“There is a mingling of the terrific and the beautiful, of the grand and the seducing, in this unquiet profession of yours!” observed, or rather continued Alida, replying to a previous remark of the young sailor. “That tranquil sea–the hollow sound of the surf on the shore–and this soft canopy above us, form objects on which even a girl might dwell in admiration, were not her ears still ringing with the roar and cries of the combat. Did you say the commander of the Frenchman was but a youth?”
“A mere boy in appearance, and one who doubtless owed his rank to the advantages of birth and family. We know it to be the captain, by his dress, no less than by the desperate effort he made to recover the false step taken in the earlier part of the action.”
“Perhaps he has a mother, Ludlow!–a sister–a wife–or–”
Alida paused, for, with maiden diffidence, she hesitated to pronounce the tie which was uppermost in her thoughts.
“He may have had one, or all! Such are the sailor’s hazards, and–”
“Such the hazards of those who feel an interest in their safety!” uttered the low but expressive voice of Seadrift.
A deep and eloquent silence succeeded. Then the voice of Myndert was heard muttering indistinctly, “twenty of beaver, and three of marten–as per invoice.” The smile which, spite of the train of his thoughts, rose on the lips of Ludlow, had scarcely passed away, when the hoarse tones of Trysail, rendered still hoarser by his sleep, were plainly heard in a stifled cry, saying, “Bear a hand, there, with your stoppers!–the Frenchman is coming round upon us, again.”
“That is prophetic!” said one, aloud, behind the listening group. Ludlow turned, quick as the flag fluttering on its vane, and through the darkness he recognized, in the motionless but manly form that stood near him on the poop, the fine person of the ‘Skimmer of the Seas.’
“Call away–!”
“Call none!”–interrupted Tiller, stopping the hurried order which involuntarily broke from the lips of Ludlow. “Let thy ship feign the silence of a wreck, but, in truth, let there be watchfulness and preparation even to her store-rooms! You have done well, Captain Ludlow, to be on the alert, though I have known sharper eyes than those of some of your look-outs.”
“Whence come you, audacious man, and what mad errand has brought you again on the deck of my ship?”
“I come from my habitation on the sea. My business here is warning!”
“The sea!” echoed Ludlow, gazing about him at the narrow and empty view. “The hour for mockery is past, and you would do well to trifle no more with those who have serious duties to discharge.”
“The hour is indeed one for serious duties–duties more serious than any you apprehend. But before I enter on explanation, there must be conditions between us. You have one of the sea-green lady’s servitors, here; I claim his liberty, for my secret.”
“The error into which I had fallen exists no longer;” returned Ludlow, looking for an instant towards the shrinking form of Seadrift. “My conquest is worthless, unless you come to supply his place.”
“I come for other purposes–here is one who knows I do not trifle when urgent affairs are on hand. Let thy companions retire, that I may speak openly.”
Ludlow hesitated, for he had not yet recovered from the surprise of finding the redoubtable free-trader so unexpectedly on the deck of his ship. But Alida and her companion arose, like those who had more confidence in their visiter, and, arousing the negress from her sleep, they descended the ladder and entered the cabin. When Ludlow found himself alone with Tiller, he demanded an explanation.
“It shall not be withheld, for time presses, and that which is to be done must be done with a seaman’s care and coolness;” returned the other.– “You have had a close brush with one of Louis’s rovers, Captain Ludlow, and prettily was the ship of Queen Anne handled! Have your people suffered, and are you still strong enough to make good a defence worthy of your conduct this morning?”
“These are facts you would have me utter to the ear of one who may be false;–even a spy!”
“Captain Ludlow–but circumstances warrant thy suspicions!”
“One whose vessel and life I have threatened– an outlaw!”
“This is too true,” returned the ‘Skimmer of the Seas,’ suppressing a sudden impulse of pride and resentment. “I am threatened and pursued–I am a smuggler and an outlaw: still am I human! You see that dusky object, which borders the sea to the northward!”
“It is too plainly land, to be mistaken.”
“Land, and the land of my birth!–the earliest, perhaps I may say the happiest of my days, were passed on that long and narrow island.”
“Had I known it earlier, there would have been a closer look among its bays and inlets.”
“The search might have been rewarded. A cannon would easily throw its shot from this deck to the spot where my brigantine now lies, snug at a single anchor.”
“Unless you have swept her near since the setting of the sun, that is impossible! When the night drew on, nothing was in view but the frigate and corvette of the enemy.”
“We have not stirred a fathom; and yet, true as the word of a fearless man, there lies the vessel of the sea-green lady. You see the place where the beach falls–here, at the nearest point of the land– the island is nearly severed by the water at that spot, and the Water-Witch is safe in the depths of the bay which enters from the northward. There is not a mile between us. From the eastern hill, I witnessed your spirit this day, Captain Ludlow, and though condemned in person, I felt that the heart could never be outlawed. There is a fealty here, that can survive even the persecutions of the custom-houses!”
“You are happy in your terms, Sir. I will not conceal that I think seaman, even as skilful as yourself, must allow that the Coquette was kept prettily in command!”
“No pilot-boat could have been more sure, or more lively. I knew your weakness, for the absence of all your boats was no secret to me; and I confess I could have spared some of the profits of the voyage, to have been on your decks this day with a dozen of my truest fellows!”
“A man who can feel this loyalty to the flag, should find a more honorable occupation for his usual life.”
“A country that can inspire it, should be cautious not to estrange the affections of its children, by monopolies and injustice. But these are discussions unsuited to the moment. I am doubly your countryman in this strait, and all the past is no more than the rough liberties which friends take with each other. Captain Ludlow, there is danger brooding in that dark void which lies to seaward!”
“On what authority do you speak thus?”
“Sight.–I have been among your enemies, and have seen their deadly preparations. I know the caution is given to a brave man, and nothing shall be extenuated. You have need of all your resolution, and of every arm–for they will be upon you, in overwhelming numbers!”
“True or false, thy warning shall not be neglected.”
“Hold!” said the Skimmer, arresting a forward movement of his companion, with his hand. “Let them sleep to the last moment. You have yet an hour, and rest will renew their strength. You may trust the experience of a seaman who has passed half of the life of man on the ocean, and who has witnessed all its most stirring scenes, from the conflict of the elements to every variety of strife that man has invented to destroy his fellows. For another hour, you will be secure.–After that hour, God protect the unprepared! and God be merciful to him whose minutes are numbered!”
“Thy language and manner are those of one who deals honestly;” returned Ludlow, struck by the apparent sincerity of the free-trader’s communication. “In every event, we shall be ready, though the manner of your having gained this knowledge is as great a mystery as your appearance on the deck of my ship.”
“Both can be explained,” returned the Skimmer, motioning to his companion to follow to the taffrail. Here he pointed to a small and nearly imperceptible skiff, which floated at the bottom of a stern-ladder, and continued–“One who so often pays secret visits to the land, can never be in want of the means. This nut-shell was easily transported across the narrow slip of land that separates the bay from the ocean, and though the surf moans so hoarsely, it is easily passed by a steady and dexterous oarsman. I have been under the martingale of the Frenchman, and you see that I am here. If your look-outs are less alert than usual, you will remember that a low gunwale, a dusky side, and a muffled oar, are not readily detected, when the eye is heavy and the body wearied. I must now quit you–unless you think it more prudent to send those who can be of no service, out of the ship, before the trial shall come?”