The Red Rover by James Fenimore Cooper (page 3)

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 like a dogmatical termination of an argument that had just occurred between her and Mrs Wyllys; “perhaps to serve as an umpire.”

“True,” said the latter. “Pray, what think you of the weather to-day, sir? would it be profitable to sail in such a time, or not?”

The young mariner reluctantly withdrew his eyes from the blushing Gertrude, who, in her eagerness to point him out, had advanced to the front, and was now shrinking back, timidly, to the centre of the building again, like one who already repented of her temerity. He then fastened his look on her who put the question; and so long and riveted was his gaze, that she saw fit to repeat it, believing that what she had first said was not properly understood.

“There is little faith to be put in the weather, Madam,” was the dilatory reply. “A man has followed the sea to but little purpose who is tardy in making that discovery.”

There was something so sweet and gentle, at the same time that it was manly, in the voice of Wilder, that the ladies, by a common impulse, seemed struck with its peculiarities. The neatness of his attire, which, while it was strictly professional, was worn with an air of smartness, and even of gentility, that rendered it difficult to suppose that he was not entitled to lay claim to a higher station in society than that in which he actually appeared, added to this impression. Bending her head, with a manner that was intended to be polite, a little more perhaps in self-respect than out of consideration to the other, as if in deference to the equivocal character of his appearance, Mrs de Lacey resumed the discourse.

“These ladies,” she said, “are about to embark in yonder ship, for the province of Carolina, and we were consulting concerning the quarter in which the wind will probably blow next. But, in such a vessel, it cannot matter much, I should think, sir, whether the wind were fair or foul.”

“I think not,” was the reply. “She looks to me like a ship that will not do much, let the wind be as it may.”

“She has the reputation of being a very fast sailer.–Reputation! we know she is such, having come from home to the Colonies in the incredibly short passage of seven weeks! But seamen have their favourites and prejudices, I believe, like us poor mortals ashore. You will therefore excuse me, if I ask this honest veteran for an opinion on this particular point also. What do you imagine, friend, to be the sailing qualities of yonder ship–she with the peculiarly high top-gallant-booms, and such conspicuous round-tops?”

The lip of Wilder curled, and a smile struggled with the gravity of his countenance; but he continued silent. On the other hand, the old mariner arose, and appeared to examine the ship, like one who perfectly comprehended the technical language of the Admiral’s widow.

“The ship in the inner harbour, your Ladyship,” he answered, when his examination was finished, “which is, I suppose, the vessel that Madam means, is just such a ship as does a sailor’s eye good to look on. A gallant and a safe boat she is, as I will swear; and as to sailing, though she may not be altogether a witch, yet is she a fast craft, or I’m no judge of blue water, or of those that live on it.”

“Here is at once a difference of opinion!” exclaimed Mrs de Lacey. “I am glad, however, you pronounce her safe; for, although seamen love a fast-sailing vessel, these ladies will not like her the less for the security. I presume, sir, you will not dispute her being _safe_.”

“The very quality I should most deny,” was the laconic answer of Wilder.

“It is remarkable! This is a veteran seaman, sir, and he appears to think differently.”

“He may have seen more, in his time, than myself Madam; but I doubt whether he can, just now see as well. This is something of a distance to discover the merits or demerits of a ship: I have been higher.”

“Then you really think there is danger to be apprehended sir?” demanded the soft voice of Gertrude whose fears had gotten the better of her diffidence.

“I do. Had I mother, or sister,” touching his hat, and bowing to his fair interrogator, as he uttered the latter word with much emphasis, “I would hesitate to let her embark in that ship. On my honour Ladies, I do assure you, that I think this very vessel in more danger than any ship which has left, or probably will leave, a port in the Provinces this autumn.”

“This is extraordinary!” observed Mrs Wyllys. “It is not the character we have received of the vessel, which has been greatly exaggerated, or she is entitled to be considered as uncommonly convenient and safe. May I ask, sir, on what circumstances you have founded this opinion?”

“They are sufficiently plain. She is too lean in the harping, and too full in the counter, to steer. Then, she in as wall-sided as a church, and stows too much above the water-line. Besides this, she carries no head-sail, but all the press upon her will be aft, which will jam her into the wind, and, more than likely, throw her aback. The day will come when that ship will go down stern foremost.”

His auditors listened to this opinion, which Wilder delivered in an oracular and very decided manner, with that sort of secret faith, and humble dependence, which the uninstructed are so apt to lend to the initiated in the mysteries of any imposing profession. Neither of them had certainly a very clear perception of his meaning; but there were, apparently, danger and death in his very words Mrs de Lacey felt it incumbent on her peculiar advantages, however, to manifest how well she comprehended the subject.

“These are certainly very serious evils!” she exclaimed. “It is quite unaccountable that my agent should have neglected to mention them. Is there any other particular quality, sir, that strikes your eye at this distance, and which you deem alarming?”

“Too many. You observe that her top-gallant masts are fidded abaft; none of her lofty sails set flying; and then, Madam, she has depended on bobstays and gammonings for the security of that very important part of a vessel, the bowsprit.”

“Too true! too true!” said Mrs de Lacey, in a sort of professional horror. “These things had escaped me; but I see them all, now they are mentioned. Such neglect is highly culpable; more especially to rely on bobstays and gammonings for the security of a bowsprit! Really, Mrs Wyllys, I can never consent that my niece should embark in such a vessel.”

The calm, penetrating eye of Wyllys had been riveted on the countenance of Wilder while he was speaking, and she now turned it, with undisturbed serenity, on the Admiral’s widow, to reply.

“Perhaps the danger has been a little magnified,” she observed. “Let us inquire of this other seaman what he thinks on these several points.–And do you see all these serious dangers to be apprehended, friend, in trusting ourselves, at this season of the year, in a passage to the Carolinas, aboard of yonder ship?”

“Lord, Madam!” said the gray-headed mariner, with a chuckling laugh, “these are new-fashioned faults and difficulties, if they be faults and difficulties at all! In my time, such matters were never heard of; and I confess I am so stupid as not to understand the half the young gentleman has been saying.”

“It is some time, I fancy, old man, since you were last at sea,” Wilder coolly observed.

“Some five or six years since the last time, and fifty since the first,” was the answer.

“Then you do not see the same causes for apprehension?” Mrs Wyllys once more demanded.

“Old and worn out as I am, Lady, if her Captain will give me a birth aboard her, I will thank him for the same as a favour.”

“Misery seeks any relief,” said Mrs de Lacey, in an under tone, and bestowing on her companions a significant glance. “I incline to the opinion of the younger seaman; for he supports it with substantial, professional reasons.”

Mrs Wyllys suspended her questions, just as long as complaisance to the last speaker seemed to require and then she resumed them as follows, addressing her next inquiry to Wilder.

“And how do you explain this difference in judgment, between two men who ought both to be so well qualified to decide right?”

“I believe there is a well-known proverb which will answer that question,” returned the young man, smiling: “But some allowance must be made for the improvements in ships; and, perhaps, some little deference to the stations we have respectively filled on board them.”

“Both very true. Still, one would think the changes of half a dozen years cannot be so very considerable, in a profession that is so exceedingly ancient.”

“Your pardon, Madam. They require constant practice to know them. Now, I dare say that yonder worthy old tar is ignorant of the manner in which a ship, when pressed by her canvas, is made to ‘cut the waves with her taffrail.'”

“Impossible!” cried the Admiral’s widow; “the youngest and the meanest mariner must have been struck with the beauty of such a spectacle.”

“Yes, yes,” returned the old tar, who wore the air of an offended man, and who, probably, had he been ignorant of any part of his art, was not just then in the temper to confess it; “many is the proud ship that I have seen doing the very same; and, as the lady says, a grand and comely sight it is!”

Wilder appeared confounded. He bit his lip, like one who was over-reached either by excessive ignorance or exceeding cunning; but the self-complacency of Mrs de Lacey spared him the necessity of an immediate reply.

“It would have been an extraordinary circumstance truly,” she said, “that a man should have grown white-headed on the seas, and never have been struck with so noble a spectacle. But then, my honest tar, you appear to be wrong in overlooking the striking faults in yonder ship, which this, a–a–this gentleman has just, and so properly, named.”

“I do not call them faults, your Ladyship. Such is the way my late brave and excellent Commander always had his own ship rigged; and I am bold to say that a better seaman, or a more honest man, never served in his Majesty’s fleet.”

“And you have served the King! How was your beloved Commander named?”

“How should he be! By us, who knew him well, he was called Fair-weather: for it was always smooth water, and prosperous times, under his orders; though, on shore, he was known as the gallant and victorious Rear-Admiral de Lacey.”

“And did my late revered and skilful husband cause his ships to be rigged in this manner?” said the widow, with a tremour in her voice, that bespoke how much, and how truly, she was overcome by surprise and gratified pride.

The aged tar lifted his bending frame from the stone, and bowed low, as he answered,–“If I have the honour of seeing my Admiral’s Lady, it will prove a joyful sight to my old eyes. Sixteen years did I serve in his own ship, and five more in the same squadron. I dare say your Ladyship may have heard him speak of the captain of his main-top, Bob Bunt.”

“I dare say–I dare say–He loved to talk of those who served him faithfully.”

“Ay, God bless him, and make his memory glorious! He was a kind officer, and one that never forgot a friend, let it be that his duty kept him on a yard or in the cabin. He was the sailor’s friend, that very same Admiral!”

“This is a grateful man,” said Mrs de Lacey, wiping her eyes, “and I dare say a competent judge of a vessel. And are you quite sure, worthy friend, that my late revered husband had all his ships arranged like the one of which we have been talking?”

“Very sure, Madam; for, with my own hands, did I assist to rig them.”

“Even to the bobstays?”

“And the gammonings, my Lady. Were the Admiral alive, and here, he would call yon ‘a safe and well-fitted ship,’ as I am ready to swear.”

Mrs de Lacey turned, with an air of great dignity and entire decision, to Wilder, as she continued,–“I have, then, made a small mistake in memory which is not surprising, when one recollects, that he who taught me so much of the profession is no longer here to continue his lessons. We are much obliged to you, sir, for your opinion; but we must think that you have over-rated the danger.”

