“Here;” said Ludlow, pointing in a line that would have struck the water some two or three leagues in the offing. “First bring the chimney of yonder low building on the plain, in a range with the dead oak on the shore, and then raise your eyes slowly, till they strike a sail.”
“That ship is navigating the heavens!” exclaimed Myndert! “Thy grandmother was a sensible woman, Patroon; she was a cousin of my pious progenitor, and there is no knowing what two clever old ladies, in their time, may have heard and seen, when such sights as this are beheld in our own!”
“I am as little disposed as another, to put faith in incredible things,” gravely returned Oloff Van Staats; “and yet, if required to give my testimony, I should be reluctant to say, that yonder vessel is not floating in the heavens!”
“You might not give it to that effect, in safety; said Ludlow. “It is no other than a half-rigged brigantine, on a taut bowline, though she bears no great show of canvas. Mr. Van Beverout, Her Majesty’s cruiser is about to put to sea.”
Myndert heard this declaration in visible dissatisfaction. He spoke of the virtue of patience, and of the comforts of the solid ground; but when he found the intention of the Queen’s servant was not to be shaken, he reluctantly professed an intention of repeating the personal experiment of the preceding day. Accordingly, within half an hour, the whole party were on the banks of the Shrewsbury, and about to embark in the barge of the Coquette.
“Adieu, Monsieur François;” said the Alderman, nodding his head to the ancient valet, who stood with a disconsolate eye on the shore. “Have a care of the movables in la Cour des Fées; we may have further use for them.”
“Mais, Monsieur Beevre, mon devoir, et, ma foi, suppose la mèr was plus agréable, mon désir shall be to suivre Mam’selle Alide. Jamais personne de la famille Barbérie love de sea; mais, Monsieur, comment faire? I shall die sur la mèr de douleur; and I shall die d’ennui, to rester ici, bien sûr!”
“Come then, faithful François,” said Ludlow. “You shall follow your young mistress; and perhaps, on further trial, you may be disposed to think the lives of us seamen more tolerable than you had believed.”
After an eloquent expression of countenance, in which the secretly-amused though grave-looking boat’s-crew thought the old man was about to give a specimen of his powers of anticipation, the affectionate domestic entered the barge. Ludlow felt for his distress, and encouraged him by a look of approbation. The language of kindness does not always need a tongue; and the conscience of the valet smote him with the idea that he might have expressed himself too strongly, concerning a profession to which the other had devoted life and hopes.
“La mer, Monsieur le Capitaine,” he said, with an acknowledging reverence, “est un vaste théâtre de la gloire. Voilà Messieurs de Tourville et Dougay Trouin; ce sont des hommes, vraiment remarquables! mais Monsieur, quant à toute la famille de Barbérie, we have toujours un sentiment plus favorable pour la terre.”
“I wish your whimsical jade of a mistress, Master François, had found the same sentiment,” dryly observed Myndert: “for let me tell you, this cruising about in a suspicious vessel is as little creditable to her judgment as–cheer up, Patroon; the girl is only putting thy mettle to the trial, and the sea air will do no damage to her complexion or her pocket. A little predilection for salt water must raise the girl in your estimation, Captain Ludlow!”
“If the predilection goes no further than to the element, Sir;” was the caustic answer. “But, deluded or not, erring or deceived, Alida Barbérie is not to be deserted, the victim of a villain’s arts. I did love your niece, Mr. Van Beverout, and–pull with a will, men; fellows, are you sleeping on the oars?”
The sudden manner in which the young man interrupted himself, and the depth of tone in which he spoke to the boat’s-crew, put an end to the discourse. It was apparent that he wished to say no more, and that he even regretted the weakness which had induced him to say so much. The remainder of the distance, between the shore and the ship, was passed in silence.
When Queen Anne’s cruiser was seen doubling Sandy-Hook, past meridian on the 6th June (sea-time) in the year 17–, the wind, as stated in an ancient journal, which was kept by one of the midshipmen, and is still in existence, was light, steady at south, and by-west-half-west. It appears, by the same document, that the vessel took her departure at seven o’clock, P. M., the point of Sandy-Hook bearing west-half-south, distant three leagues. On the same page which contains these particulars, it is observed, under the head of remarks–“Ship under starboard steering-sails, forward and aft, making six knots. A suspicious half-rigged brigantine lying-to in the eastern board, under her mainsail, with foretopsail to the mast; light and lofty sails and jib loose; foresail in the brails. Her starboard steering-sail-booms appear to be rigged out, and the gear rove, ready for a run. This vessel is supposed to be the celebrated hermaphrodite, the Water-Witch, commanded by the notorious ‘Skimmer of the Seas,’ and the same fellow who gave us so queer a slip, yesterday. The Lord send us a cap-full of wind, and we’ll try his heels, before morning!–Passengers, Alderman Van Beverout, of the second ward of the City of New-York, in Her Majesty’s province of the same name; Oloff Van Staats, Esq. commonly called the Patroon of Kinderhook, of the same colony; and a qualmish-looking old chap, in a sort of marine’s jacket, who answers when hailed as Francis. A rum set taken altogether, though they seem to suit the Captain’s fancy. Mem.–Each lipper of a wave works like tartar emetic on the lad in marine gear.”
As no description of ours can give a more graphic account of the position of the two vessels in question, at the time named, than that which is contained in the foregoing extract, we shall take up the narrative at that moment, which the reader will see must, in the 43d degree of latitude, and in the month of June, have been shortly after the close of the day.
The young votary of Neptune, whose opinions have just been quoted, had indeed presumed on his knowledge of the localities, in affirming the distance and position of the cape, since the low sandy point was no longer visible from the deck. The sun had set, as seen from the vessel, precisely in the mouth of the Raritan; and the shadows from Navesink, or Neversink as the hills are vulgarly called, were thrown far upon the sea. In short, the night was gathering round the mariners, with every appearance of settled and mild weather, but of a darkness deeper than is common on the ocean. Under such circumstances, the great object was to keep on the track of the chase, during the time when she must necessarily be hid from their sight.
Ludlow walked into the lee-gangway of his ship, and, leaning with his elbow on the empty hammock-cloths, he gazed long and in silence at the object of his pursuit. The Water-Witch was lying in the quarter of the horizon most favorable to being seen. The twilight, which still fell out of the heavens, was without glare in that direction; and for the first time that day, he saw her in her true proportions. The admiration of a seaman was blended with the other sensations of the young man. The brigantine lay in the position that exhibited her exquisitely-moulded hull and rakish rig to the most advantage. The head, having come to the wind, was turned towards her pursuer; and as the bows rose on some swell that was heavier than common, Ludlow saw, or fancied he saw, the mysterious image still perched on her cut-water, holding the book to the curious, and ever pointing with its finger across the waste of water. A movement of the hammock-cloths caused the young sailor to bend his head aside, and he then saw that the master had drawn as near to his person as discipline would warrant. Ludlow had a great respect for the professional attainments that his inferior unquestionably possessed; and he was not without some consideration for the chances of a fortune, which had not done much to reward the privations and the services of a seaman old enough to be his father. The recollection of these facts always disposed him to be indulgent to a man who had little, beyond his seaman-like character and long experience, to recommend him.
“We are likely to have a thick night, Master Trysail,” said the young captain, without deeming it necessary to change his look, “and we may yet be brought on a bowline, before yonder insolent is overhauled.”