,
according to Josh's story, and had not been reported, as the boat did
not properly belong to the brig, and was an incumbrance rather than an
advantage. The mate admired the negro's cunning, as Don Juan related
this part of his story, which put him in a situation to throw all the
blame on Jack's mendacity in the event of a discovery, while it had the
effect to allow the fugitives more time for their escape. The result
was, that Spike bestowed a few hearty curses, as usual, on the
clumsiness of Jack Tier, and seemed to forget all about the matter. It
is probable he connected Jack's abstaining from showing himself on deck,
and his alleged indisposition, with his supposed delinquency in this
matter of the boat. From that moment the captain appeared to give
himself no further concern on the subject, the boat having been, in
truth, an incumbrance rather than a benefit, as stated.
As for Rose, her keeping her room, under the circumstances, was so very
natural, that the Señor Montefalderon had been completely deceived, as,
from his tranquillity on this point, there was no question was the case
with Spike also. Biddy appeared on deck, though the widow did not, and
the Irish woman shook her head anxiously when questioned about her young
mistress, giving the spectators reason to suppose that the latter was in
a very bad way.
As respects the brig and her movements, Spike had got under way as soon
as there was light enough to find his course, and had run through the
passage. It is probable that the boat was seen; for something that was
taken for a small sail had just been made out for a single instant, and
then became lost again. This little sail was made, if made at all, in
the direction of the Dry Tortugas, but so completely was all suspicion
at rest in the minds of those on the quarter-deck of the Swash, that
neither Spike nor the Mexican had the least idea what it was. When
the circumstance was reported to the former, he answered that it was
probably some small wrecker, of which many were hovering about the reef,
and added, laughingly, though in a way to prove how little he thought
seriously on the subject at all, “who knows but the light-house boat has
fallen into their hands, and that they've made sail on _her;_ if they
have, my word for it, that she goes, hull, spars, rigging, canvas, and
cargo, all in a lump, for salvage.”
As the brig came out of the passage, in broad day, the heads of the
schooner's masts were seen, as a matter of course. This induced Spike to
heave-to, lower a boat, and to go in person to examine the condition
of the wreck. It will be seen that Jack's presence could now be all the
better dispensed with. The examination, with the soundings, and other
calculations connected with raising the vessel, occupied hours. When
they were completed, Spike returned on board, run up his boat, and
squared away for the Dry Tortugas. Señor Montefalderon confirmed the
justice of Jack Tier's surmises, as to the object of this unexpected
visit. The brig had come solely for the chain and anchor mentioned, and
having secured them, it was Spike's intention to get under way and beat
up to the wreck again as soon as the moon rose. As for the sloop-of-war,
he believed she had given him up; for by this time she must know that
she had no chance with the brig, so long as the latter kept near the
reef, and that she ran the constant hazard of shipwreck, while playing
so near the dangers herself.
Before the Señor Montefalderon exhausted all he had to communicate, he
was interrupted by Jack Tier with a singular proposition. Jack's great
desire was to get on board the Swash; and he now begged the Mexican to
let Mulford take the yawl and scull him off to the brig, and return
to the islet before Spike and his companions should descend from
the lantern of the light-house. The little fellow insisted there was
sufficient time for such a purpose, as the three in the lantern had
not yet succeeded in filling the lamps with the oil necessary to their
burning for a night--a duty that usually occupied the regular keeper for
an hour. Five or six minutes would suffice for him; and if he were seen
going up the brig's side, it would be easy for him to maintain that he
had come ashore in the boat. No one took such precise note of what was
going on; as to be able to contradict him; and as to Spike and the men
with him, they would probably never hear anything about it.
Don Juan Montefalderon was struck with the boldness of Jack Tier's
plan, but refused his assent to it. He deemed it too hazardous, but
substituted a project of his own. The moon would not rise until near
eleven, and it wanted several hours before the time of sailing. When
they returned to the brig, he would procure his cloak, and scull himself
ashore, being perfectly used to managing a boat in this way, under
the pretence of wishing to pass an hour longer near the grave of his
countryman. At the expiration of that hour he would take Jack off,
concealed beneath his cloak--an exploit of no great difficulty in
the darkness, especially as no one would be on deck but a hand or two
keeping the anchor-watch. With this arrangement, therefore, Jack Tier
was obliged to be content.
Some fifteen or twenty minutes more passed; during which the Mexican
again alluded to his country, and his regrets at her deplorable
situation. The battles of the 8th and 9th of May; two combats that ought
to, and which will reflect high honour on the little army that won them,
as well as on that hardly worked, and in some respects hardly used,
service to which they belong, had been just fought. Don Juan mentioned
these events without reserve; and frankly admitted that success had
fallen to the portion of much the weaker party. He ascribed the victory
to the great superiority of the American officers of inferior rank; it
being well known that in the service of the “Republic of the North,” as
he termed America, men who had been regularly educated at the military
academy, and who had reached the period of middle life, were serving in
the stations of captains, and sometimes in that of lieutenants; men who,
in many cases, were fitted to command regiments and brigades, having
been kept in these lower stations by the tardiness with which promotion
comes in an army like that of this country.