“On my honour, Madam,” interrupted Wilder laying his hand on his heart, and speaking with singular emphasis, “I am sincere in what I say. I do affirm, that I believe there will be great danger in embarking in yonder ship; and I call Heaven to witness, that, in so saying, I am actuated by no malice to her Commander, her owners, nor any connected with her.”

“We dare say, sir, you are very sincere: We only think you a little in error,” returned the Admiral’s widow, with a commiserating, and what she intended for a condescending, smile. “We are your debtors for your good intentions, at least. Come, worthy veteran, we must not part here. You will gain admission by knocking at my door; and we shall talk further of these matters.”

Then, bowing to Wilder, she led the way up the garden, followed by all her companions. The step of Mrs de Lacey was proud, like the tread of one conscious of all her advantages; while that of Wyllys was slow, as if she were buried in thought. Gertrude kept close to the side of the latter, with her face hid beneath the shade of a gipsy hat. Wilder fancied that he could discover the stolen and anxious glance that she threw back towards one who had excited a decided emotion in her sensitive bosom though it was a feeling no more attractive than alarm. He lingered until they were lost amid the shrubbery. Then, turning to pour out his disappointment on his brother tar, he found that the old man had made such good use of his time, as to be entering the gate, most probably felicitating himself on the prospect of reaping the reward of his recent adulation.

Chapter IX.

“He ran this way, and leap’d this orchard wall.”–_Shakspeare._

Wilder retired from the field like a defeated man. Accident, or, as he was willing to term it, the sycophancy of the old mariner, had counteracted his own little artifice; and he was now left without the remotest chance of being again favoured with such another opportunity of effecting his purpose. We shall not, at this period of the narrative, enter into a detail of the feelings and policy which induced our adventurer to plot against the apparent interests of those with whom he had so recently associated himself; it is enough, for our present object, that the facts themselves should be distinctly set before the reader.

The return of the disappointed young sailor, towards the town, was moody and slow. More than once he stopped short in the descent, and fastened his eyes, for minutes together, on the different vessels in the harbour. But, in these frequent-halts, no evidence of the particular interest he took in any one of the ships escaped him. Perhaps his gaze at the Southern trader was longer, and more earnest, than at any other; though his eye, at times, wandered curiously, and even anxiously, over every craft that lay within the shelter of the haven.

The customary hour for exertion had now arrived, and the sounds of labour were beginning to be heard, issuing from every quarter of the place. The songs of the mariners were rising on the calm of the morning with their peculiar, long-drawn intonations. The ship in the inner harbour was among the first to furnish this proof of the industry of her people, and of her approaching departure. It was only as these movements caught his eye, that Wilder seemed to be thoroughly awakened from his abstraction, and to pursue his observations with an undivided mind. He saw the seamen ascend the rigging, in that lazy manner which is so strongly contrasted by their activity in moments of need; and here and there a human form was showing itself on the black and ponderous yards. In a few moments, the fore-topsail fell, from its compact compass on the yard, into graceful and careless festoons. This, the attentive Wilder well knew, was, among all trading vessels, the signal of sailing. In a few more minutes, the lower angles of this important sail were drawn to the, extremities of the corresponding spar beneath; and then the heavy yard was seen slowly ascending the mast, dragging after it the opening folds of the sail, until the latter was tightened at all its edges, and displayed itself in one broad, snow-white sheet of canvas. Against this wide surface the light currents of air fell, and as often receded; the sail bellying and collapsing in a manner to show that, as yet, they were powerless. At this point the preparations appeared suspended, as if the mariners, having thus invited the breeze, were awaiting to see if their invocation was likely to be attended with success.

It was perhaps but a natural transition for him, who so closely observed these indications of departure in the ship so often named, to turn his eyes on the vessel which lay without the fort, in order to witness the effect so manifest a signal had produced in her, also. But the closest and the keenest scrutiny could have detected no sign of any bond of interest between the two. While the firmer was making the movements just described, the latter lay at her anchors without the smallest proof that man existed within the mass of her black and inanimate hull. So quiet and motionless did she seem, that one, who had never been instructed in the matter, might readily have believed her a fixture in the sea, some symmetrical and enormous excrescence thrown up by the waves, with its mazes of lines and pointed fingers, or one of those fantastic monsters that are believed to exist in the bottom of the ocean, darkened by the fogs and tempests of ages. But, to the understanding eye of Wilder, she exhibited a very different spectacle. He easily saw, through all this apparently drowsy quietude, those signs of readiness which a seaman only might discover. The cable, instead of stretching in a long declining line towards the water was “short,” or nearly “up and down,” as it is equally termed in technical language, just “scope” enough being allowed out-board to resist the power of the lively tide, which acted on the deep keel of the vessel. All her boats were in the water, and so disposed and prepared, as to convince him they were in a state to be employed in towing, in the shortest possible time. Not a sail, nor a yard, was out of its place, undergoing those repairs and examinations which the mariner is wont to make so often, when lying within the security of a suitable haven, nor was there a single rope wanting, amid the hundreds which interlaced the blue sky that formed the background of the picture, that might be necessary, in bringing every art of facilitating motion into instant use. In short, the vessel, while seeming least prepared, was most in a condition to move, or, if necessary, to resort to her means of offence and defence. The boarding-nettings, it is true, were triced to the rigging, as on the previous day; but a sufficient apology was to be found for this act of extreme caution, in the war, which exposed her to attacks from the light French cruisers, that so often ranged, from the islands of the West-Indies, along the whole coast of the Continent, and in the position the ship had taken, without the ordinary defences of the harbour. In this state, the vessel, to one who knew her real character, appeared like some beast of prey, or venomous reptile, that lay in an assumed lethargy, to delude the unconscious victim within the limits of its leap, or nigh enough to receive the deadly blow of its fangs.

Wilder shook his head, in a manner which said plainly enough how well he understood this treacherous tranquillity, and continued his walk towards the town, with the same deliberate step as before. He had whiled away many minutes unconsciously, and would probably have lost the reckoning of as many more, had not his attention been suddenly diverted by a slight touch on the shoulder. Starting at this unexpected diversion, he turned, and saw, that, in his dilatory progress, he had been overtaken by the seaman whom he had last seen in that very society in which he would have given so much to have been included himself.

“Your young limbs should carry you ahead, Master,” said the latter, when he had succeeded in attracting the attention of Wilder, “like a ‘Mudian going with a clean full, and yet I have fore-reached upon you with my old legs, in such a manner as to bring us again within hail.”

“Perhaps you enjoy the extraordinary advantage of ‘cutting the waves with your taffrail,'” returned Wilder, with a sneer. “There can be no accounting for the head-way one makes, when sailing in that remarkable manner.”

“I see, brother, you are offended that I followed your motions, though, in so doing, I did no more than obey a signal of your own setting. Did you expect an old sea-dog like me, who has stood his watch so long in a flag-ship, to confess ignorance in any matter that of right belongs to blue water? How the devil was I to know that there is not some sort of craft, among the thousands that are getting into fashion, which sails best stern foremost? They say a ship is modelled from a fish; and, if such be the case, it is only to make one after the fashion of a crab, or an oyster, to have the very thing you named.”

“It is well, old man. You have had your reward, I suppose, in a handsome present from the Admiral’s widow, and you may now lie-by for a season, without caring much as to the manner in which they build their ships in future. Pray, do you intend to shape your course much further down this hill?”

“Until I get to the bottom.”

“I am glad of it, friend, for it is my especial intention to go up it again. As we say at sea, when our conversation is ended, ‘A good time to you!'”

The old seaman laughed, in his chuckling manner, when he saw the young man turn abruptly on his heel, and begin to retrace the very ground along which he had just before descended.

“Ah! you have never sailed with a Rear-Admiral,” he said, as he continued his own course in the former direction, picking his way with a care suited to his age and infirmities. “No, there is no getting the finish, even at sea, without a cruise or two under a flag, and that at the mizzen, too!”

“Intolerable old hypocrite!” muttered Wilder between his teeth. “The rascal has seen better days, and is now perverting his knowledge to juggle a foolish woman, to his profit. I am well quit of the knave, who, I dare say, has adopted lying for his trade, now labour is unproductive. I will go back The coast is quite clear, and who can say what may happen next?”

Most of the foregoing paragraph was actually uttered in the suppressed manner already described, while the rest was merely meditated, which, considering the fact that our adventurer had no auditor, was quite as well as if he had spoken it through a trumpet. The expectation thus vaguely expressed, however, was not likely to be soon realized. Wilder sauntered up the hill, endeavouring to assume the unconcerned air of an idler, if by chance his return should excite attention; but, though he lingered long in open view of the windows of Mrs de Lacey’s villa, he was not able to catch another glimpse of its tenants. There were very evident symptoms of the approaching journey, in the trunks and packages that left the building for the town, and in the hurried and busy manner of the few servants that he occasionally saw; but it would seem that the principal personages of the establishment had withdrawn into the secret recesses of the building, probably for the very natural purpose of confidential communion and affectionate leave-taking. He was turning, vexed and disappointed, from his anxious and fruitless watch, when he once more heard female voices on the inner side of the low wall against which he had been leaning. The sounds approached; nor was it long before his quick ears again recognized the musical voice of Gertrude.

“It is tormenting ourselves, without sufficient reason, my dear Madam,” she said, as the speakers drew sufficiently nigh to be distinctly overheard, “to allow any thing that may have fallen from such a–such an individual, to make the slightest impression.”

“I feel the justice of what you say, my love,” returned the mournful voice of her governess, “and yet am I so weak as to be unable entirely to shake off a sort of superstitious feeling on this subject. Gertrude, would you not wish to see that youth again?”

“Me, Ma’am!” exclaimed her eleve, in a sort of alarm. “Why should you, or I, wish to see an utter stranger again? and one so low–not low perhaps–but one who is surely not altogether a very suitable companion for”–

“Well-born ladies, you would say. And why do you imagine the young man to be so much our inferior?”

