But now, no star can shine, no hope be got,
Most wretched creature, if he knew his lot,
And yet more wretched far because he knows it not.
* * * * * * *
The swelling sea seethes in his angry waves,
And smites the earth that dares the traitors nourish.
GILES FLETCHER.
The Buccaneer failed not to inquire relative to the pretended dumb boy,
but without success: he appeared to have vanished suddenly from before
their eyes, and had left no trace behind. After despatching one or two
trusty messengers on some particular embassies, Dalton concealed himself
in the secret recesses of the crag until the evening fell sufficiently
to enable him to get off to the Fire-fly without attracting the
observation of any stragglers, or persons who might be on the watch for
him or his vessel, which he had left, as before, under the
superintendence of Jeromio, with strict orders to move about off
Shelness Point, and the strand at Leysdown, and to be ready, on a
particular signal, to heave-to and cast anchor nearly opposite the
Gull's Nest. Three times had Dalton lighted his beacon on the top of the
ruined tower, and three times extinguished it: the signal was at length
answered, although not according to his directions, which were light for
light. The Buccaneer was, however, satisfied; descended by the private
stair to the shore, and pushed off his little boat, having called in
vain for Springall, whom he had left at Gull's Nest in the morning.
The motion of the oars was but a mechanical accompaniment to his
thoughts, which wandered back to his child, to his next beloved, Walter,
and to the events through which his chequered life had passed during the
last year. Strong as was now Hugh Dalton's affection for his daughter,
it is doubtful if it would have had force enough to make him relinquish
so completely his wandering and ruthless habits, and adopt the design of
serving for a little time under the banner of the Commonwealth, before
he completely gave up the sea, had not his declining constitution warned
him that at fifty-five he was older than at thirty. He had grown a wiser
and a better man than when, in middle age, he ran full tilt with his
passions at all things that impeded his progress or his views. A long
and dangerous illness, off the Caribbees, had sobered him more in one
little month, than any other event could have done in years. Away from
bustle and excitement, he had time for reflection, and when he arose
from his couch, he felt that he was no longer the firm, strong man he
had been. The impressions of early life, too, returned: he longed for
his child, and for England; but when he remembered her mother, he could
not support the idea that Barbara should know him as he really was.
Still his restless mind suggested that occupation would be necessary,
and his busy brain soon fixed upon the only way by which honourable
employment could be obtained. England had been, for a long series of
years in a perturbed and restless state, and Dalton had made himself
well known, both by his ingenuity, energy, and bravery: he had been
useful as a smuggler, and imported many things of rich value to the
Cavaliers--trafficking, however, as we have seen, in more than mere
contraband articles.
Sir Robert Cecil, as we have shown, was not always the possessor of
Cecil Place; and the secret of whatever course he had adopted, or crime
he had committed, to obtain such large possessions, was in the keeping
of Hugh Dalton.
Cromwell had not at all times watched as carefully over the private
transactions of individuals, as he was disposed to do during the later
years of his Protectorate. Persons obnoxious to the Commonwealth had
frequently disappeared; and though Oliver's system of espionage was
never surpassed, not even by Napoleon, the Cromwell of modern years, yet
it had been his policy to take little or no note of such matters:
uniting in himself the most extraordinary mixture of craft and heroism
that ever either disfigured or adorned the page of history.
Dalton and such men were no longer necessary to bear from the shores of
England the excrescences of royalty. Time, the sword, or stratagem had
greatly thinned their numbers; yet many recent events proved that
loyalists were imported, and assassins hired, and let loose in the
country by contraband ships; until, at length, the Protector was roused,
and resolved to check the pirates and smugglers of our English strands,
as effectually as the gallant and right noble Blake had exterminated
them on the open sea.
No one was better acquainted with the character, the deeds, and misdeeds
of Hugh Dalton, than the all-seeing Cromwell; and so firm a heart as the
Protector's could not but marvel at and admire, even though he could
neither approve nor sanction, the bravery of the Fire-fly's commander.
