TALES OF THE SEA: 12 Maritime Adventure Novels in One Volume (Illustrated)
be made to succumb to the superior authority of the Rover.
“You know, sir, that no one, of whatever station, can leave the ship at this hour, without an order from the Captain,” was the calm, but steady reply.
“So I presume; but I have the order, and transmit it to you. I shall land in my own boat.”
The other, seeing a figure within hearing, which he well knew to be that of his Commander, waited an instant, to ascertain if what he heard was true. Finding that no objection was made, nor any sign given, to the contrary, he merely indicated the place where the other would find his boat.
“The men have left it!” exclaimed Wilder, stepping back in surprise, as he was about to descend the vessel’s side.
“Have the rascals run?”
“Sir, they have not run; neither are they rascals They are in this ship, and must be found.”
The other waited, to witness the effect of these authoritative words, too, on the individual, who still lingered in the shadow of a mast. As no answer was, however, given from that quarter, he saw the necessity of obedience. Intimating his intention to seek the men, he passed into the forward parts of the vessel, leaving Wilder, as he thought, in the sole possession of the quarter-deck. The latter was, however, soon undeceived. The Rover, advancing carelessly to his side, made an allusion to the condition of his vessel, in order to divert the thoughts of his new lieutenant, who, by his hurried manner of pacing the deck, he saw, was beginning to indulge in uneasy meditations.
“A charming sea-boat, Mr Wilder,” he continued, “and one that never throws a drop of spray abaft her mainmast. She is just the craft a seaman loves; easy on her rigging, and lively in a sea. I call her the ‘Dolphin,’ from the manner in which she cuts the water; and, perhaps, because she has as many colours as that fish, you will say—Jack must have a name for his ship, you know, and I dislike your cut-throat appellations, your ‘Spit-fires’ and ‘Bloody-murders.’”
“You were fortunate in finding such a vessel. Was she built to your orders?”
“Few ships, under six hundred tons, sail from these colonies, that are not built to serve my purposes,” returned the Rover, with a smile; as if he would cheer his companion, by displaying the mine of wealth that was opening to him, through the new connexion he had made. “This vessel was originally built for his Most Faithful Majesty; and, I believe, was either intended as a present or a scourge to the Algerines; but—but she has changed owners, as you see, and her fortune is a little altered; though how, or why, is a trifle with which we will not, just now divert ourselves. I have had her in port; she has undergone some improvements, and is now altogether suited to a running trade.”
“You then venture, sometimes, inside the forts?”
“When you have leisure, my private journal may afford some interest,” the other evasively replied. “I hope, Mr Wilder, you find this vessel in such a state that a seaman need not blush for her?”
“Her beauty and neatness first caught my eye, and induced me to make closer inquiries into her character.”
“You were quick in seeing that she was kept at a single anchor!” returned the other, laughing. “But I never risk any thing without a reason; not even the loss of my ground tackle. It would be no great achievement, for so warm a battery as this I carry, to silence yonder apology for a fort; but, in doing it, we might receive an unfortunate hit, and therefore do I keep ready for an instant departure.”
“It must be a little awkward, to fight in a war where one cannot lower his flag in any emergency!” said Wilder; more like one who mused, than one who intended to express the opinion aloud.
“The bottom is always beneath us,” was the laconic answer. “But to you I may say, that I am, on principle, tender on my spars. They are examined daily, like the heels of a racer; for it often happens that our valour must be well-tempered by discretion.”
“And how, and where, do you refit, when damaged in a gale, or in a fight?”
“Hum! We contrive to refit, sir, and to take the sea in tolerable condition.”
He stopped; and Wilder, perceiving that he was not yet deemed entitled to entire confidence, continued silent. In this pause, the officer returned, followed by the black alone. A few words served to explain the condition of Fid. It was very apparent that the young man was not only disappointed, but that he was deeply mortified. The frank and ingenuous air, however, with which he turned to the Rover, to apologize for the dereliction of his follower, satisfied the latter that he was far from suspecting any improper agency in bringing about his awkward condition.
“You know the character of seamen too well, sir,” he said, “to impute this oversight to my poor fellow as a heinous fault. A better sailor never lay on a yard, or stretched a ratlin, than Dick Fid; but I must allow he has the quality of good fellowship to excess.”
“You are fortunate in having one man left you to pull the boat ashore,” carelessly returned the other.
“I am more than equal to that little exertion myself nor do I like to separate the men. With your permission, the black shall be birthed, too, in the ship to-night.”
“As you please. Empty hammocks are not scarce among us, since the last brush.”
Wilder then directed the negro to return to his messmate, and to watch over him so long as he should be unable to look after himself. The black, who was far from being as clear-headed as common, willingly complied. The young man then took leave of his companions, and descended into the skiff. As he pulled, with vigorous arms, away from the dark ship, his eyes were cast upward, with a seaman’s pleasure, on the-order and neatness of her gear, and thence they fell on the frowning mass of the hull. A light-built, compact form was seen standing on the heel of the bowsprit, apparently watching his movements; and, notwithstanding the gloom of the clouded star-light, he was enabled to detect, in the individual who took so much apparent interest in his proceedings, the person of the Rover.
Chapter VIII
“What is yon gentleman?”
Nurse. “The son and heir of old Tiberio.”
Juliet. “What’s he that follows there, that would not dance?”
Nurse. “Marry, I know not.”
—Romeo and Juliet
The sun was just heaving up, out of the field of waters in which the blue islands of Massachusetts lie, when the inhabitants of Newport were seen opening their doors and windows, and preparing for the different employments of the day, with the freshness and alacrity of people who had wisely adhered to the natural allotments of time in seeking their rests, or in pursuing their pleasures. The morning salutations passed cheerfully from one to another, as each undid the slight fastenings of his shop; and many a kind inquiry was made, and returned, after the condition of a daughter’s fever, or the rheumatism of some aged grandam. As the landlord of the “Foul Anchor” was so wary in protecting the character of his house from any unjust imputations of unseemly revelling, so was he among the foremost in opening his doors, to catch any transient customer, who might feel the necessity of washing away the damps of the past night, in some invigorating stomachic This cordial was very generally taken in the British provinces, under the various names of “bitters,” “juleps,” “morning-drams,” “fogmatics,” &c., according as the situation of each district appeared to require some particular preventive. The custom is getting a little into disuse, it is true; but still it retains much of that sacred character which it would seem is the concomitant of antiquity. It is not a little extraordinary that this venerable and laudable practice, of washing away the unwholesome impurities engendered in the human system, at a time, when as it is entirely without any moral protector, it is left exposed to the attacks of all the evils to which flesh is heir, should subject the American to the witticisms of his European