Wilder thought there was a melody in the intonations of the youthful voice of the maiden, which in some measure excused the personality, as she answered.

“I am certainly not so fastidious in my notions of birth and station as aunt de Lacey,” she said, laughing; “but I should forget some of your own instructions, dear Mrs Wyllys, did I not feel that education and manners make a sensible difference in the opinions and characters of all us poor mortals.”

“Very true, my child. But I confess I saw or heard nothing that induces me to believe the young man, of whom we are speaking, either uneducated or vulgar. On the contrary, his language and pronunciation were those of a gentleman, and his air was quite suited to his utterance. He had the frank and simple manner of his profession; but you are not now to learn that youths of the first families in the provinces, or even in the kingdom, are often placed in the service of the marine.”

“But they are officers, dear Madam: this–this individual wore the dress of a common mariner.”

“Not altogether. It was finer in its quality, and more tasteful in its fashion, than is customary. I have known Admirals do the same in their moments of relaxation. Sailors of condition often love to carry about them the testimonials of their profession, without any of the trappings of their rank.”

“You then think he was an officer–perhaps in the King’s service?”

“He might well have been so, though the fact, that there is no cruiser in the port, would seem to contradict it. But it was not so trifling a circumstance that awakened the unaccountable interest that I feel. Gertrude, my love, it was my fortune to have been much with seamen in early life. I seldom see one of that age, and of that spirited and manly mien, without feeling emotion. But I tire you; let us talk of other things.”

“Not in the least, dear Madam,” Gertrude hurriedly interrupted. “Since you think the stranger a gentleman, there can be no harm–that is, it is not quite so improper, I believe–to speak of him. Can there then be the danger he would make us think in trusting ourselves in a ship of which we have so good a report?”

“There was a strange, I had almost said wild, admixture of irony and concern in his manner, that is inexplicable! He certainly uttered nonsense part of the time: but, then, he did not appear to do it without a serious object. Gertrude, you are not as familiar with nautical expressions as myself: and perhaps you are ignorant that your good aunt, in her admiration of a profession that she has certainly a right to love, sometimes makes”—-

“I know it–I know it; at least I often think so,” the other interrupted, in a manner which plainly manifested that she found no pleasure in dwelling on the disagreeable subject. “It was exceedingly presuming Madam, in a stranger, however, to amuse himself, if he did it, with so amiable and so trivial a weakness, if indeed weakness it be.”

“It was,” Mrs Wyllys steadily continued–she having, very evidently, such other matter in her thoughts as to be a little inattentive to the sensitive feelings of her companion;–“and yet he did not appear to me like one of those empty minds that find a pleasure in exposing the follies of others. You may remember, Gertrude, that yesterday, while at the ruin, Mrs de Lacey made some remarks expressive of her admiration of a ship under sail.”

“Yes, yes, I remember them,” said the niece, a little impatiently.

“One of her terms was particularly incorrect, as I happened to know from my own familiarity with the language of sailors.”

“I thought as much, by the expression of your eye,” returned Gertrude; “but”–

“Listen, my love. It certainly was not remarkable that a lady should make a trifling error in the use of so peculiar a language, but it is singular that a seaman himself should commit the same fault in precisely the same words. This did the youth of whom we are speaking; and, what is no less surprising the old man assented to the same, just as if they had been correctly uttered.”

“Perhaps,” said Gertrude, in a low tone, “they may have heard, that attachment to this description of conversation is a foible of Mrs de Lacey. I am sure, after this, dear Madam, you cannot any longer consider the stranger a gentleman!”

“I should think no more about it, love, were it not for a feeling I can neither account for nor define. I would I could again see him!”

A slight exclamation from her companion interrupted her words; and, the next instant, the subject of her thoughts leaped the wall, apparently in quest of the rattan that had fallen at the feet of Gertrude, and occasioned her alarm. After apologizing for his intrusion on the private grounds of Mrs de Lacey, and recovering his lost property, Wilder was slowly preparing to retire, as if nothing had happened. There was a softness and delicacy in his manner during the first moment of his appearance, which was probably intended to convince the younger of the ladies that he was not entirely without some claims to the title she had so recently denied him, and which was certainly not without its effect. The countenance of Mrs Wyllys was pale, and her lip quivered, though the steadiness of her voice proved it was not with alarm, as she hastily said,–“Remain a moment, sir, if need does not require your presence elsewhere. There is something so remarkable in this meeting, that I could wish to improve it.”

Wilder bowed, and again faced the ladies, whom he had just been about to quit, like one who felt he had no right to intrude a moment longer than had been necessary to recover that which had been lost by his pretended awkwardness. When Mrs Wyllys found that her wish was so unexpectedly realized, she hesitated as to the manner in which she should next proceed.

“I have been thus bold, sir,” she said, in some embarrassment, “on account of the opinion you so lately expressed concerning the vessel which now lies ready to put to sea, the instant, she is favoured with a wind.”

“‘The Royal Caroline?'” Wilder carelessly replied.

“That is her name, I believe.”

“I hope, Madam, that nothing which I have said,” he hastily continued, “will have an effect to prejudice you against the ship. I will pledge myself that she is made of excellent materials, and then I have not the least doubt but she is very ably commanded.”

“And yet have you not hesitated to say, that you consider a passage in this very vessel more dangerous than one in any other ship that will probably leave a port of the Provinces in many months to come.”

“I did,” answered Wilder, with a manner not to be mistaken.

“Will you explain your reasons for this opinion?”

“If I remember rightly, I gave them to the lady whom I had the honour to see an hour ago.”

“That individual, sir, is no longer here,” was the grave reply of Wyllys; “neither is she to trust her person in the vessel. This young lady and myself, with our attendants, will be the only passengers.”

“I understood it so,” returned Wilder, keeping his thoughtful gaze riveted on the speaking countenance of the deeply interested Gertrude.

“And, now that there is no apprehension of any mistake, may I ask you to repeat the reasons why you think there will be danger in embarking in the ‘Royal Caroline?'”

Wilder started, and even had the grace to colour, as he met the calm and attentive look of Mrs Wyllys’s searching, but placid eye.

“You would not have me repeat, Madam,” he stammered, “what I have already said on the subject?”

“I would not, sir; once will suffice for such an explanation; still am I persuaded you have other reasons for your words.”

“It is exceedingly difficult for a seaman to speak of ships in any other than technical language, which must be the next thing to being unintelligible to one of your sex and condition. You have never been at sea, Madam?”

“Very often, sir.”

“Then may I hope, possibly, to make myself understood. You must be conscious, Madam, that no small part of the safety of a ship depends on the very material point of keeping her right side uppermost sailors call it ‘making her stand up.’ Now I need not say, I am quite sure, to a lady of your intelligence, that, if the ‘Caroline’ fall on her beam there will be imminent hazard to all on board.”

“Nothing can be clearer; but would not the same risk be incurred in any other vessel?”

“Without doubt, if any other vessel should trip. But I have pursued my profession for many years, without meeting with such a misfortune, but once. Then, the fastenings of the bowsprit”–

“Are good as ever came from the hand of rigger,” said a voice behind them.

The whole party turned; and beheld, at a little distance, the old seaman already introduced, mounted on some object on the other side of the wall, against which he was very coolly leaning, and whence he overlooked the whole of the interior of the grounds.

“I have been at the water side to look at the boat, at the wish of Madam de Lacey, the widow of my late noble Commander and Admiral; and, let other men think as they may, I am ready to swear that the ‘Royal Caroline’ has as well secured a bowsprit as any ship that carries the British flag! Ay, nor is that all I will say in her favour; she is throughout neatly and lightly sparred, and has no more of a wall-side than the walls of yonder church tumble-home. I am an old man, and my reckoning has got to the last leaf of the log-book; therefore it is little interest that I have, or can have, in this brig or that schooner, but this much will I say, which is, that it is just as wicked, and as little likely to be forgiven, to speak scandal of a wholesome and stout ship, as it is to talk amiss of mortal Christian.”

The old man spoke with energy, and a great show of honest indignation, which did not fail to make an impression on the ladies, at the same time that it brought certain ungrateful admonitions to the conscience of the understanding Wilder.

“You perceive, sir,” said Mrs Wyllys, after waiting in vain for the reply of the young seaman, “that it is very possible for two men, of equal advantages, to disagree on a professional point. Which am I to believe?”

“Whichever your own excellent sense should tell you is most likely to be correct. I repeat, and in a sincerity to whose truth I call Heaven to witness, that no mother or sister of mine should, with my consent, embark in the ‘Caroline.'”

“This is incomprehensible!” said Mrs Wyllys, turning to Gertrude, and speaking only for her ear. “My reason tells me we have been trifled with by this young man; and yet are his protestations so earnest, and apparently so sincere, that I cannot shake off the impression they have made. To which of the two, my love, do you feel most inclined to yield your credence?”

“You know how very ignorant I am, dear Madam, of all these things,” said Gertrude, dropping her eyes to the faded sprig she was plucking; “but, to me, that old wretch has a very presuming and vicious look.”

“You then think the younger most entitled to our belief?”

“Why not; since you, also, think he is a gentleman?”

“I know not that his superior situation in life entitles him to greater credit. Men often obtain such advantages only to abuse them.–I am afraid, sir,” continued Mrs Wyllys, turning to the expecting Wilder, “that unless you see fit to be more frank, we shall be compelled to refuse you our faith, and still persevere in our intention to profit, by the opportunity of the ‘Royal Caroline,’ to get to the Carolinas.”

“From the bottom of my heart, Madam, do I regret the determination.”

“It may still be in your power to change it, by being explicit.”

Wilder appeared to muse, and once or twice his lips moved, as if he were about to speak. Mrs Wyllys and Gertrude awaited his intentions with intense interest; but, after a long and seemingly hesitating pause, he disappointed both, by saying,–

“I am sorry that I have not the ability to make myself better understood. It can only be the fault of my dullness; for I again affirm that the danger is as apparent to my eyes as the sun at noon day.”

