TALES OF THE SEA: 12 Maritime Adventure Novels in One Volume (Illustrated)
we, too, part. I commend my wounded to your care. They are necessarily with your surgeons. I know the trust I give you will not be abused.”
“My word is the pledge of their safety,” returned the young de Lacey.
“I believe you.—Lady,” he added, approaching the elder of the females, with an air in which earnestness and hesitation strongly contended, “if a proscribed and guilty man may still address you, grant yet a favour.”
“Name it; a mother’s ear can never be deaf to him who has spared her child.”
“When you petition Heaven for that child, then forget not there is another being who may still profit by your prayers!—No more.—And now,” he continued looking about him like one who was determined to be equal to the pang of the moment, however difficult it might prove, and surveying, with an eye of painful regret, those naked decks which were so lately teeming with scenes of life and revelry; “and now—ay—now we part! The boat awaits you.”
Wilder had soon seen his mother and Gertrude into the pinnace; but he still lingered on the deck himself.
“And you!” he said, “what will become of you?”
“I shall shortly be—forgotten.—Adieu!”
The manner in which the Rover spoke forbade delay. The young man hesitated, squeezed his hand, and left him.
When Wilder found himself restored to his proper vessel, of which the death of Bignall had left him in command, he immediately issued the order to fill her sails, and to steer for the nearest haven of his country. So long as sight could read the movements of the man who remained on the decks of the “Dolphin” not a look was averted from the still motionless object. She lay, with her maintop-sail to the mast, stationary as some beautiful fabric placed there by fairy power, still lovely in her proportions, and perfect in all her parts. A human form was seen swiftly pacing her poop, and, by its side, glided one who looked like a lessened shadow of that restless figure. At length distance swallowed these indistinct images; and then the eye was wearied, in vain, to trace the internal movements of the distant ship But doubt was soon ended. Suddenly a streak of flame flashed from her decks, springing fiercely from sail to sail. A vast cloud of smoke broke out of the hull, and then came the deadened roar of artillery. To this succeeded, for a time, the awful, and yet attractive spectacle of a burning ship. The whole was terminated by an immense canopy of smoke, and an explosion that caused the sails of the distant “Dart” to waver, as though the winds of the trades were deserting their eternal direction. When the cloud had lifted from the ocean, an empty waste of water was seen beneath; and none might mark the spot where so lately had floated that beautiful specimen of human ingenuity. Some of those who ascended to the upper masts of the cruiser, and were aided by glasses, believed, indeed, they could discern a solitary speck upon the sea; but whether it was a boat, or some fragment of the wreck, was never known.
From that time, the history of the dreaded Red Rover became gradually lost, in the fresher incidents of those eventful seas. But the mariner, long after was known to shorten the watches of the night, by recounting scenes of mad enterprise that were thought to have occurred under his auspices. Rumour did not fail to embellish and pervert them, until the real character, and even name, of the individual were confounded with the actors of other atrocities. Scenes of higher and more ennobling interest, too, were occurring on the Western Continent, to efface the circumstances of a legend that many deemed wild and improbable. The British colonies of North America had revolted against the government of the Crown, and a weary war was bringing the contest to a successful issue. Newport, the opening scene of this tale, had been successively occupied by the arms of the King, and by those of that monarch who had sent the chivalry of his nation to aid in stripping his rival of her vast possessions.
The beautiful haven had sheltered hostile fleets, and the peaceful villas had often rung with the merriment of youthful soldiers. More than twenty years, after the events just related, had been added to the long record of time, when the island town witnessed the rejoicings of another festival. The allied forces had compelled the most enterprising leader of the British troops to yield himself and army captives to their numbers and skill. The struggle was believed to be over, and the worthy townsmen had, as usual, been loud in the manifestations of their pleasure. The rejoicings, however, ceased with the day; and as night gathered over the place, the little city was resuming its customary provincial tranquillity. A gallant frigate, which lay in the very spot where the vessel of the Rover has first been seen, had already lowered the gay assemblage of friendly ensigns, which had been spread in the usual order of a gala day. A flag of intermingled colours, and bearing a constellation of bright and rising stars, alone was floating at her gaff. Just at this moment, another cruiser, but one of far less magnitude, was seen entering the roadstead, bearing also the friendly ensign of the new States. Headed by the tide, and deserted by the breeze, she soon dropped an anchor, in the pass between Connanicut and Rhodes, when a boat was seen making for the inner harbour, impelled by the arms of six powerful rowers. As the barge approached a retired and lonely wharf, a solitary observer of its movements was enabled to see that it contained a curtained litter, and a single female form. Before the curiosity which such a sight would be apt to create, in the breast of one like the spectator mentioned, had time to exercise itself in conjectures, the oars were tossed, the boat had touched the piles, and, borne by the seamen, the litter, attended by the woman, stood before him.
“Tell me, I pray you,” said a voice, in whose tones grief and resignation were singularly combined, “if Captain Henry de Lacey, of the continental marine, has a residence in this town of Newport?”
“That has he,” answered the aged man addressed by the female; “that has he; or, as one might say, two; since yonder frigate is no less his than the dwelling on the hill, just by.”
“Thou art too old to point us out the way; but, if grandchild, or idler of any sort, be near, here is silver to reward him.”
“Lord help you, Lady!” returned the other, casting an oblique glance at her appearance, as a sort of salvo for the term, and pocketing the trifling piece she offered, with singular care; “Lord help you, Madam! old though I am, and something worn down by hardships and marvellous adventures, both by sea land, yet will I gladly do so small an office for one of your condition. Follow, and you shall see that your pilot is not altogether unused to the path.”
The old man turned, and was leading the way off the wharf, even before he had completed the assurance of his boasted ability. The seamen and the female followed; the latter walking sorrowfully and in silence by the side of the litter.
“If you have need of refreshment,” said their guide, pointing over his shoulder, “yonder is a well known inn, and one much frequented in its time by mariners. Neighbour Joram and the ‘Foul Anchor’ have had a reputation in their day, as well as the greatest warrior in the land; and, though honest Joe is gathered-in for the general harvest, the house stands as firm as the day he first entered it. A goodly end he made, and profitable is it to the weak-minded sinner to keep such an example before his eyes!”
A low, smothered sound issued from the litter but, though the guide stopped to listen, it was succeeded by no other evidence of the character of its tenant.
“The sick man is in suffering,” he resumed; “but bodily pain, and all afflictions which we suffer in the flesh, must have their allotted time. I have lived to see seven bloody and cruel wars, of which this, which now rages, is, I humbly trust, to be the last. Of the wonders which I witnessed, and the bodily dangers which I compassed, in the sixth, eye hath never beheld, nor can tongue utter, their equal!”
“Time hath dealt hardly by you, friend,” meekly interrupted the female. “This gold may add a few more comfortable days to those that are already past.”
The cripple, for their conductor was lame as well as aged, received the offering with gratitude, apparently too much occupied in estimating its amount, to give any more of his immediate attention to the discourse. In the deep silence that succeeded, the party reached the door of the villa they sought.
It was now night; the short twilight of the season having disappeared, while the bearers of the litter had been ascending the hill. A