Don Juan Montefalderon was not sufficiently conversant with the subject,
perhaps, else he might have added, that when occasions _do_ offer
to bestow on these gentlemen the preferment they have so hardly and
patiently earned, they are too often neglected, in order to extend the
circle of vulgar political patronage. He did not know that when a new
regiment of dragoons was raised, one permanent in its character, and
intended to be identified with the army in all future time, that,
instead of giving its commissions to those who had fairly earned them by
long privations and faithful service, they were given, with one or two
exceptions, to strangers.
No government trifles more with its army and navy than our own. So
niggardly are the master-spirits at Washington of the honours justly
earned by military men, that we have fleets still commanded by captains,
and armies by officers whose regular duty it would be to command
brigades. The world is edified with the sight of forces sufficient, in
numbers, and every other military requisite, to make one of Napoleon's
_corps de armée,_ led by one whose commission would place him properly
at the head of a brigade, and nobly led, too. Here, when so favourable
an occasion offers to add a regiment or two to the old permanent line
of the army, and thus infuse new life into its hope deferred, the
opportunity is overlooked, and the rank and file are to be obtained
by cramming, instead of by a generous regard to the interests of the
gallant gentlemen who have done so much for the honour of the American
name, and, unhappily, so little for themselves. The extra-patriots of
the nation, and they form a legion large enough to trample the “Halls of
the Montezumas” under their feet, tell us that the reward of those other
patriots beneath the shadows of the Sierra Madre, is to be in the love
and approbation of their fellow citizens, at the very moment when they
are giving the palpable proof of the value of this esteem, and of the
inconstancy of popular applause, by pointing their fingers, on account
of an inadvertent expression in a letter, at the gallant soldier who
taught, in our own times, the troops of this country to stand up to the
best appointed regiments of England, and to carry off victory from the
pride of Europe, in fair field-fights. Alas! alas! it is true of nations
as well as of men, in their simplest and earliest forms of association,
that there are “secrets in all families;” and it will no more do to
dwell on our own, than it would edify us to expose those of poor Mexico.
The discourse between the Señor Montefalderon and Mulford was
interesting, as it ever has been when the former spoke of his
unfortunate country. On the subject of the battles of May he was candid,
and admitted his deep mortification and regrets. He had expected more
from the force collected on the Rio Grande, though, understanding the
northern character better than most of his countrymen, he had not been
as much taken by surprise as the great bulk of his own nation.
“Nevertheless, Don Henrique,” he concluded, for the voice of Spike was
just then heard as he was descending the stairs of the light-house,
“nevertheless, Don Henrique, there is one thing that your people, brave,
energetic, and powerful as I acknowledge them to be, would do well to
remember, and it is this--no nation of the numbers of ours can be, or
ever was conquered, unless by the force of political combinations. In
a certain state of society a government may be overturned, or a capital
taken, and carry a whole country along with it, but our condition is one
not likely to bring about such a result. We are of a race different from
the Anglo-Saxon, and it will not be easy either to assimilate us to your
own, or wholly to subdue us. In those parts of the country, where
the population is small, in time, no doubt, the Spanish race might be
absorbed, and your sway established; but ages of war would be necessary
entirely to obliterate our usages, our language, and our religion from
the peopled portions of Mexico.”
It might be well for some among us to reflect on these matters.
The opinions of Don Juan, in our judgment, being entitled to the
consideration of all prudent and considerate men.
As Spike descended to the door of the light-house, Harry, Rose, and Jack
Tier retired within that of the dwelling. Presently the voice of the
captain was heard hailing the Mexican, and together they walked to the
wharf, the former boasting to the latter of his success in making a
brilliant light. Brilliant it was, indeed; so brilliant as to give
Mulford many misgivings on the subject of the boat. The light from the
lantern fell upon the wharf, and he could see the boat from the window
where he stood, with Spike standing nearly over it, waiting for the men
to get his own yawl ready. It is true, the captain's back was toward the
dangerous object, and the planks of the bridge were partly between him
and it; but there was a serious danger that was solely averted by the
circumstance that Spike was so earnestly dilating on some subject to Don
Juan, as to look only at that gentleman's face. A minute later they were
all in the yawl, which pulled rapidly toward the brig.
Don Juan Montefalderon was not long absent. Ten minutes sufficed for the
boat to reach the Swash, for him to obtain his cloak, and to return to
the islet alone, no one in the vessel feeling a desire to interfere with
his imaginary prayers. As for the people, it was not probable that one
in the brig could have been induced to accompany him to the graves
at that hour; though everybody but Josh had turned-in, as he informed
Mulford, to catch short naps previously to the hour of getting the brig
under way. As for the steward, he had been placed on the look-out as
the greatest idler on board. All this was exceedingly favourable to Jack
Tier's project, since Josh was already in the secret of his absence, and
would not be likely to betray his return. After a brief consultation, it
was agreed to wait half an hour or an hour, in order to let the sleepers
lose all consciousness, when Don Juan proposed returning to the vessel
with his new companion.