“Then we must continue blind, sir,” returned Mrs Wyllys, with a cold salute. “I thank you for your good and kind intentions, but you cannot blame us for not consenting to follow advice which is buried in so much obscurity. Although in our own grounds, we shall be pardoned the rudeness of leaving you. The hour appointed for our departure has now arrived.”

Wilder returned the grave bow of Mrs Wyllys with one quite as formal as her own; though he bent with greater grace, and with more cordiality, to the deep but hurried curtesy of Gertrude Grayson. He remained in the precise spot, however, in which they left him, until he saw them enter the villa; and he even fancied he could catch the anxious expression of another timid glance which the latter threw in his direction, as her light form appeared to float from before his sight. Placing one hand on the wall, the young sailor then leaped into the highway. As his feet struck the ground, the slight shock seemed to awake him from his abstraction, and he became conscious that he stood within six feet of the old mariner, who had now twice stepped so rudely between him and the object he had so much at heart, The latter did not allow him time to give utterance to his disappointment; for he was the first himself to speak.

“Come, brother,” he said, in friendly, confidential tones, and shaking his head, like one who wished to show to his companion that he was aware of the deception he had attempted to practise; “come, brother, you have stood far enough on this tack, and it is time to try another. Ay, I’ve been young myself in my time, and I know what a hard matter it is to give the devil a wide birth, when there is fun to be found in sailing in his company: But old age brings us to our reckonings; and, when the life is getting on short allowance with a poor fellow, he begins to think of being sparing of his tricks, just as water is saved in a ship, when the calms set in, after it has been spilt about decks like rain, for weeks and months on end. Thought comes with gray hairs, and no one is the worse for providing a little of it among his other small stores.”

“I had hoped, when I gave you the bottom of the hill, and took the top myself,” returned Wilder, without even deigning to look at his disagreeable companion, “that we had parted company for ever. As you seem, however, to prefer the high ground, I leave you to enjoy it at your leisure; I shall descend into the town.”

The old man shuffled after him, with a gait that rendered it difficult for Wilder, who was by this time in a fast walk, to outstrip him, without resorting to the undignified expedient of an actual flight. Vexed alike with himself and his tormentor, he was tempted to offer some violence to the latter; and then, recalled to his reccollection by the dangerous impulse he moderated his pace, and continued his route with a calm determination to be superior to any emotions that such a pitiful object could excite.

“You were going under such a press of sail, young Master,” said the stubborn old mariner, who still kept a pace or two in his rear, “that I had to set every thing to hold way with you; but you now seem to be getting reasonable, and we may as well lighten the passage by a little profitable talk. You had nearly made the oldish lady believe the good ship ‘Royal Caroline’ was the flying Dutchman!”

“And why did you see fit to undeceive her?” bluntly demanded Wilder.

“Would you have a man, who has followed blue water fifty years, scandalize wood and iron after so wild a manner? The character of a ship is as dear to an old sea-dog, as the character of his wife or his sweetheart.”

“Hark ye, friend; you live, I suppose, like other people, by eating and drinking?”

“A little of the first, and a good deal of the last,” returned the other, with a chuckle.

“And you get both, like most seaman, by hard work, great risk, and the severest exposure?”

“Hum! ‘Making our money like horses, and spending it like asses!’–that is said to be the way with us all.”

“Now, then, have you an opportunity of making some with less labour; you may spend it to suit your own fancy. Will you engage in my service for a few hours, with this for your bounty, and as much more for wages, provided you deal honestly?”

The old man stretched out a hand, and took the guinea which Wilder had showed over his shoulder, without appearing to deem it at all necessary to face his recruit.

“It’s no sham!” said the latter, stopping to ring the metal on a stone.

“‘Tis gold, as pure as ever came from the Mint.”

The other very coolly pocketed the coin; and then, with a certain hardened and decided way, as if he were now ready for any thing, he demanded,–

“What hen-roost am I to rob for this?”

“You are to do no such pitiful act; you have only to perform a little of that which, I fancy, you are no stranger to: Can you keep a false log?”

“Ay; and swear to it, on occasion. I understand you. You are tired of twisting the truth like a new laid rope, and you wish to turn the job over to me.”

“Something so. You must unsay all you have said concerning yonder ship; and, as you have had running enough to get on the weather-side of Mrs de Lacey, you must improve your advantage, by making matters a little worse than I have represented them to be. Tell me, that I may judge of your qualifications, did you in truth, ever sail with the worthy Rear-Admiral?”

“As I am an honest and religious Christian, I never heard of the honest old man before yesterday. Oh! you may trust me in these matters! I am no likely to spoil a history for want of facts.”

“I think you will do. Now listen to my plan.”–

“Stop, worthy messmate,” interrupted the other: “‘Stones can hear,’ they say on shore: we sailors know that the pumps have ears on board a ship; have you ever seen such a place as the ‘Foul Anchor’ tavern, in this town?”

“I have been there.”

“I hope you like it well enough to go again. Here we will part. You shall haul on the wind, being the lightest sailer, and make a stretch or two among these houses, until you are well to windward of yonder church. You will then have plain sailing down upon hearty Joe Joram’s, where is to be found as snug an anchorage, for an honest trader, as at any inn in the Colonies. I will keep away down this hill, and, considering the difference in our rate of sailing, we shall not be long after one another in port.”

“And what is to be gained by so much manoeuvring? Can you listen to nothing which is not steeped in rum?”

“You offend me by the word. You shall see what it is to send a sober messenger on your errands, when the time comes. But, suppose we are seen speaking to each other on the highway–why, as you are in such low repute just now, I shall lose my character with the ladies altogether.”

“There may be reason in that. Hasten, then to meet me; for, as they spoke of embarking soon, there is not a minute to lose.”

“No fear of their breaking ground so suddenly,” returned the old man, holding the palm of his hand above his head to catch the wind. “There is not yet air enough to cool the burning cheeks of that young beauty; and, depend on it, the signal will not be given to them until the sea breeze is fairly come in.”

Wilder waved his hand, and stepped lightly along the road the other had indicated to him, ruminating on the figure which the fresh and youthful charms of Gertrude had extorted from one even as old and as coarse as his new ally. His companion followed his person for a moment, with an amused look, and an ironical cast of the eye; and then he also quickened his pace, in order to reach the place of rendezvous in sufficient season.

Chapter X.

“Forewarn him, that he use no scurrilous words.”

_Winter’s Tale._

As Wilder approached the “Foul Anchor,” he beheld every symptom of some powerful excitement existing within the bosom of the hitherto peaceful town. More than half the women, and perhaps one fourth of all the men, within a reasonable proximity to that well known inn, were assembled before its door, listening to one of the former sex, who declaimed in tones so shrill and penetrating as not to leave the proprietors of the curious and attentive countenances, in the outer circle of the crowd, the smallest rational ground of complaint on the score of impartiality. Our adventurer hesitated, with the sudden consciousness of one but newly embarked in such enterprises as that in which he had so recently enlisted, when he first saw these signs of commotion; nor did he determine to proceed until he caught a glimpse of his aged confederate, elbowing his way through the mass of bodies, with a perseverance and energy that promised to bring him right speedily into the very presence of her who uttered such loud and piercing plaints. Encouraged by this example, the young man advanced, but was content to take his position, for a moment, in a situation that left him entire command of his limbs and, consequently, in a condition to make a timely retreat, should the latter measure prove at all expedient.

“I call on you, Earthly Potter, and you, Preserved Green, and you, Faithful Wanton,” cried Desire, as he came within hearing, pausing to catch a morsel of breath, before she proceeded in her affecting appeal to the neighbourhood; “and you too, Upright Crook, and you too, Relent Flint, and you, Wealthy Poor, to be witnesses and testimonials in my behalf. You, and all and each of you, can qualify if need should be, that I have ever been a slaving and loving consort of this man who has deserted me in my age, leaving so many of his own children on my hands, to feed and to rear, besides”–

“What certainty is it,” interrupted the landlord of the “Foul Anchor” most inopportunely, “that the good-man has absconded? It was a merry day the one that is just gone, and it is quite in reason to believe your husband was, like some others I can name–a thing I shall not be so unwise as to do–a little of what I call how-come-ye-so, and that his nap holds on longer than common. I’ll engage we shall all see the honest tailor creeping out of some of the barns shortly, as fresh and as ready for his bitters as if he had not wet his throat with cold water since the last time of general rej’icing.”

A low but pretty general laugh followed this effort of tavern wit, though it failed in exciting even a smile on the disturbed visage of Desire, which, by its doleful outline, appeared to have taken leave of all its risible properties for ever.

“Not he, not he,” exclaimed the disconsolate consort of the good-man; “he has not the heart to get himself courageous, in loyal drinking, on such an occasion as a merry-making on account of his Majesty’s glory; he was a man altogether for work; and it is chiefly for his hard labour that I have reason to complain. After being so long used to rely on his toil, it is a sore cross to a dependant woman to be thrown suddenly and altogether on herself for support. But I’ll be revenged on him, if there’s law to be found in Rhode Island, or in the Providence Plantations! Let him dare to keep his pitiful image out of my sight the lawful time, and then, when he returns, he shall find himself, as many a vagabond has been before him, without wife, as he will be without house to lay his graceless head in.”[1] Then, catching a glimpse of the inquiring face of the old seaman, who by this time had worked his way to her very side, she abruptly added, “Here is a stranger in the place, and one who has lately arrived! Did you meet a straggling runaway, friend, in your journey hither?”

[Footnote 1: It would seem, from this declaration, that certain legal antiquarians, who have contended that the community is indebted to Desire for the unceremonious manner of clipping the nuptial knot, which is so well known to exist, even to this hour, in the community of which she was a member, are entirely in the wrong. It evidently did not take its rise in her example, since she clearly alludes to it, as a means before resorted to by me injured innocents of her own sex.]

“I had too much trouble in navigating my old hulk on dry land, to log the name and rate of every craft I fell in with,” returned the other, with infinite composure; “and yet, now you speak of such a thing, I do remember to have come within hail of a poor fellow, just about the beginning of the morning-watch somewhere hereaway, up in the bushes between this town and the bit of a ferry that carries one on to the main.”

