TALES OF THE SEA: 12 Maritime Adventure Novels in One Volume (Illustrated)
say it will all come round in proper Time, and the less noise we make about the backslidings of a neighbour, the less will be said of our own transgressions. A worthy and hard-working mechanic, sir,” he continued, addressing the stranger “but a man who could never get the sun to shine in at his windows, though, Heaven knows, the glass is none too thick for such a blessing.”
“And do you imagine on evidence as slight as this we have seen, that such a man has actually absconded?”
“Why, it is a calamity that has befallen his betters!” returned the publican, interlocking his fingers across the rotundity of his person, with an air of grave consideration. “We inn-keepers—who live, as it were, in plain sight of every man’s secrets; for it is after a visit to us that one is apt truly to open his heart—should know something of the affairs of a neighbourhood. If the good-man Homespun could smooth down the temper of his companion as easily as he lays a seam into its place, the thing might not occur, but——Do you drink this morning, sir?”
“A drop of your best.”
“As I was saying,” continued the other, while he furnished his customer, according to his desire, “if a tailor’s goose would take the wrinkles out of the ruffled temper of a woman, as it does out of the cloth; and then, if, after it had done this task, a man might eat it, as he would yonder bird hanging behind my bar—Perhaps you will have occasion to make your dinner with us, too, sir?”
“I cannot say I shall not,” returned the stranger, paying for the dram he had barely tasted; “it greatly depends on the result of my inquiries concerning the different vessels in the port.”
“Then would I, though perfectly disinterested, as you know, sir, recommend you to make this house your home, while you sojourn in the town. It is the resort of most of the sea-faring men; and I may say this much of myself, without conceit—No man can tell you more of what you want to know, than the landlord of the ‘Foul Anchor.’”
“You advise an application to the Commander of this vessel, in the stream, for a birth: Will she sail so soon as you have named?”
“With the first wind. I know the whole history of the ship, from the day they laid the blocks for her keel to the minute when she let her anchor go where you now see her. The great Southern Heiress, General Grayson’s fine daughter, is to be a passenger she, and her overlooker, Government-lady, I believe they call her—a Mrs Wyllys—are waiting for the signal, up here, at the residence of Madam de Lacey; she that is the relict of the Rear-Admiral of that name, who is full-sister to the General; and, therefore, an aunt to the young lady, according to my reckoning. Many people think the two fortunes will go together; in which case, he will be not only a lucky man, but a rich one, who gets Miss Getty Gray son for a wife.”
The stranger, who had maintained rather an indifferent manner during the close of the foregoing dialogue appeared now disposed to enter into it, with a degree of interest suited to the sex and condition of the present subject of their discourse. After waiting to catch the last syllable that the publican chose to expend his breath on, he demanded, a little abruptly,—
“And you say the house near us, on the rising ground, is the residence of Mrs de Lacey?”
“If I did, I know nothing of the matter. By ‘up here,’ I mean half a mile off. It is a place fit for a lady of her quality, and none of your elbowy dwellings like these crowded about us. One may easily tell the house, by its pretty blinds and its shades. I’ll engage there are no such shades, in all Europe, as them very trees that stand before the door of Madam de Lacey.”
“It is very probable,” muttered the stranger, who, not appearing quite as sensitive in his provincial admiration as the publican, had already relapsed into his former musing air. Instead of pushing the discourse, he suddenly turned the subject, by making some common-place remark; and then, repeating the probability of his being obliged to return, he walked deliberately away, taking the direction of the residence of Mrs de Lacey. The observing publican would, probably, have found sufficient matter for observation, in this abrupt termination of the interview, had not Desire, at that precise moment, broken out of her habitation, and diverted his attention, by the peculiarly piquant manner in which she delineated the character of her delinquent husband.
The reader has probably, ere this, suspected that the individual who had conferred with the publican, as a stranger, was not unknown to himself. It was, in truth, no other than Wilder. But, in the completion of his own secret purposes, the young mariner left the wordy war in his rear; and, turning up the gentle ascent, against the side of which the town is built, he proceeded towards the suburbs.
It was not difficult to distinguish the house he sought, among a dozen other similar retreats, by its “shades,” as the innkeeper, in conformity to a provincial use of the word, had termed a few really noble elms that grew in the little court before its door. In order, however, to assure himself that he was right, he confirmed his surmises by actual inquiry and then continued thoughtfully on his path. The morning had, by this time, fairly opened with every appearance of another of those fine bland, autumnal days for which the climate is, or ought to be, so distinguished. The little air there was, came from the south, fanning the face of our adventurer as he occasionally paused, in his ascent, to gaze at the different vessels in the harbour, like a mild breeze in June. In short, it was just such a time as one, who is fond of strolling in the fields, is apt to seize on with rapture, and which a seaman sets down as a day lost in his reckoning.
Wilder was first drawn from his musings by the sound of a dialogue that came from persons who were evidently approaching. There was one voice, in particular, that caused his blood to thrill, he knew not why, and which appeared unaccountably, even to himself, to set in motion every latent faculty of his system. Profiting, by the formation of the ground, he sprang, unseen, up a little bank, and, approaching an angle in a low wall, he found himself in the immediate proximity of the speakers.
The wall enclosed the garden and pleasure-grounds of a mansion, that he now perceived was the residence of Mrs de Lacey. A rustic summer-house which, in the proper season, had been nearly buried in leaves and flowers, stood at no great distance from the road. By its elevation and position, it commanded a view of the town, the harbour, the isles of Massachusetts to the east, those of the Providence Plantations to the west, and, to the south, an illimitable expanse of ocean. As it had now lost its leafy covering, there was no difficulty in looking directly into its centre, through the rude pillars which supported its little dome. Here Wilder discovered precisely the very party to whose conversation he had been a listener the previous day, while caged, with the Rover, in the loft of the ruin. Though the Admiral’s widow and Mrs Wyllys were most in advance, evidently addressing some one who was, like himself, in the public road, the quick eye of the young sailor soon detected the more enticing person of the blooming Gertrude, in the background. His observations were, however, interrupted by a reply from the individual who as yet was unseen. Directed by the voice, Wilder was next enabled to perceive the person of a man in a green old age, who, seated on a stone by the way side, appeared to be resting his weary limbs, while he answered to some interrogations from the summer-house. Though his head was white, and the hand, which grasped a long walking-staff, sometimes trembled, as its owner sought additional support from its assistance, there was that in the costume, the manner, and the voice of the speaker, which furnished sufficient evidence of his having once been a veteran of the sea.
“Lord! your Ladyship, Ma’am,” he said, in tones that were getting tremulous, even while they retained the deep characteristic intonations of his profession, “we old sea-dogs never stop to look into an almanac, to see which way the wind will come after the next thaw, before we put to sea. It is enough for us, that the sailing orders are aboard, and that the Captain has taken leave of his Lady.”
“Ah! the very words of the poor lamented Admiral!” exclaimed Mrs de Lacey, who evidently found great satisfaction in pursuing the discourse with this superannuated mariner. “And then you are of opinion, honest friend, that, when a ship is ready, she should sail, whether the wind is”——
“Here is another follower of the sea, opportunely come to lend us his advice,” interrupted Gertrude, with a hurried air, as if to divert the attention of her aunt from something very