The thirty or forty minutes that succeeded were passed in general
conversation. On this occasion the Señor Montefalderon spoke more freely
than he had yet done of recent events. He let it be plainly seen how
much he despised Spike, and how irksome to him was the intercourse he
was obliged to maintain, and to which he only submitted through a sense
of duty. The money known to be in the schooner, was of a larger amount
than had been supposed; and every dollar was so important to Mexico, at
that moment, that he did not like to abandon it, else, did he declare,
that he would quit the brig at once, and share in the fortunes of Harry
and Rose. He courteously expressed his best wishes for the happiness
of the young couple, and delicately intimated that, under the
circumstances, he supposed that they would be united as soon as they
could reach a place where the marriage rite could be celebrated. This
was said in the most judicious way possible; so delicately as not to
wound any one's feelings, and in a way to cause it to resemble the
announcement of an expectation, rather than the piece of paternal
advice for which it was really intended. Harry was delighted with this
suggestion of his Mexican friend--the most loyal American may still have
a sincere friend of Mexican birth and Mexican feelings, too--since it
favoured not only his secret wishes, but his secret expectations also.
At the appointed moment, Don Juan Montefalderon and Jack Tier took their
leave of the two they left behind them. Rose manifested what to Harry
seemed a strange reluctance to part with the little steward; but Tier
was bent on profiting by this excellent opportunity to get back to the
brig. They went, accordingly, and the anxious listeners, who watched the
slightest movement of the yawl, from the shore, had reason to believe
that Jack was smuggled in without detection. They heard the familiar
sound of the oar falling in the boat, and Mulford said that Josh's voice
might be distinguished, answering to a call from Don Juan. No noise
or clamour was heard, such as Spike would certainly have made, had he
detected the deception that had been practised on himself.
Harry and Rose were now alone. The former suggested that the latter
should take possession of one of the little bed-rooms that are usually
to be found in American dwellings of the dimensions and humble character
of the lighthouse abode, while he kept watch until the brig should sail.
Until Spike was fairly off, he would not trust himself to sleep; but
there was no sufficient reason why Rose should not endeavour to repair
the evil of a broken night's rest, like that which had been passed in
the boat. With this understanding, then, our heroine took possession of
her little apartment, where she threw herself on the bed in her clothes,
while Mulford walked out into the air, as the most effective means of
helping to keep his eyes open.
It was now some time past ten, and before eleven the moon would rise.
The mate consequently knew that his watch could not be long before
Spike would quit the neighbourhood--a circumstance pregnant with immense
relief to him, at least. So long as that unscrupulous, and now nearly
desperate, man remained anywhere near Rose, he felt that she could not
be safe; and as he paced the sands, on the off, or outer side of the
islet, in order to be beyond the influence of the light in the lantern,
his eye was scarcely a moment taken away from the Swash, so impatiently
and anxiously did he wait for the signs of some movement on board her.
The moon rose, and Mulford heard the well-known raps on the booby-hatch,
which precedes the call of “all hands,” on board a merchant-man. “All
hands up anchor, ahoy!” succeeded, and in less than five minutes the
bustle on board the brig announced the fact, that her people were
“getting the anchor.” By this time it had got to be so light that the
mate deemed it prudent to return to the house, in order that he might
conceal his person within its shadows. Awake Rose he would not, though
he knew she would witness the departure of the Swash with a satisfaction
little short of his own. He thought he would wait, that when he did
speak to her at all, it might be to announce their entire safety.
As regarded the aunt, Rose was much relieved on her account, by the
knowledge that Jack Tier would not fail to let Mrs. Budd know everything
connected with her own situation and prospects. The desertion of Jack,
after coming so far with her, had pained our heroine in a way we cannot
at present explain; but go he would, probably feeling assured there was
no longer any necessity for his continuance with the lovers, in order to
prevail on Rose to escape from Spike.
The Swash was not long in getting her ground-tackle, and the brig was
soon seen with her topsail aback, waiting to cat the anchor. This done,
the yards swung round, and the topsail filled. It was blowing just a
good breeze for such a craft to carry whole sail on a bow-line with,
and away the light and active craft started, like the racer that is
galloping for daily exercise. Of course there were several passages by
which a vessel might quit the group of islets, some being larger, and
some smaller, but all having sufficient water for a brigantine of
the Molly's draught. Determined not to lose an inch of distance
unnecessarily, Spike luffed close up to the wind, making an effort to
pass out to windward of the light. In order to do this, however, it
became necessary for him to make two short tacks within the haven,
which brought him far enough to the southward and eastward to effect his
purpose. While this was doing, the mate, who perfectly understood the
object of the manoeuvres, passed to the side of the light-house that was
opposite to that on which the dwelling was placed, with a view to get a
better sight of the vessel as she stood out to sea. In order to do this,
however, it was necessary for the young man to pass through a broad bit
of moonlight but he trusted for his not being seen, to the active manner
in which all hands were employed on board the vessel. It would seem
that, in this respect, Mulford trusted without his host, for as the
vessel drew near, he perceived that six or eight figures were on
the guns of the Swash, or in her rigging, gesticulating eagerly, and
seemingly pointing to the very spot where he stood. When the brig got
fairly abeam of the light, she would not be a hundred yards distant from
it, and fearful to complete the exposure of his person, which he had so
inadvertently and unexpectedly commenced, our mate drew up close to
the wall of the light-house, against which he sustained himself in a
position as immovable as possible. This movement had been seen by a
single seaman on board the Swash, and the man happened to be one of
those who had landed with Spike only two hours before. His name was
Barlow.