“What sort of a man was he?” demanded five or six anxious voices, in a breath; among which the tones of Desire, however, maintained their supremacy rising above those of all the others, like the strains of a first-rate artist flourishing a quaver above the more modest thrills of the rest of the troupe.

“What sort of a man! Why a fellow with his arms rigged athwart ship, and his legs stepped like those of all other Christians, to be sure: but, now you speak of it, I remember that he had a bit of a sheep-shank in one of his legs, and rolled a good deal as he went ahead.”

“It was he!” added the same chorus of voices. Five or six of the speakers instantly stole slyly out of the throng, with the commendable intention of hurrying after the delinquent, in order to secure the payment of certain small balances of account, in which the unhappy and much traduced good-man stood indebted to the several parties. Had we leisure to record the manner in which these praiseworthy efforts, to save an honest penny, were conducted the reader might find much subject of amusement in the secret diligence with which each worthy tradesman endeavoured to outwit his neighbour, on the occasion, as well as in the cunning subterfuges which were adopted to veil their real designs, when all met at the ferry, deceived and disappointed in their object As Desire, however, had neither legal demand on, nor hope of favour from, her truant husband, she was content to pursue, on the spot, such further inquiries in behalf of the fugitive as she saw fit to make. It is possible the pleasures of freedom, in the shape of the contemplated divorce, were already floating before her active mind, with the soothing perspective of second nuptials, backed by the influence of such another picture as might be drawn from the recollections of her first love; the whole having a manifest tendency to pacify her awakened spirit, and to give a certain portion of directness and energy to her subsequent interrogatories.

“Had he a thieving look?” she demanded, without attending to the manner in which she was so suddenly deserted by all those who had just expressed the strongest sympathy in her loss. “Was he a man that had the air of a sneaking runaway?”

“As for his head-piece, I will not engage to give very true account,” returned the old mariner though he had the look of one who had been kept a good deal of his time, in the lee scuppers. If should give an opinion, the poor devil has had too much”–

“Idle time, you would say; yes, yes; it has been his misfortune to be out of work a good deal latterly and wickedness has got into his head, for want of something better to think of. Too much”–

“Wife,” interrupted the old man, emphatically. Another general, and far less equivocal laugh, at the expense of Desire, succeeded this blunt declaration Nothing intimidated by such a manifest assent to the opinion of the hardy seaman, the undaunted virago resumed,–

“Ah! you little know the suffering and forbearance I have endured with the man in so many long years. Had the fellow you met the look of one who had left an injured woman behind him?”

“I can’t say there was any thing about him which said, in so many words, that the woman he had left at her moorings was more or less injured;” returned the tar, with commendable discrimination, “but there was enough about him to show, that, however and wherever he may have stowed his wife, if wife she was, he had not seen fit to leave all her outfit at home. The man had plenty of female toggery around his neck; I suppose he found it more agreeable than her arms.”

“What!” exclaimed Desire, looking aghast; “has he dared to rob me! What had he of mine? not the gold beads!”

“I’ll not swear they were no sham.”

“The villain!” continued the enraged termagant, catching her breath like a person that had just been submerged in water longer than is agreeable to human nature, and forcing her way through the crowd, with such vigour as soon to be in a situation to fly to her secret hordes, in order to ascertain the extent of her misfortune; “the sacrilegious villain! to rob the wife of his bosom, the mother of his own children, and”–

“Well, well,” again interrupted the landlord of the ‘Foul Anchor,’ with his unseasonable voice, “I never before heard the good-man suspected of roguery, though the neighbourhood was ever backward in calling him chicken-hearted.”

The old seaman looked the publican full in the face, with much meaning in his eye, as he answered,–

“If the honest tailor never robbed any but that virago, there would be no great thieving sin to be laid to his account; for every bead he had about him wouldn’t serve to pay his ferryage. I could carry all the gold on his neck in my eye, and see none the worse for its company. But it is a shame to stop the entrance into a licensed tavern, with such a mob, as if it were an embargoed port; and so I nave sent the woman after her valuables, and all the idlers, as you see, in her wake.”

Joe Joram gazed on the speaker like a man enthralled by some mysterious charm; neither answering nor altering the direction of his eye, for near a minute. Then, suddenly breaking out in a deep and powerful laugh, as if he were not backward in enjoying the artifice, which certainly had produced the effect of removing the crowd from his own door to that of the absent tailor, he flourished his arm in the way of greeting, and exclaimed,–“Welcome, tarry Bob; welcome, old boy, welcome! From what cloud have you fallen? and before what wind have you been running, that Newport is again your harbour?”

“Too many questions to be answered in an open roadstead, friend Joram; and altogether too dry a subject for a husky conversation. When I am birthed in one of your inner cabins, with a mug of flip and a kid of good Rhode Island beef within grappling distance, why, as many questions as you choose, and as many answers, you know, as suits my appetite.”

“And who’s to pay the piper, honest Bob? whose ship’s purser will pay your check now?” continued the publican, showing the old sailor in, however, with a readiness that seemed to contradict the doubt, expressed by his words, of any reward for such extraordinary civility.

“Who?” interrupted the other, displaying the money so lately received from Wilder, in such a manner that it might be seen by the few by-standers who remained, as though he would himself furnish a sufficient apology for the distinguished manner in which he was received; “who but this gentleman? I can boast of being backed by the countenance of his Sacred Majesty himself, God bless him!”

“God bless him!” echoed several of the loyal lieges; and that too in a place which has since heard such very different cries, and where the words would now excite nearly as much surprise, though far less alarm, than an earthquake.

“God bless him!” repeated Joram, opening the door of an inner room, and pointing the way to his customer, “and all that are favored with his countenance! Walk in, old Bob, and you shall soon grapple with half an ox.”

Wilder, who had approached the outer door of the tavern as the mob receded, witnessed the retreat of the two worthies into the recesses of the house, and immediately entered the bar-room himself. While deliberating on the manner in which he should arrive at a communication with his new confederate, without attracting too much attention to so odd an association, the landlord returned in person to relieve him. After casting a hasty glance around the apartment, his look settled on our adventurer, whom he approached in a manner half-doubting, half-decided.

“What success, sir, in looking for a ship?” he demanded now recognizing, for the first time, the stranger with whom he had before held converse that morning. “More hands than places to employ them?”

“I am not sure it will so prove. In my walk on the hill, I met an old seaman, who”–

“Hum!” interrupted the publican, with an intelligible though stolen, sign to follow. “You will find it more convenient, sir, to take your breakfast in another room.” Wilder followed his conductor, who left the public apartment by a different door from that by which he had led his other guest into the interior of the house, wondering at the air of mystery that the innkeeper saw fit to assume on the occasion. After leading him by a circuitous passage. The latter showed Wilder, in profound silence, up a private stair-way, into the very attic of the building. Here he rapped lightly at a door, and was bid to enter, by a voice that caused our adventurer to start by its deepness and severity. On finding him self, however, in a low and confined room, he saw no other occupant than the seaman who had just been greeted by the publican as an old acquaintance and by a name to which he might, by his attire, well lay claim to be entitled–that of tarry Bob. While Wilder was staring about him, a good deal surprised at the situation in which he was placed, the landlord retired, and he found himself alone with his confederate. The latter was already engaged in discussing the fragment of the ox, just mentioned, and in quaffing of some liquid that seemed equally adapted to his taste, although sufficient time had not certainly been allowed to prepare the beverage he had seen fit to order. Without allowing his visiter leisure for much further reflection, the old mariner made a motion to him to take the only vacant chair in the room, while he continued his employment on the surloin with as much assiduity as though no interruption had taken place.

“Honest Joe Joram always makes a friend of his butcher,” he said, after ending a draught that threatened to drain the mug to the bottom. “There is such a flavour about his beef, that one might mistake it for the fin of a halibut. You have been in foreign parts, shipmate, or I may call you ‘messmate,’ since we are both anchored nigh the same kid–but you have doubtless been in foreign countries?”

“Often; I should else be but a miserable seaman.”

“Then, tell me frankly, have you ever been in the kingdom that can furnish such rations–fish, flesh, fowl, and fruits–as this very noble land of America, in which we are now both moored? and in which I suppose we both of us were born?”

“It would be carrying the love of home a little too far, to believe in such universal superiority,” returned Wilder, willing to divert the conversation from his real object, until he had time to arrange his ideas, and assure himself he had no other auditor but his visible companion. “It is generally admitted that England excels us in all these articles.”

“By whom? by your know-nothings and bold talkers. But I, a man who has seen the four quarters of the earth, and no small part of the water besides, give the lie to such empty boasters. We are colonies, friend, we are colonies; and it is as bold in a colony to tell the mother that it has the advantage, in this or that particular, as it would be in a foremast Jack to tell his officer he was wrong, though he knew it to be true. I am but a poor man, Mr–By what name may I call your Honour?”

“Me! my name?–Harris.”

“I am but a poor man, Mr Harris; but I have had charge of a watch in my time, old and rusty as I seem, nor have I spent so many long nights on deck without keeping thoughts at work, though I may not have overhaul’d as much philosophy, in so doing, as a paid parish priest, or a fee’d lawyer. Let me tell you, it is a disheartening thing to be nothing but a dweller in a colony. It keeps down the pride and spirit of a man, and lends a hand in making him what his masters would be glad to have him. I shall say nothing of fruits, and meats, and other eatables, that come from the land of which both you and I have heard and know too much, unless it be to point to yonder sun, and then to ask the question, whether you think King George has the power to make it shine on the bit of an island where he lives, as it shines here in his broad provinces of America?”

“Certainly not: and yet you know that every one allows that the productions of England are so much superior”–

“Ay, ay; a colony always sails under the lee of its mother. Talk does it all, friend Harris. Talk, talk, talk; a man can talk himself into a fever, or set a ship’s company by the ears. He can talk a cherry into a peach, or a flounder into a whale. Now here is the whole of this long coast of America, and all her rivers, and lakes, and brooks, swarming with such treasures as any man might fatten on, and yet his Majesty’s servants, who come among us, talk of their turbots, and their sole, and their carp, as if the Lord had only made such fish, and the devil had let the others slip through his fingers, without asking leave.”