Dalton knew this, and, in endeavouring to obtain an authorised ship,
acted according to such knowledge. He felt that Cromwell would never
pardon him, unless he could make him useful; a few cruises in a
registered vessel, and then peace and Barbara, was his concluding
thought, whilst, resting on his oars, he looked upon his beautiful
brigantine, as she rode upon the waters at a long distance yet, the
heavens spangled with innumerable stars for her canopy, and the ocean,
the wide unfathomable ocean, spreading from pole to pole, circling the
round earth as with a girdle, for her dominion.
It was one of those evenings that seem "breathless with adoration;" the
gentleness of heaven was on the sea; there was not a line, not a ripple
on the wide waste of waters; "the winds," to use again the poet's
eloquent words, "were up, gathered like sleeping flowers." There was no
light in the vessel's bow--no twinkle from the shore--no ship in
sight--nothing that told of existence but his own Fire-fly, couching on
the ocean like a sleeping bird.
"There is a demon spirit within her," whispered Dalton to himself; "the
sight of her sends me wild again. Devil that she is! so beautiful! so
well proportioned! Talk of the beauty of woman!--But I'll look to her no
more--I'll think of her no more!"
He again applied himself to the oar, and was pulling steadily towards
the ship, when his eye rested upon something black and round in the
water. Again he paused in his exertions, and lay-to: the substance
floated towards him. He would have shouted, but--no sailor is ever free
from superstitious qualms of one sort or another--he remained silent,
fixing his eye steadily upon the object. At last it came close, quite
close to the boat; and in another instant, Springall was seated in the
prow.
"Good God! Spring, what's the matter? are you mad? Has anything occurred
yonder?" exclaimed Dalton, somewhat alarmed.
"Hush!" replied the panting youth; "I can hardly breathe yet." The
Skipper was going to pull towards the ship; but the youth laid his hand
on that of his master, and ejaculated, "Wait!"
Dalton complied, and when Springall could speak, he communicated what
astonished the Buccaneer in no small degree:--He said that, having
hunted about for the strange blade to no purpose, he tacked off towards
the ship, and told Jeromio his master had found that the boy was no boy,
but a girl in disguise; that he therefore desired Jeromio to tell him
who she really was, as he had secreted her on ship-board, knowing
perfectly well she was neither deaf nor dumb:--That Jeromio said, as the
master had fished it up, there was no use in making any bones about the
matter; for how it happened was, that when they were lying off St.
Vallery, this girl, whom he believed to be a Jewess, offered him a large
sum of money if he would secrete her on board, at all events until the
ship sailed, and if--after concealment was impossible--he would not
betray her. She stipulated to be landed upon the Kentish coast; and
Jeromio added, that he was sure she had a design upon the life of
somebody, and it might be easily guessed who, as she prevailed on him to
show her the use and management of fire-arms, and had, besides, a
dagger, which she usually carried in her bosom:--That, as she wrote
English very imperfectly, she had bribed him to write a letter to
Mistress Cecil, saying that, before God, she was the wife of Sir
Willmott Burrell, and that if she (Mistress Cecil) persisted in marrying
him, she would be revenged!--That he (Jeromio) kept back this letter,
because he feared his hand-writing might eventually lead to a discovery
that he had been the means of bringing her to England.--Springall
detailed this intelligence in much less time than it has occupied us to
repeat it; and then pausing, added,--
"But the worst is yet to come. Jeromio--Master, I was right about that
fellow!--had hardly finished this account, when a boat hove out, and, at
first, we thought it was you, but presently who should come on board but
Sir Willmott Burrell, as large as life! Well, Jeromio was precious
frightened, as you may suppose, and said it was to inquire after the
Jewess; but he took the Italian into your cabin, and--I can't but own I
was vastly anxious to know what they were saying----"
The greatest villain in the world dislikes to be thought a listener, on
the same principle that men would rather be accused of crime than
cowardice--of vice than folly; poor Springall stopped and stammered
until commanded to go on.