“Captain Spike, sir,” called out Barlow, who was coiling up rigging on
the forecastle, and was consequently obliged to call out so loud as
to be heard by all on board, “yonder is a man at the foot of the
light-house.”
By this time, the moon coming out bright through an opening in the
clouds, Mulford had become conscious of the risk he ran, and was
drawn up, as immovable as the pile itself, against the stones of the
light-house. Such an announcement brought everybody to leeward,
and every head over the bulwarks. Spike himself sprang into the lee
main-chains, where his view was unobstructed, and where Mulford saw and
recognised him, even better than he was seen and recognised in his own
person. All this time the brig was moving ahead.
“A man, Barlow!” exclaimed Spike, in the way one a little bewildered by
an announcement expresses his surprise. “A man! that can never be. There
is no one at the light-house, you know.”
“There he stands, sir, with his back to the tower, and his face this
way. His dark figure against the white-washed stones is plain enough to
be seen. Living, or dead, sir, that is the mate!”
“_Living_ it cannot be,” answered Spike, though he gulped at the words
the next moment.
A general exclamation now showed that everybody recognised the mate,
whose figure, stature, dress, and even features, were by this time
all tolerably distinct. The fixed attitude, however, the immovable
statue-like rigidity of the form, and all the other known circumstances
of Harry's case, united to produce a common and simultaneous impression
among the superstitious mariners, that what they saw was but the ghostly
shadow of one lately departed to the world of spirits. Even Spike was
not free from this illusion, and his knees shook beneath him, there
where he stood, in the channels of a vessel that he had handled like a
top in so many gales and tempests. With him, however, the illusion
was neither absolute nor lasting. A second thought told him it could
scarcely be so, and then he found his voice. By this time the brig was
nearly abreast of where Harry stood.
“You Josh!” called out Spike, in a voice of thunder, loud enough to
startle even Mrs. Budd and Biddy in their berths.
“Lor' help us all!” answered the negro, “what _will_ come next t'ing
aboard dis wessel! Here I be, sir.”
“Pass the fowling-piece out of my state-room. Both barrels are loaded
with ball; I'll try him, though the bullets _are_ only lead.”
A common exclamation of dissatisfaction escaped the men, while Josh was
obeying the order. “It's no use.”
“You never can hurt one of them things.” “Something will befall the brig
on account of this,” and “It's the mate's sperit, and sperits can't be
harmed by lead or iron,” were the sort of remarks made by the seamen,
during the short interval between the issuing the order for the
fowling-piece and its execution.
“There 't is, Cap'in Spike,” said Josh, passing the piece up through
the rigging, “but 't will no more shoot _that_ thing, than one of our
carronades would blow up Gibraltar.”
By this time Spike was very determined, his lips being compressed and
his teeth set, as he took the gun and cocked it. Then he hailed. As all
that passed occurred, as it might be, at once, the brig even at that
moment was little more than abreast of the immovable mate, and about
eighty yards from him.
“Light-house, there!” cried Spike--“Living or dead, answer or I fire.”
No answer came, and no motion appeared in the dark figure that was now
very plainly visible, under a bright moon, drawn in high relief against
the glittering white of the tower. Spike dropped the muzzle to its aim,
and fired.
So intense was the attention of all in the Swash, that a wink of Harry's
could almost have been seen, had he betrayed even that slight sign of
human infirmity at the flash and the report. The ball was flattened
against a stone of the building, within a foot of the mate's body; but
he did not stir. All depended now on his perfect immovability, as he
well knew; and he so far commanded himself, as to remain rigid as if of
stone himself.
“There! one can see how it is--no life in that being,” said one. “I
know'd how it would end,” added another. “Nothing but silver, and
that cast on purpose, will ever lay it,” continued a third. But Spike
disregarded all. This time he was resolved that his aim should be
better, and he was inveterately deliberate in getting it. Just as he
pulled the trigger, however, Don Juan Montefalderon touched his elbow,
the piece was fired, and there stood the immovable figure as before,
fixed against the tower. Spike was turning angrily to chide his Mexican
friend for deranging his aim, when the report of an answering musket
came back like an echo. Every eye was turned toward the figure, but it
moved not. Then the humming sound of an advancing ball was heard, and
a bullet passed, whistling hoarsely, through the rigging, and fell some
distance to windward. Every head disappeared below the bulwarks. Even
Spike was so far astonished as to spring in upon deck, and, for a single
instant, not a man was to be seen above the monkey-rail of the brig.