Wilder turned, and fastened a look of surprise on the old man, who continued to eat, however, as if he had uttered nothing but what might be considered as a matter of course opinion.

“You are more attached to your birth-place than loyal, friend,” said the young mariner, a little austerely.

“I am not fish-loyal at least. What the Lord made, one may speak of, I hope, without offence. As to the Government, that is a rope twisted by the hands of man, and”–

“And what?” demanded Wilder, perceiving that the other hesitated.

“Hum! Why, I fancy man will undo his own work, when he can find nothing better to busy himself in. No harm in saying that either, I hope?”

“So much, that I must call your attention to the business that has brought us together. You have not go soon forgotten the earnest-money you received?”

The old sailor shoved the dish from before him, and, folding his arms, he looked his companion full in the eye, as he calmly answered,–

“When I am fairly enlisted in a service, I am a man to be counted on. I hope you sail under the same colors, friend Harris?”

“It would be dishonest to be otherwise. There is one thing you will excuse, before I proceed to detail my plans and wishes: I must take occasion to examine this closet, in order to be sure that we are actually alone.”

“You will find little there except the toggery of some of honest Joe’s female gender. As the door is not fastened with any extraordinary care, you have only to look for yourself, since seeing is believing.”

Wilder did not seem disposed to wait for this permission; he opened the door, even while the other was speaking, and, finding that the closet actually contained little else than the articles named by his companion, he turned away, like a man who was disappointed.

“Were you alone when I entered?” he demanded, after a thoughtful pause of a moment.

“Honest Joram, and yourself.”

“But no one else?”

“None that I saw,” returned the other, with a manner that betrayed a slight uneasiness; “if you think otherwise, let us overhaul the room. Should my hand fall on a listener, the salute will not be light.”

“Hold–answer me one question; who bade me enter?”

Tarry Bob, who had arisen with a good deal of alacrity, now reflected in his turn for an instant, and then he closed his musing, by indulging in a low laugh.

“Ah! I see that you have got your ideas a little jammed. A man cannot talk the same, with a small portion of ox in his mouth, as though his tongue had as much sea-room as a ship four-and-twenty hours out.”

“Then, you spoke?”

“I’ll swear to that much,” returned Bob, resuming his seat like one who had settled the whole affair to his entire satisfaction; “and now, friend Harris, if you are ready to lay bare your mind, I’m just as ready to look at it.”

Wilder did not appear to be quite as well content with the explanation as his companion, but he drew a chair, and prepared to open his subject.

“I am not to tell you, friend, after what you have heard and seen, that I have no very strong desire that the lady with whom we have both spoken this morning, and her companion, should, sail in the ‘Royal Caroline.’ I suppose it is enough for our purposes that you should know the fact; the reason why I prefer they should remain where they are, can be of no moment as to the duty you are to undertake.”

“You need not tell an old seaman how to gather in the slack of a running idea!” cried Bob, chuckling and winking at his companion in a way that displeased the latter by its familiarity; “I have not lived fifty years on blue water, to mistake it for the skies.”

“You then fancy, sir, that my motive is no secret to you?”

“It needs no spy-glass to see, that, while the old people say, ‘Go,’ the young people would like to stay where they are.”

“You do both of the young people much injustice then; for, until yesterday, I never laid eyes on the person you mean.”

“Ah! I see how it is; the owners of the ‘Caroline’ have not been so civil as they ought, and you are paying them a small debt of thanks!”

“That is possibly a means of retaliation that might suit your taste,” said Wilder, gravely; “but which is not much in accordance with mine. The whole of the parties are utter strangers to me.”

“Hum! Then I suppose you belong to the vessel in the outer harbour; and, though you don’t hate your enemies, you love your friends. We must contrive the means to coax the ladies to take passage in the slaver.”

“God forbid!”

“God forbid! Now I think, friend Harris, you set up the backstays of your conscience a little too taught. Though I cannot, and do not, agree with you in all you have said concerning the ‘Royal Caroline,’ I see no reason to doubt but we shall have but one mind about the other vessel. I call her a wholesome looking and well proportioned craft, and one that a King might sail in with comfort.”

“I deny it not; still I like her not.”

“Well, I am glad of that; and, since the matter is fairly before us, master Harris, I have a word or two to say concerning that very ship. I am an old sea-dog, and one not easily blinded in matters of the trade. Do you not find something, that is not in character for an honest trader, in the manner in which they have laid that vessel at her anchors, without the fort, and the sleepy look she bears, at the same time that any one may see she is not built to catch oysters, or to carry cattle to the islands?”

“As you have said, I think her a wholesome and a tight-built ship. Of what evil practice, however, do you suspect her?–perhaps she robs the revenue?”

“Hum! I am not sure it would be pleasant to smuggle in such a vessel, though your contraband is a merry trade, after all. She has a pretty battery, as well as one can see from this distance.”

“I dare say her owners are not tired of her yet and would gladly keep her from falling into the hands of the French.”

“Well, well, I may be wrong; but, unless sight is going with my years, all is not as it would be on board that slaver, provided her papers were true, and she had the lawful name to her letters of marque. What think you, honest Joe, in this matter?”

Wilder turned, impatiently, and found that the landlord had entered the room, with a step so as to have escaped his attention, which had been drawn to his companion with a force that the reader will readily comprehend. The air of surprise, with which Joram regarded the speaker, was certainly not affected; for the question was repeated, and in still more definite terms, before he saw fit to reply.

“I ask you, honest Joe, if you think the slaver, in the outer harbour of this port, a true man?”

“You come across one, Bob, in your bold way, with such startling questions,” returned the publican, casting his eyes obliquely around him, as if he would fain make sure of the character of the audience to which he spoke, “such stirring opinions, that really I am often non-plushed to know how to get the ideas together, to make a saving answer.”

“It is droll enough, truly, to see the landlord of the ‘Foul Anchor’ dumb-foundered,” returned the old man, with perfect composure in mien and eye. “I ask you, if you do not suspect something wrong about that slaver?”

“Wrong! Good heavens, mister Robert, recollect what you are saying. I would not, for the custom of his Majesty’s Lord High Admiral, have any discouraging words be uttered in my house against the reputation of any virtuous and fair-dealing slavers! The Lord protect me from blacking the character of any honest subject of the King!”

“Do you see nothing wrong, worthy and tender Joram, about the ship in the outer harbour?” repeated mister Robert, without moving eye, limb, or muscle.

“Well, since you press me so hard for an opinion and seeing that you are a customer who pays freely for what he orders, I will say, that, if there is any thing unreasonable, or even illegal, in the deportment of the gentlemen”–

“You sail so nigh the wind, friend Joram,” coolly interrupted the old man, “as to keep every thing shaking. Just bethink you of a plain answer: Have you seen any thing wrong about the slaver?”

“Nothing, on my conscience, then,” said the publican, puffing not unlike a cetaceous fish that had come to the surface to breathe; “as I am an unworthy sinner, sitting under the preaching of good and faithful Dr Dogma, nothing–nothing”

“No! Then are you a duller man than I had rated you at! Do you _suspect_ nothing?”

“Heaven protect me from suspicions! The devil besets all our minds with doubts; but weak, and evil inclined, is he who submits to them. The officers and crew of that ship are free drinkers, and as generous as princes: Moreover, as they never forget to clear the score before they leave the house, I call them–honest!”

“And I call them–pirates!”

“Pirates!” echoed Joram, fastening his eye, with marked distrust, on the countenance of the attentive Wilder. “‘Pirate’ is a harsh word, mister Robert, and should not be thrown in any gentleman’s face without testimony enough to clear one in an action of defamation, should such a thing get fairly before twelve sworn and conscientious men. But I suppose you know what you say, and before whom you say it.”

“I do; and now, as it seems that your opinion in this matter amounts to just nothing at all, you will please”

“To do any thing you order,” cried Joram, very evidently delighted to change the subject.

“To go and ask the customers below if they are dry,” continued the other, beckoning for the publican to retire by the way he entered, with the air of one who felt certain of being obeyed. As soon as the door was closed on the retiring landlord, he turned to his remaining companion, and continued, “You seem as much struck aback as unbelieving Joe himself, at what you have just heard.”

“It is a harsh suspicion, and should be well supported, old man, before you venture to repeat it. What pirate has lately been heard of on this coast?”

“There is the well-known Red Rover,” returned the other, dropping his voice, and casting a furtive look around him, as if even he thought extraordinary caution was necessary in uttering the formidable name.

‘But he is said to keep chiefly in the Caribbean Sea.”

“He is a man to be any where, and every where. The King would pay him well who put the rogue into the hands of the law.”

“A thing easier planned than executed,” Wilder thoughtfully answered.

“That is as it may be. I am an old fellow, and fitter to point out the way than to go ahead. But you are like a newly fitted ship, with all your rigging tight, and your spars without a warp in them. What say you to make your fortune by selling the knaves to the King? It is only giving the devil his own a few months sooner or later.”

Wilder started, and turned away from his companion like one who was little pleased by the manner in which he expressed himself. Perceiving the necessity of a reply, however, he demanded,–

“And what reason have you for believing your suspicions true? or what means have you for effecting your object, if true, in the absence of the royal cruisers?”

“I cannot swear that I am right; but, if sailing on the wrong tack, we can only go about, when we find out the mistake. As to means, I confess they are easier named than mustered.”

“Go, go; this is idle talk; a mere whim of your old brain,” said Wilder, coldly; “and the less said the soonest mended. All this time we are forgetting our proper business. I am half inclined to think, mister Robert, you are holding out false lights, in order to get rid of the duty for which you are already half paid.”

There was a look of satisfaction in the countenance of the old tar, while Wilder was speaking, that might have struck his companion, had not the young man risen, while speaking, to pace the narrow room, with a thoughtful and hurried step.