"It was a fine day, and, thinking I should like a bath, I let myself
down close by the cabin window with a rope. The window was open, and as
I hung half in and half out of the water, I could hear every syllable
they said, the sea was so calm. Not a word about the Jewess; but that
precious villain was listening to a proposal made by the other villain
to seize you, this very night, in your own ship, and murder you
outright! It's true, master, as I'm alive! Then Jeromio said it would be
better to deliver you up, as a rover, to the government; but Sir
Willmott made reply, _that_ might answer _his_ purpose, but it would not
do for _him_. Then he promised him a free pardon, and tempted him with
the riches of the Crag, and other things;--and, as well as I could
understand, they fully agreed upon it. And then, for fear of discovery,
I was mounting up, when the rope, as ill-luck would have it, broke, and
I went tilt splash into the water! Well, Jeromio looked out, and swore
at me; but it mattered not: I scrambled up, resolving, as you may
suppose, to keep a good look-out; but that double devil, Sir Willmott,
was at it again, and would have it that I was listening, and so I was
clapped under hatches; and hard enough I found it to steal off to you."
"The villain!" exclaimed the Buccaneer. "But the thing is impracticable;
there are not more than ten or a dozen of her crew ashore: my brave
fellows would never see their captain murdered!"
"On what pretext I know not, but he has, during the afternoon, sent the
long-boat off with the truest hands aboard. I heard the men talking, as
they passed backwards and forwards, that Bill o' Dartmouth, Sailing
Jack, Mat Collins, and the Fire-fly rovers, as we used to call
them--those boys who had been aboard with you in foreign parts--had gone
ashore by your orders; and I know there are five or six--those
Martinicos and Sagrinios, and the devil's own O's, that are 'fore and
aft in all things with Jeromio. There's no putting faith in any of them,
seeing they have a natural antipathy towards us English. So, now, let us
put back, sir."
"Put back!" repeated Dalton, casting a look of scorn upon poor
Springall; "the man's not born who could make me put back!--The ship's
my own--and the sea, the broad sea we look upon, is mine, as long as I
have strength to dip an oar in its brine, or wit to box a compass!
Avast! avast! boy; you know not what you speak of when you talk to Hugh
Dalton of putting back!"
"They'll murder us both!" said Springall, in a mournful, and almost a
reproachful tone.
"My poor boy!" replied Dalton looking in his face, and poising on high
the oar he had so vigorously dipped in the blue wave--"My true-hearted
boy! it would be, indeed, a bad recompense for your devotedness, to lead
you into the tiger's den;--for myself, I have no fear;--I will put you
on shore, and return."
"Never, master!" exclaimed the lad. "There is no one in the wide world I
care for but yourself. To serve you, I would venture all. No, no,
master, I may be but a poor weak boy in some things, but in this I am a
man. I will never leave you while I have power to serve you."
"And you will not repent it," observed the Buccaneer; the spirit of
former days rallying round his heart at the idea of danger, which ever
appeared to him the path to glory: "you will not repent it--in a right
cause too. What can I have to fear? I know that the instant I show
myself among them, they will return as one man to their duty; and IF
THEY DO NOT----"
As they neared the vessel, they perceived that not more than five or six
of their comrades were, like shadowy things, pacing the deck. Jeromio
himself, however, they noted, waiting to receive them.
Dalton, who was vigilant as brave, had previously thrown his boat-cloak
over Springall, so that he might not be recognised, and handed him a
cutlass and pistol. Whether the appearance of two, when he only expected
one, or whether the natural dread with which he always, despite himself,
regarded his captain, overpowered Jeromio, we may not guess; but as the
Buccaneer strode up the ladder, his penetrating look steadily fixed upon
the wily Italian, his quick eye perceived that twice he attempted to
level a pistol; while his more cowardly accomplices crowded behind him.