Then Spike recovered himself and jumped upon a gun. His first look was
toward the light-house, now on the vessel's lee-quarter; but the spot
where had so lately been seen the form of Mulford, showed nothing but
the glittering brightness of the white-washed stones!
The reader will not be surprised to learn that all these events produced
a strange and deep impression on board the Molly Swash. The few who
might have thrown a little light on the matter were discreetly silent,
while all that portion of the crew which was in the dark, firmly
believed that the spirit of the murdered mate was visiting them,
in order to avenge the wrongs inflicted on it in the flesh. The
superstition of sailors is as deep as it is general. All those of the
Molly, too, were salts of the old school, sea-dogs of a past generation,
properly speaking, and mariners who had got their notions in the early
part of the century, when the spirit of progress was less active than it
is at present.
Spike himself might have had other misgivings, and believed that he had
seen the living form of his intended victim, but for the extraordinary
and ghost-like echo of his last discharge. There was nothing visible, or
intelligible, from which that fire could have come, and he was perfectly
bewildered by the whole occurrence. An intention to round-to, as soon
as through the passage, down boat and land, which had been promptly
conceived when he found that his first aim had failed, was as suddenly
abandoned, and he gave the command to “board fore-tack;” immediately
after, his call was to “pack on the brig,” and not without a little
tremour in his voice, as soon as he perceived that the figure had
vanished. The crew was not slow to obey these orders, and in ten
minutes, the Swash was a mile from the light, standing to the northward
and eastward, under a press of canvas, and with a freshening breeze.
To return to the islets. Harry, from the first, had seen that everything
depended on his remaining motionless. As the people of the brig were
partly in shadow, he could not, and did not, fully understand how
completely he was himself exposed, in consequence of the brightness
of all around him, and he had at first hoped to be mistaken for some
accidental resemblance to a man. His nerves were well tried by the use
of the fowling-piece, but they proved equal to the necessities of the
occasion. But, when an answering report came from the rear, or from the
opposite side of the islet, he darted round the tower, as much taken by
surprise, and overcome by wonder, as any one else who heard it. It was
this rapid movement which caused his flight to be unnoticed, all the men
of the brig dodging below their own bulwarks at that precise instant.
As the light-house was now between the mate and the brig, he had no
longer any motive for trying to conceal himself. His first thought was
of Rose, and, strange as it may seem, for some little time he fancied
that she had found a musket in the dwelling, and discharged it, in order
to aid his escape. The events had passed so swiftly, that there was no
time for the cool consideration of anything, and it is not surprising
that some extravagances mingled with the first surmises of all these.
On reaching the door of the house, therefore, Harry was by no means
surprised at seeing Rose standing in it, gazing at the swiftly receding
brigantine. He even looked for the musket, expecting to see it lying at
her feet, or leaning against the wall of the building. Rose, however,
was entirely unarmed, and as dependent on him for support, as when he
had parted from her, an hour or two before.
“Where did you find that musket, Rose, and what have you done with
it?” inquired Harry, as soon as he had looked in every place he thought
likely to hold such an implement.
“Musket, Harry! I have had no musket, though the report of fire-arms,
near by, awoke me from a sweet sleep.”
“Is this possible! I had imprudently trusted myself on the other side of
the light-house, while the moon was behind clouds, and when they broke
suddenly away, its light betrayed me to those on board the brig. Spike
fired at me twice, without injuring me; when, to my astonishment, an
answering report was heard from the islet. What is more, the piece was
charged with a ball-cartridge, for I heard the whistling of the bullet
as it passed on its way to the brig.”
“And you supposed I had fired that musket?”
“Whom else could I suppose had done it? You are not a very likely person
to do such a thing, I will own, my love; but there are none but us two
here.”
“It must be Jack Tier,” exclaimed Rose suddenly.
“That is impossible, since he has left us.”
“One never knows. Jack understood how anxious I was to retain him
with us, and he is so capricious and full of schemes, that he may have
contrived to get out of the brig, as artfully as he got on board her.”
“If Jack Tier be actually on this islet, I shall set him down as little
else than a conjuror.”
“Hist!” interrupted Rose, “what noise is that in the direction of the
wharf? It sounds like an oar falling in a boat.”
Mulford heard that well-known sound, as well as his companion, and,
followed by Rose, he passed swiftly through the house, coming out at
the front, next the wharf. The moon was still shining bright, and the
mystery of the echoing report, and answering shot, was immediately
explained. A large boat, one that pulled ten oars, at least, was just
coming up to the end of the wharf, and the manner in which its oars
were unshipped and tossed, announced to the mate that the crew were
man-of-war's men. He walked hastily forward to meet them.
Three officers first left the boat together. The gold bands of their
caps showed that they belonged to the quarter-deck, a fact that the
light of the moon made apparent at once, though it was not strong enough
to render features distinct. As Mulford continued to advance, however,
the three officers saluted him.
“I see you have got the light under way once more,” observed the leader
of the party. “Last night it was as dark as Erebus in your lantern.”