“Well, well,” the former rejoined, endeavouring to disguise his evident contentment, in his customary selfish, but shrewd expression, “I am an old dreamer, and often have I thought myself swimming in the sea when I have been safe moored on dry land! I believe there must soon be a reckoning with the devil, in order that each may take his share of my poor carcass, and I be left the Captain of my own ship. Now for your Honour’s orders.”

Wilder returned to his seat, and disposed himself to give the necessary instructions to his confederate, in order that he might counteract all he had already said in favour of the outward-bound vessel.

Chapter XI.

—-“The man is, notwithstanding, sufficient;–three thousand, ducats;–I think I may take his bond.”–_Merchant of Venice._

As the day advanced, the appearances of a fresh sea breeze setting in gradually grew stronger; and, with the increase of the wind, were to be seen all the symptoms of an intention to leave the harbour on the part of the Bristol trader. The sailing of a large ship was an event of much more importance in an American port, sixty years ago, than at the present hour, when a score is frequently seen to arrive and depart from one haven in a single day. Although claiming to be inhabitants of one of the principal towns of the colony, the good people of Newport did not witness the movements on board the “Caroline” with that species of indolent regard which is the fruit of satiety in sights as well as in graver things, and with which, in the course of time, the evolutions of even a fleet come to be contemplated On the contrary, the wharves were crowded with boys, and indeed with idlers of every growth. Even many of the more considerate and industrious of the citizens were seen loosening the close grasp they usually kept on the precious minutes, and allowing them to escape uncounted, though not entirely unheeded, as they yielded to the ascendency of curiosity over interest, and strayed from their shops, and their work-yards, to gaze upon the noble spectacle of a moving ship.

The tardy manner in which the crew of the “Caroline” made their preparations, however, exhausted the patience of more than one time-saving citizen. Quite as many of the better sort of the spectators had left the wharves as still remained, and yet the vessel spread to the breeze but the solitary sheet of canvas which has been already named. Instead of answering the wishes of hundreds of weary eyes, the noble ship was seen sheering about her anchor, inclining from the passing wind, as her bows were alternately turned to the right and to the left, like a restless courser restrained by the grasp of the groom, chafing his bit, and with difficulty keeping those limbs upon the earth with which he is shortly to bound around the ring. After more than an hour of unaccountable delay, a rumour was spread among the crowd that an accident had occurred, by which some important individual, belonging to the complement of the vessel, was severely injured. But this rumour passed away also, and was nearly forgotten, when a sheet of flame was seen issuing from a bow-port of the “Caroline,” driving before it a cloud of curling and mounting smoke, and which was succeeded by the instant roar of a discharge of artillery. A bustle, like that which usually precedes the immediate announcement of any long attended event, took place among the weary expectants on the land, and every one now felt certain, that, what ever might have occurred, it was settled that the ship should proceed.

Of all this delay, the several movements on board, the subsequent signal of sailing, and of the impatience in the crowd, Wilder had been a grave and close observer. Posted with his back against the upright fluke of a condemned anchor, on a wharf a little apart from that occupied by most of the other spectators, he had remained an hour in the same position scarcely bending his look to his right hand or to his left. When the gun was fired he started, not with the nervous impulse which had made a hundred others do precisely the same thing, but to turn an anxious and rapid glance along the streets that came within the range of his eye. From this hasty and uneasy examination, he soon returned into his former reclining posture, though the wandering of his glances and the whole expression of his meaning countenance would have told an observer that some event, to which the young manner looked forward with excessive interest, was on the eve of its consummation As minute after minute, however, rolled by, his composure was gradually restored, and a smile of satisfaction lighted his features, while his lips moved like those of a man who expressed his pleasure in a soliloquy. It was in the midst of these agreeable meditations, that the sound of many voices met his ears; and, turning, he saw a large party within a few yards of where he stood. He was not slow to detect among them the forms of Mrs Wyllys and Gertrude, attired in such a manner as to leave no doubt that they were at length on the eve of embarking.

A cloud, driving before the sun, does not produce a greater change in the aspect of the earth, than was wrought in the expression of Wilder’s countenance by this unexpected sight. He was just implicitly relying on the success of an artifice, which though sufficiently shallow, he flattered himself was deep enough to act on the timidity and credulity of woman; and, now, was he suddenly awoke from his self-gratulation, to prove the utter disappointment of his hopes. Muttering a suppressed but deep execration against the perfidy of his confederate, he shrunk as much as possible behind the fluke of the anchor, and fastened his eyes sullenly on the ship.

The party which accompanied the travellers to the water side was, like all other parties made to take leave of valued friends, taciturn and restless. Those who spoke, did so with a rapid and impatient utterance, as though they wished to hurry the very separation they regretted; and the features of those who said nothing looked full of meaning. Wilder heard several affectionate and warm-hearted wishes given, and promises extorted, from youthful voices, all of which were answered in the soft and mournful tones of Gertrude, and yet he obstinately refused to bend even a stolen look in the direction of the speakers.

At length, a footstep, within a few feet of him, induced a hasty glance aside. His eye met that of Mrs Wyllys. The lady started, as well as our young mariner, at the sudden recognition; but, recovering her self-possession, she observed, with admirable coolness,–

“You perceive, sir, that we are not to be deterred from an enterprise once undertaken, by ordinary dangers.”

“I hope you may not have reason, Madam, to repent your courage.”

A short, but painfully thoughtful pause succeeded, on the part of Mrs Wyllys. Casting a look behind her, in order to ascertain that she was not overheard, she drew a step nigher to the youth, and said, in a voice even lower than before,–

“It is not yet too late: Give me but the shadow of a reason for what you have said, and I will wait for another ship. My feelings are foolishly inclined to believe you, young man, though my judgment tells me there is but too much probability that you trifle with our womanish fears.”

“Trifle! On such a matter I would trifle with none of your sex; and least of all with you!”

“This is extraordinary! For a stranger it is inexplicable Have you a fact, or a reason, which I can plead to the friends of my young charge?”

“You know them already.”

“Then, sir, am I compelled, against my will, to believe your motive is one that you have some powerful considerations for wishing to conceal,” coolly returned the disappointed and even mortified governess “For your own sake, I hope it is not unworthy I thank you for all that is well intended; if you have spoken aught which is otherwise, I forgive it.”

They parted, with the restraint of people who feel that distrust exists between them. Wilder again shrunk behind his cover, maintaining a proud position and a countenance that was grave to austerity. His situation, however, compelled him to become an auditor of most of what was now said.

The principal speaker, as was meet on such an occasion was Mrs de Lacey, whose voice was often raised in sage admonitions and professional opinions blended in a manner that all would admire, though none of her sex, but they who had enjoyed the singular good fortune of sharing in the intimate confidence of a flag-officer, might ever hope to imitate.

“And now, my dearest niece,” concluded the relict of the Rear-Admiral, after exhausting her breath, and her store of wisdom, in numberless exhortations to be careful of her health, to write often to repeat the actual words of her private message to her brother the General, to keep below in gales of wind, to be particular in the account of any extraordinary sight she might have the good fortune to behold in the passage, and, in short, in all other matters likely to grow out of such a leave-taking “and now, my dearest niece, I commit you to the mighty deep, and One far mightier–to Him who made it. Banish from your thoughts all recollections of any thing you may have heard concerning the imperfections of the ‘Royal Caroline;’ for the opinion of the aged seaman, who sailed with the lamented Admiral, assures me they are all founded in mistake.” [“The treacherous villain!” muttered Wilder.] “Who spoke?” said Mrs de Lacey; but, receiving no reply, she continued; “His opinion is also exactly in accordance with my own, on more mature reflection. To be sure, it is a culpable neglect to depend on bobstays and gammonings for the security of the bowsprit, but still even this is an oversight which, as my old friend has just told me, may be remedied by ‘preventers and lashings.’ I have written a note to the Master,–Gertrude, my dear, be careful ever to call the Master of the ship _Mister_ Nichols; for none, but such as bear his Majesty’s commission, are entitled to be termed _Captains;_ it is an honourable station, and should always be treated with reverence, it being, in fact, next in rank to a flag-officer,–I have written a note to the Master on the subject, and he will see the neglect repaired and so, my love, God bless you; take the best possible care of yourself; write me by even opportunity; remember my kindest love to your father and be very minute in your description of the whales.”

The eyes of the worthy and kind-hearted widow were filled with tears as she ended; and there was a touch of nature, in the tremour of her voice, that produced a sympathetic feeling in all who heard her words. The final parting took place under the impression of these kind emotions; and, before another minute, the oars of the boat, which bore the travellers to the ship, were heard in the water.

Wilder listened to the well-known sounds with a feverish interest, that he possibly might have found it difficult to explain even to himself. A light touch on the elbow first drew his attention from the disagreeable subject. Surprised at the circumstance, he faced the intruder, who appeared to be a lad of apparently some fifteen years. A second look was necessary to tell the abstracted young mariner that he again saw the attendant of the Rover; he who has already been introduced in our pages under the name of Roderick.

“Your pleasure?” he demanded, when his amazement at being thus interrupted in his meditations, had a little subsided.

“I am directed to put these orders into your own hands,” was the answer.

“Orders!” repeated the young man, with a curling lip. “The authority should be respected which issues its mandates through such a messenger.”

“The authority is one that it has ever proved dangerous to disobey,” gravely returned the boy.

“Indeed! Then will I look into the contents with out delay, lest I fall into some fatal negligence. Are you bid to wait an answer?”

On raising his eyes from the note the other had given him, after breaking its seal, the young man found that the messenger had already vanished. Perceiving how useless it would be to pursue so light a form, amid the mazes of lumber that loaded the wharf, and most of the adjacent shore, he opened the letter and read as follows:–

“An accident has disabled the Master of the outward-bound ship called the ‘Royal Caroline!’ Her consignee is reluctant to intrust her to the officer next in rank; but sail she must. I find she has credit for her speed. If you have any credentials of _character_ and _competency_, profit by the occasion, and earn the station you are finally destined to fill. You have been named to some who are interested, and you have been sought diligently. If this reach you in season, be on the alert, and be decided. Show no surprise at any co-operation you may unexpectedly meet. My agents are more numerous than you had believed. The reason is obvious; gold is yellow, though I am

“RED.”