Had the villain possessed courage enough to fire as Dalton was
ascending, his life would in all probability have been the sacrifice;
but once upon the deck of his own ship, he was indeed a sea-king! For an
instant he stood proudly before Jeromio; then, presenting his pistol to
the head of the Italian, who trembled violently, he said as calmly as
if he were in the midst of friends,--
"One moment's prayer; and thus I punish traitors----"
There was a breathless silence; one might have heard a pin drop upon the
deck; the very air seemed to listen within the furled sails. Jeromio's
pistol fell from his grasp; he clasped his hands in agony, and falling
before the Buccaneer, upon his knees, uttered a brief prayer, for well
he knew that Dalton never recalled a doom, and he felt that all had been
discovered! In another instant a flash passed along the ship, and danced
in garish light over the quiet sea! The bullet shattered a brain ever
ready to plot, but never powerful to execute. With unmoved aspect Dalton
replaced the weapon, and planting his foot upon the prostrate dead, drew
another from his belt. Springall was still by his side, ready to live or
die with his commander.
"Come on! come on!" said Dalton, after surveying the small and trembling
band of mutineers, as a lion of the Afric deserts gazes upon a herd of
hounds by whom he is beset. "Come on!" and the sentence sounded like the
tolling of a death-bell over the waters, so firmly yet solemnly was it
pronounced, as if the hearts of a thousand men were in it. "Come on! Are
ye afraid? We are but two. Or are ye still men; and do ye think upon the
time when I led ye on to victory, when I divided the spoil of many lands
among ye? Ye are friends--countrymen of this--that was a man; yet if ye
will, ye shall judge between us. Did I deserve this treachery at his
hands? Can one of ye accuse me of injustice?"
A loud, a reiterated "No," answered this appeal, and the mutineers
rushed forward, not to seize on, but to lay down their weapons at the
feet of their captain.
"Take up your arms," said Dalton, after casting his eye over them, and
perceiving at a single glance that they had truly delivered them all.
"Take up your arms: ye were only beguiled; ye are too true to be really
treacherous."
This most wise compliment operated as oil on the tumultuous sea: the
ship-mob fancied they were acting according to the dictates of reason,
when they were really under the influence of fear, and then they aroused
the tranquillity of the night, shouting long and loudly for the
Fire-fly and the brave Buccaneer!
Although Jeromio had cunningly despatched several of Dalton's most
approved friends in the long-boat to the shore on some pretended
business, yet others had been secured below; and, when they were
liberated, they created great and noisy jubilee at what they jestingly
called "the Restoration." Springall had orders to distribute among them,
and without distinction, abundance of rum, while Dalton retired to his
cabin, still unmoved, to pen some despatches, which he deemed necessary
to send to the main land that night.
When he returned on deck, the revellers had retired, and the watch was
set. Many of the stars that had witnessed the events we have recorded
had sunk, and others had risen in their stead. The midnight air was
chill and cold; Jeromio's body lay where it had fallen, stiffening in
its gore; for no one cared to meddle with it till the Skipper's pleasure
was known as to how it was to be disposed of. Dalton gazed upon it but
for an instant, and then ordered that a man named Mudy, the black, and
butcher of the ship, should attend him.
"Here, Mudy," he exclaimed, "chop me off that rascal's head--quick, do
it!" The brute carelessly performed his task. "Now roll the carcass in a
sail, and, being well leaded, throw it overboard. Wrap me the head in a
clean napkin; I would fain make a present to Sir Willmott Burrell--a
wedding present he may think it, if he will. The head to which he
trusted will serve the purpose well. I will not send you, Springall, on
this errand," he continued, laying his hand gently on the shoulder of
the trembling boy, who sickened at the disgusting sight. "Go to your
hammock; you shall not sleep there many nights more. You are too good
for such a life as this!"
He then directed two of his men to row to land, and leave the parcel at
the gate of Cecil Place. He also gave them other packets to deliver,
with orders to those of his crew who were still on shore; and then, his
ship being under sail for another division of the coast, like a mighty
but perturbed spirit, he paced the deck till morning.