“The light-house keeper and his assistant have both been drowned,”
answered Mulford. “The lamps have been lit to-night by the people of the
brig which has just gone out.”
“Pray, sir, what brig may that be?”
“The Molly Swash, of New York; a craft that I lately belonged to myself,
but which I have left on account of her evil doings.”
“The Molly Swash, Stephen Spike master and owner, bound to Key West and
a market, with a cargo of eight hundred barrels of flour, and that of
a quality so lively and pungent that it explodes like gunpowder! I
beg your pardon, Mr. Mate, for not recognising you sooner. Have
you forgotten the Poughkeepsie, Captain Mull, and her far-reaching
Paixhans?”
“I ought to ask your pardon, Mr. Wallace, for not recognising _you_
sooner, too. But one does not distinguish well by moonlight. I am
delighted to see you, sir, and now hope that, with my assistance, a stop
can be put to the career of the brig.”
“What, Mr. Mate, do _you_ turn against your craft?” said Wallace, under
the impulsive feeling which induces all loyal men to have a distaste for
treachery of every sort, “the seaman should love the very planks of his
vessel.”
“I fully understand you, Mr. Wallace, and will own that, for a long
time, I was tied to rascality by the opinions to which you allude. But,
when you come to hear my explanation, I do not fear your judgment in the
least.”
Mulford now led the way into the house, whither Rose had already
retreated, and where she had lighted candles, and made other womanly
arrangements for receiving her guests. At Harry's suggestion, some
of the soup was placed over coals, to warm up for the party, and our
heroine made her preparations to comfort them also with a cup of tea.
While she was thus employed, Mulford gave the whole history of his
connection with the brig, his indisposition to quit the latter, the full
exposure of Spike's treason, his own desertion, if desertion it could be
called, the loss of the schooner, and his abandonment on the rock,
and the manner in which he had been finally relieved. It was scarcely
possible to relate all these matters, and altogether avoid allusions to
the schemes of Spike in connection with Rose, and the relation in which
our young man himself stood toward her. Although Mulford touched on
these points with great delicacy, it was as a seaman talking to seamen,
and he could not entirely throw aside the frankness of the profession.
Ashore, men live in the privacy of their own domestic circles, and their
secrets, and secret thoughts, are “family secrets,” of which it has
passed into a proverb to say, that there are always some, even in the
best of these communities. On shipboard, or in the camp, it is very
different. The close contact in which men are brought with each other,
the necessity that exists for opening the heart and expanding the
charities, gets in time to influence the whole character, and a certain
degree of frankness and simplicity, takes the place of the reserve and
acting that might have been quickened in the same individual, under a
different system of schooling. But Mulford was frank by nature, as well
as by his sea-education, and his companions on this occasion were pretty
well possessed of all his wishes and plans, in reference to Rose, even
to his hope of falling in with the chaplain of the Poughkeepsie, by the
time his story was all told. The fact that Rose was occupied in another
room, most of the time, had made these explanations all the easier, and
spared her many a blush. As for the man-of-war's men, they listened to
the tale, with manly interest and a generous sympathy.
“I am glad to hear your explanation, Mr. Mate,” said Wallace, cordially,
as soon as Harry had done, “and there's my hand, in proof that I approve
of your course. I own to a radical dislike of a turncoat, or a traitor
to his craft, Brother Hollins”--looking at the elder of his two
companions, one of whom was the midshipman who had originally
accompanied him on board the Swash--“and am glad to find that our
friend Mulford here is neither. A true-hearted sailor can be excused for
deserting even his own ship, under such circumstances.”
“I am glad to hear even this little concession from you, Wallace,”
answered Hollins, good-naturedly, and speaking with a mild expression of
benevolence, on a very calm and thoughtful countenance. “Your mess is
as heteredox as any I ever sailed with, on the subject of our duties, in
this respect.”
“I hold it to be a sailor's duty to stick by his ship, reverend and dear
sir.”
This mode of address, which was used by the “ship's gentleman” in the
cant of the ward-room, as a pleasantry of an old shipmate, for the two
had long sailed together in other vessels, at once announced to
Harry that he saw the very chaplain for whose presence he had been so
anxiously wishing. The “reverend and dear sir” smiled at the sally of
his friend, a sort of thing to which he was very well accustomed, but he
answered with a gravity and point that, it is to be presumed, he thought
befitting his holy office.