The signature, the matter, and the style of this letter, left Wilder in no doubt as to its author. Casting a glance around him, he sprang into a skiff; and, before the boat of the travellers had reached the ship, that of Wilder had skimmed the water over half the distance between her and the land. As he plied his skulls with vigorous and skilful arms, he soon stood upon her decks. Forcing his way among the crowd of attendants from the shore, that are apt to cumber a departing ship, he reached the part of the vessel where a circle of busy and anxious faces told him he should find those most concerned in her fate. Until now, he had hardly breathed clearly, much less reflected on the character of his sudden enterprise. It was too late, however, to retreat, had he been so disposed, or to abandon his purpose, without incurring the hazard of exciting dangerous suspicions A single instant served to recal his thoughts, ere he demanded,–

“Do I see the owner of the ‘Caroline?'”

“The ship is consigned to our house,” returned a sedate, deliberate, and shrewd-looking individual, in the attire of a wealthy, but also of a thrifty, trader.

“I have heard that you have need of an experienced officer.”

“Experienced officers are comfortable things to an owner in a vessel of value,” returned the merchant. “I hope the ‘Caroline’ is not without her portion.”

“But I had heard, one to supply her Commander’s place, for a time, was greatly needed?”

“If her Commander were incapable of doing his duty, such a thing might certainly come to pass. Are you seeking a birth?”

“I have come to apply for the vacancy.”

“It would have been wiser, had you first ascertained there existed a vacancy to fill. But you have not come to ask authority, in such a ship as this, without sufficient testimony of your ability and fitness?”

“I hope these documents may prove satisfactory,” said Wilder, placing in his hands a couple of unsealed letters.

During the time the other was reading the certificates for such they proved to be, his shrewd eye was looking over his spectacles at the subject of their contents, and returning to the paper, in alternate glances, in such a way as to render it very evident that he was endeavouring to assure himself of the fidelity of the words he read, by actual observation.

“Hum! This is certainly very excellent testimony in your favour, young gentleman; and–coming, as it does, from two so respectable and affluent houses as Spriggs, Boggs and Tweed, and Hammer and Hacket–entitled to great credit. A richer and broader bottomed firm than the former, is not to be found in all his Majesty’s colonies; and I have great respect for the latter, though envious people do say that they over-trade a little.”

“Since, then, you esteem them so highly, I shall not be considered hasty in presuming on their friendship.”

“Not at all, not at all, Mr a–a”–glancing his eye again into one of the letters; “ay–Mr Wilder; there is never any presumption in a fair offer, in a matter of business. Without offers to sell and offers to buy, our property would never change hands, sir, ha! ha! ha! never change to a profit, you know, young gentleman.”

“I am aware of the truth of what you say, and therefore I beg leave to repeat my offer.”

“All perfectly fair and perfectly reasonable. But you cannot expect us, Mr Wilder, to make a vacancy expressly for you to fill, though it must be admitted that your papers are excellent–as good as the note of Spriggs, Boggs and Tweed themselves–not to make a vacancy expressly”

“I had supposed the Master of the ship so seriously injured”–

“Injured, but not seriously,” interrupted the wary consignee, glancing his eye around at sundry shippers, and one or two spectators, who were within ear-shot; “injured certainly, but not so much as to quit the vessel. No, no, gentlemen; the good ship ‘Royal Caroline’ proceeds on her voyage, as usual, under the care of that old and well-tried mariner, Nicholas Nichols.”

“Then, sir, am I sorry to have intruded on your time at so busy a moment,” said Wilder, bowing with a disappointed air, and falling back a step, as if about to withdraw.

“Not so hasty–not so hasty; bargains are not to be concluded, young man, as you let a sail fall from the yard. It is possible that your services may be of use, though not perhaps in the responsible situation of Master. At what rate do you value the title of ‘Captain?'”

“I care little for the name, provided the trust and the authority are mine.”

“A very sensible youth!” muttered the discreet merchant; “and one who knows how to distinguish between the shadow and the substance! A gentleman of your good sense and character must know, however, that the reward is always proportioned to the nominal dignity. If I were acting for myself, in this business, the case would be materially changed, but, as an agent, it is a duty to consult the interest of my principal.”

“The reward is of no account,” said Wilder, with an eagerness that might have over-reached itself, had not the individual with whom he was bargaining fastened his thoughts on the means of cheapening the other’s services, with a steadiness from which they rarely swerved, when bent on so commendable an object as saving: “I seek for service.”

“Then service you shall have; nor will you find us niggardly in the operation. You cannot expect an advance, for a run of no more than a month; nor any perquisites in the way of stowage, since the ship is now full to her hatches; nor, indeed, any great price in the shape of wages, since we take you chiefly to accommodate so worthy a youth, and to honour the recommendations of so respectable a house as Spriggs, Boggs and Tweed; but you will find us liberal, excessive liberal. Stay–how know we that you are the person named in the invoi–I should say, recommendation?”

“Does not the fact of possessing the letters establish my character?”

“It might in peaceable times; when the realm was not scourged by war. A description of the person should have accompanied the documents, like a letter of advice with the bill. As we take you at some risk in this matter, you are not to be surprised that the price will be affected by the circumstance. We are liberal; I believe no house in the colonies pays more liberally; but then we have a character for prudence to lose.”

“I have already said, sir, that the price shall not interrupt our bargain.”

“Good: There is pleasure in transacting business on such liberal and honourable views! And yet I wish a notarial seal, or a description of the person, had accompanied the letters. This is the signature of Robert Tweed; I know it well, and would be glad to see it at the bottom of a promissory note for ten thousand pounds; that is, with a responsible endorser; but the uncertainty is much against your pecuniary interest, young man, since we become, as it were, underwriters that you are the individual named.”

“In order that your mind may be at ease on the subject, Mr Bale,” said a voice from among the little circle that was listening, with characteristic interest, to the progress of the bargain, “I can testify, or, should it be necessary, qualify to the person of the gentleman.”

Wilder turned in some haste, and in no little astonishment, to discover the acquaintance whom chance had thrown in so extraordinary, and possibly in so disagreeable a manner, across his path; and that, too, in a portion of the country where he wished to believe himself an entire stranger. To his utter amazement, he found that the new speaker was no other than the landlord of the “Foul Anchor.”–Honest Joe stood with a perfectly composed look, and with a face that might readily have been trusted to confront a far more imposing tribunal, awaiting the result of his testimony on the seemingly wavering mind of the consignee.

“Ah! you have lodged the gentleman for a time and you can testify that he is a punctual paymaster and a civil inmate. But I want documents fit to be filed with the correspondence of the owners _at home_”.

“I know not what sort of testimony you think fit for such good company,” returned the unmoved publican holding up his hand with an air of admirable innocence; “but, if the sworn declaration of a housekeeper is of the sort you need, you are a magistrate and may begin to say over the words at once.”

“Not I, not I, man. Though a magistrate, the oath is informal, and would not be binding in law. But what do you know of the person in question?”

“That he is as good a seaman, for his years, as any in the colonies. There may be some of more practice and greater experience; I dare say such are to be found; but as to activity, watchfulness, and prudence, it would be hard to find his equal–especially for prudence.”

“You then are quite certain that this person is the individual named in these papers?”

Joram received the certificates with the same admirable coolness he had maintained from the commencement and prepared to read them with the most scrupulous care. In order to effect this necessary operation, he had to put on his spectacles, (for the landlord of the “Foul Anchor” was in the wane of life), and Wilder fancied that he stood, during the process, a notable example of how respectable depravity may become, in appearance, when supported by a reverend air.

“This is all very true, Mr Bale,” continued the publican, removing his glasses, and returning the papers. “They have forgotten to say any thing of the manner in which he saved the ‘Lively Nancy,’ off Hatteras, and how he run the ‘Peggy and Dolly’ over the Savannah bar, without a pilot, blowing great guns from the northward and eastward at the time; but I, who followed the water, as you know, in my younger days, have often heard both circumstances mentioned among sea-faring men, and I am a judge of the difficulty. I have an interest in this ship, neighbour Bale, (for though a rich man, and I a poor one, we are nevertheless neighbours)–I say I have an interest in this ship; since she is a vessel that seldom quits Newport without leaving something to jingle in my pocket, or I should not be here to-day, to see her lift her anchor.”

As the publican concluded, he gave audible evidence that his visit had not gone unrewarded, by raising a music that was no less agreeable to the ears of the thrifty merchant than to his own. The two worthies laughed in an understanding way, and like two men who had found a particular profit in their intercourse with the “Royal Caroline.” The latter then beckoned Wilder apart, and, after a little further preliminary discourse, the terms of the young mariner’s engagement were finally settled. The true Master of the ship was to remain on board, both as a security for the insurance, and in order to preserve her reputation; but it was frankly admitted that his hurt, which was no less than a broken leg, and which the surgeons were then setting, would probably keep him below for a month to come. During the time he was kept from his duty, his functions were to be filled, in effect, by our adventurer. These arrangements occupied another hour of time, and then the consignee left the vessel, perfectly satisfied with the prudent and frugal manner in which he had discharged his duty towards his principal. Before stepping into the boat, however, with a view to be equally careful of his own interests, he took an opportunity to request the publican to make a proper and legal affidavit of all that he knew, “of his own knowledge,” concerning the officer just engaged Honest Joram was liberal of his promises; but, as he saw no motive, now that all was so happily effected, for incurring useless risks, he contrived to evade their fulfilment, finding, no doubt, his apology for this breach of faith in the absolute poverty of his information, when the subject came to be duly considered, and construed literally by the terms required.

It is unnecessary to relate the bustle, the reparation of half-forgotten, and consequently neglected business, the duns, good wishes, injunctions to execute commissions in some distant port, and all the confused, and seemingly interminable, duties that crowd themselves into the last ten minutes that precede the sailing of a merchant vessel, more especially if she is fortunate, or rather unfortunate enough to have passengers. A certain class of men quit a vessel, in such a situation, with the