It may be well to remark here, that the Rev. Mr. Hollins was not one of
the “lunch'd chaplains,” that used to do discredit to the navy of this
country, or a layman dubbed with such a title, and rated that he might
get the pay and become a boon companion of the captain, at the table
and in his frolics ashore. Those days are gone by, and ministers of
the gospel are now really employed to care for the souls of the poor
sailors, who so long have been treated by others, and have treated
themselves, indeed, as if they were beings without souls, altogether. In
these particulars, the world has certainly advanced, though the wise and
the good, in looking around them, may feel more cause for astonishment
in contemplating what it once was, than to rejoice in what it actually
is. But intellect has certainly improved in the aggregate, if not in
its especial dispensations, and men will not now submit to abuses
that, within the recollections of a generation, they even cherished. In
reference to the more intellectual appointments of a ship of war, the
commander excepted, for we contend he who directs all, ought to possess
the most capacity, but, in reference to what are ordinarily believed to
be the more intellectual appointments of a vessel of war, the surgeon
and the chaplain, we well recollect opinions that were expressed to
us, many years since, by two officers of the highest rank known to the
service. “When I first entered the navy,” said one of these old Benbows,
“if I had occasion for the amputation of a leg, and the question lay
between the carpenter and the doctor, d--e, but I would have tried the
carpenter first, for I felt pretty certain he would have been the most
likely to get through with the job.” “In old times,” said the other,
“when a chaplain joined a ship, the question immediately arose, whether
the mess were to convert the chaplain, or the chaplain, the mess;
and the mess generally got the best of it.” There was very little
exaggeration in either of these opinions. But, happily, all this is
changed vastly for the better, and a navy-surgeon is necessarily a man
of education and experience; in very many instances, men of high talents
are to be found among them; while chaplains can do something better
than play at backgammon, eat terrapins, when in what may be called
terra-pin-ports, and drink brandy and water, or pure Bob Smith.(1)
“It is a great mistake, Wallace, to fancy that the highest duty a man
owes, is either to his ship or to his country,” observed the Rey. Mr.
Hollins, quietly. “The highest duty of each and all of us, is to
God; and whatever conflicts with that duty, must be avoided as a
transgression of his laws, and consequently as sin.”
“You surprise me, reverend and dear sir! I do not remember ever to have
heard you broach such opinions before, which might be interpreted to
mean that a fellow might be disloyal to his flag.”
“Because the opinion might be liable to misinterpretation. Still, I do
not go as far as many of my friends on this subject. If Decatur ever
really said, 'Our country, right or wrong,' he said what might be just
enough, and creditable enough, in certain cases, and taken with the fair
limitations that he probably intended should accompany the sentiment;
but, if he meant it as an absolute and controlling principle, it was not
possible to be more in error. In this last sense, such a rule of conduct
might, and in old times often would, have justified idolatry; nay, it
_is_ a species of idolatry in itself, since it is putting country before
God. Sailors may not always be able to make the just distinctions in
these cases, but the quarter-deck should be so, irreverend and dear
sir.”
Wallace laughed, and then he turned the discourse to the subject more
properly before them.
“I understand you to say, Mr. Mulford,” he remarked, “that, in your
opinion, the Swash has gone to try to raise the unfortunate Mexican
schooner, a second time, from the depths of the ocean?”
“From the rock on which she lies. Under the circumstances, I hardly
think he would have come hither for the chain and cable, unless with
some such object. We know, moreover, that such _was_ his intention when
we left the brig.”
“And you can take us to the very spot where that wreck lies?”
“Without any difficulty. Her masts are partly out of water, and we
hung on to them, in our boat, no later than last night, or this morning
rather.”
“So far, well. Your conduct in all this affair will be duly appreciated,
and Captain Mull will not fail to represent it in a right point of view
to the government.”
“Where is the ship, sir? I looked for her most anxiously, without
success, last evening; nor had Jack Tier, the little fellow I have named
to you, any better luck; though I sent him aloft, as high as the lantern
in the light-house, for that purpose.”
“The ship is off here to the northward and westward, some six leagues or
so. At sunset she may have been a little further. We have supposed that
the Swash would be coming back hither, and had laid a trap for her,
which came very near taking her alive.”
“What is the trap you mean, sir--though taking Stephen Spike alive, is
sooner said than done.”
“Our plan has been to catch him with our boats. With the greater draft
of water of the Poughkeepsie, and the heels of your brig, sir, a regular
chase about these reefs, as we knew from experience, would be almost
hopeless. It was, therefore, necessary to use head-work, and some
man-of-war traverses, in order to lay hold of him. Yesterday afternoon
we hoisted out three cutters, manned them, and made sail in them all,
under our luggs, working up against the trades. Each boat took its own
course, one going off, the west end of the reef, one going more to the
eastward, while I came this way, to look in at the Dry Tortugas. Spike
will be lucky if he do not fall in with our third cutter, which is under
the fourth lieutenant, should he stand on far on the same tack as that
on which he left this place. Let him try his fortune, however. As for
our boat, as soon as I saw the lamps burning in the lantern, I made the
best of my way hither, and got sight of the brig, just as she loosened
her sails. Then I took in my own luggs, and came on with the oars. Had
we continued under our canvas, with this breeze, I almost think we might
have overhauled the rascal.”
“It would have been impossible, sir. The moment he got a sight of your
sails, he would have been off in a contrary direction, and that brig
really seems to fly, whenever there is a pressing occasion for her to
move. You did the wisest thing you could have done, and barely missed
him, as it was. He has not seen you at all, as it is, and will be all
the less on his guard, against the next visit from the ship.”
“Not seen me! Why, sir, the fellow fired at us _t_wice with a musket;
why he did not use a carronade, is more than I can tell.”
“Excuse me, Mr. Wallace; those two shots were intended for me, though I
now fully comprehend why you answered them.”
“Answered them! yes, indeed; who would not answer such a salute, and gun
for gun, if he had a chance. I certainly thought he was firing at us,
and having a musket between my legs, I let fly in return, and even the
chaplain here will allow that was returning 'good for evil.' But explain
your meaning.”
Mulford now went into the details of the incidents connected with his
coming into the moon-light, at the foot of the light-house. That he was
not mistaken as to the party for whom the shots were intended, was plain
enough to him, from the words that passed aloud among the people of
the Swash, as well as from the circumstance that both balls struck the
stones of the tower quite near him. This statement explained everything
to Wallace, who now fully comprehended the cause and motive of each
incident.
It was now near eleven, and Rose had prepared the table for supper. The
gentlemen of the Poughkeepsie manifested great interest in the movements
of the Hebe-like little attendant who was caring for their wants. When
the cloth was to be laid, the midshipman offered his assistance, but his
superior directed him to send a hand or two up from the wharf, where the
crew of the cutter were lounging or sleeping after their cruise. These
men had been thought of, too; and a vessel filled with smoking soup was
taken to them, by one of their own number.
The supper was as cheerful as it was excellent. The dry humour of
Wallace, the mild intelligence of the chaplain, the good sense of
Harry, and the spirited information of Rose, contributed, each in its
particular way, to make the meal memorable in more senses than one. The
laugh came easily at that table, and it was twelve o'clock, before the
party thought of breaking up.
The dispositions for the night were soon made. Rose returned to
her little room, where she could now sleep in comfort, and without
apprehension. The gentlemen made the disposition of their persons, that
circumstances allowed; each finding something on which to repose, that
was preferable to a plank. As for the men, they were accustomed to hard
fare, and enjoyed their present good-luck, to the top of their bent.
It was quite late, before they had done “spinning their yarns,” and
“cracking their jokes,” around the pot of turtle-soup, and the can of
grog that succeeded it. By half-past twelve, however, everybody was
asleep.
Mulford was the first person afoot the following morning. He left the
house just as the sun rose, and perceiving that the “coast was clear”
of sharks, he threw off his light attire, and plunged into the sea.
Refreshed with this indulgence, he was returning toward the building,
when he met the chaplain coming in quest of him. This gentleman, a man
of real piety, and of great discretion, had been singularly struck, on
the preceding night, with the narrative of our young mate; and he had
not failed to note the allusions, slight as they were, and delicately
put as they had been, to himself. He saw, at once, the propriety of
marrying a couple so situated, and now sought Harry, with a view to
bring about so desirable an event, by intimating his entire willingness
to officiate. It is scarcely necessary to say that very few words were
wanting, to persuade the young man to fall into his views; and as to
Rose, he had handed her a short note on the same subject, which he was
of opinion, would be likely to bring her to the same way of thinking.
An hour later, all the officers, Harry and Rose, were assembled in
what might be termed the light-house parlour. The Rev. Mr. Hollins
had neither band, gown, nor surplice; but he had what was far better,
feeling and piety. Without a prayer-book he never moved; and he read the
marriage ceremony with a solemnity that was communicated to all present.
The ring was that which had been used at the marriage of Rose's parents,
and which she wore habitually, though not on the left hand. In a word,
Harry and Rose were as firmly and legally united, on that solitary and
almost unknown islet, as could have been the case, had they stood up
before the altar of mother Trinity itself, with a bishop to officiate,
and a legion of attendants. After the compliments which succeeded the
ceremony, the whole party sat down to breakfast.
If the supper had been agreeable, the morning meal was not less so. Rose
was timid and blushing, as became a bride, though she could not but feel
how much more respectable her position became under the protection of
Harry as his wife, than it had been while she was only his betrothed.
The most delicate deportment, on the part of her companions, soon
relieved her embarrassment however, and the breakfast passed off without
cause for an unhappy moment.
“The ship's standing in toward the light, sir,” reported the cockswain
of the cutter, as the party was still lingering around the table, as if
unwilling to bring so pleasant a meal to a close. “Since the mist has
broke away, we see her, sir, even to her ports and dead-eyes.”
“In that case, Sam, she can't be very far off,” answered Wallace. “Ay,
there goes a gun from her, at this moment, as much as to say, 'what has
become of all of my boats?' Run down and let off a musket; perhaps
she will make out to hear that, as we must be rather to windward, if
anything.”
The signal was given and understood. A quarter of an hour later, the
Poughkeepsie began to shorten sail. Then Wallace stationed himself in
the cutter, in the centre of one of the passages, signalling the ship to
come on. Ten minutes later still, the noble craft came into the haven,
passing the still burning light, with her topsails just lifting, and
making a graceful sweep under very reduced sail, she came to the wind,
very near the spot where the Swash had lain only ten hours before, and
dropped an anchor.
(1) In the palmy days of the service, when Robert Smith was
so long Secretary of the Navy, the ship's whisky went by
this familiar _sobriquet_.