CHAPTER III.
The western wave was all a flame, The day was well nigh done, Almost upon the western wave Rested the broad bright sun; When that strange ship drove suddenly Betwixt us and the sun.
The Ancient Mariner.
At that hour, on the succeeding morning, when the light of day is justbeginning to chase away the shadows of night, the Molly Swash becamevisible within the gloom of the high land which surrounds so much of thebay of Hempstead, under easy sail, backing and filling, in order tokeep within her hiding-place, until a look could be had at the state ofthings without. Half an hour later, she was so near the entrance of theestuary, as to enable the look-outs aloft to ascertain that the coastwas clear, when Spike ordered the helm to be put up, and the brig to bekept away to her course. At this precise moment, Rose appeared on deck,refreshed by the sleep of a quiet night; and with cheeks tinged with acolour even more delicate than that which was now glowing in the easternsky, and which was almost as brilliant.
“We stopped in this bit of a harbour for the night, Miss Rose, that isall;” said Spike, observing that his fair passenger was looking abouther, in some little surprise, at finding the vessel so near the land,and seemingly so much out of her proper position. “Yes, we always dothat, when we first start on a v’y’ge, and before the brig gets used totravelling--do n’t we, Mr. Mulford?”
Mr. Mulford, who knew how hopeless was the attempt to mystify Rose, asone might mystify her credulous and weak-minded aunt, and who had nodisposition to deal any way but fairly by the beautiful, and in onesense now helpless young creature before him, did not see fit to makeany reply. Offend Spike he did not dare to do, more especially underpresent circumstances; and mislead Rose he would not do. He affectednot to hear the question, therefore, but issuing an order about thehead-sails, he walked forward as if to see it executed. Rose herself wasnot under as much restraint as the young mate.
“It is convenient, Captain Spike,” she coolly answered for Mulford, “tohave stopping-places, for vessels that are wearied, and I remember thetime when my uncle used to tell me of such matters, very much in thesame vein; but, it was before I was twelve years old.”
Spike hemmed, and he looked a little foolish, but Clench, the boatswain,coming aft to say something to him in confidence, just at that moment,he was enabled to avoid the awkwardness of attempting to explain. Thisman Clench, or Clinch, as the name was pronounced, was deep in thecaptain’s secrets; far more so than was his mate, and would have beenfilling Mulford’s station at that very time, had he not been hopelesslyignorant of navigation. On the present occasion, his business was topoint out to the captain, two or three lines of smoke, that were visibleabove the water of the Sound, in the eastern board; one of which he wasapprehensive might turn out to be the smoke of the revenue craft, fromwhich they had so recently escaped.
“Steamers are no rarities in Long Island Sound, Clench,” observed thecaptain, levelling his glass at the most suspected of the smokes. “Thatmust be a Providence, or Stonington chap, coming west with the Bostontrain.”
“Either of them would have been further west, by this time, CaptainSpike,” returned the doubting, but watchful boatswain. “It’s a largesmoke, and I fear it is the revenue fellow coming back, after having hada look well to the eastward, and satisfying himself that we are not tobe had in that quarter.”
Spike growled out his assent to the possibility of such a conjecture,and promised vigilance. This satisfied his subordinate for the moment,and he walked forward, or to the place where he belonged. In the meantime, the widow came on deck, smiling, and snuffing the salt air, andready to be delighted with anything that was maritime.
“Good morning, Captain Spike,” she cried--“Are we in the offing,yet?--you know I desired to be told when we are in the offing, for Iintend to write a letter to my poor Mr. Budd’s sister, Mrs. Sprague, assoon as we get to the offing.”
“What is the offing, aunt?” inquired the handsome niece.
“Why you have hardly been at sea long enough to understand me, child,should I attempt to explain. The offing, however, is the place where thelast letters are always written to the owners, and to friends ashore.The term comes, I suppose, from the circumstance that the vessel isabout to be off, and it is natural to think of those we leave behind,at such a moment. I intend to write to your aunt Sprague, my dear, theinstant I hear we are in the offing; and what is more, I intend to makeyou my amanuensis.”
“But how will the letter be sent, aunty?--I have no more objectionsto writing than any one else, but I do not see how the letter is to besent. Really, the sea is a curious region, with its stopping-places forthe night, and its offings to write letters at!”
“Yes, it’s all as you say, Rose--a most remarkable region is the sea!You’ll admire it, as I admire it, when you come to know it better; andas your poor uncle admired it, and as Captain Spike admires it, too. Asfor the letters, they can be sent ashore by the pilot, as letters arealways sent.”
“But, aunty, there is no pilot in the Swash--for Captain Spike refusedto take one on board.”
“Rose!--you don’t understand what you are talking about! No vessel everyet sailed without a pilot, if indeed any can. It’s opposed to the law,not to have a pilot; and now I remember to have heard your dear unclesay it wasn’t a voyage if a vessel didn’t take away a pilot.”
“But if they take them away, aunty, how can they send the letters ashoreby them?”
“Poh! poh! child; you don’t know what you’re saying; but you’ll overlookit, I hope, Captain Spike, for Rose is quick, and will soon learn toknow better. As if letters couldn’t be sent ashore by the pilot, thoughhe was a hundred thousand miles from land! But, Captain Spike, you mustlet me know when we are about to get off the Sound, for I know that thepilot is always sent ashore with his letters, before the vessel gets offthe Sound.”
“Yes, yes,” returned the captain, a little mystified by the widow,though he knew her so well, and understood her so well--“you shall know,ma’am, when we get off soundings, for I suppose that is what you mean.”
“What is the difference? Off the Sound, or off the soundings, of course,must mean the same thing. But, Rosy, we will go below and write toyour aunt at once, for I see a light-house yonder, and light-houses arealways put just off the soundings.”
Rose, who always suspected her aunt’s nautical talk, though she did notknow how to correct it, and was not sorry to put an end to it, now, bygoing below, and spreading her own writing materials, in readiness towrite, as the other dictated. Biddy Noon was present, sewing on some ofher own finery.
“Now write, as I tell you, Rose,” commenced the widow--“My dear sisterSprague--Here we are, at last, just off the soundings, with light-housesall round us, and so many capes and islands in sight, that it does seemas if the vessel never could find its way through them all. Some ofthese islands must be the West Indies”--“Aunty, that can never be!” exclaimed Rose--“we left New York only yesterday.”
“What of that? Had it been old times, I grant you several days might benecessary to get a sight of the West Indies, but, now, when a lettercan be written to a friend in Boston, and an answer received in half anhour, it requires no such time to go to the West Indies. Besides,what other islands are there in this part of the world?--they can’t beEngland--”
“No--no,”--said Rose, at once seeing it would be preferable to admitthey were the West Indies; so the letter went on:--“Some of theseislands must be the West Indies, and it is high time we saw some ofthem, for we are nearly off the Sound, and the light-houses are gettingto be quite numerous. I think we have already seen four since we leftthe wharf. But, my dear sister Sprague, you will be delighted to hearhow much better Rose’s health is already becoming--”
“My health, aunty! Why, I never knew an ill day in my life!”
“Don’t tell me that, my darling; I know too well what all thesedeceptive appearances of health amount to. I would not alarm you forthe world, Rosy dear, but a careful parent--
and I’m your parent inaffection, if not by nature--but a careful parent’s eye is not to bedeceived. I know you look well, but you are ill, my child; though,Heaven be praised, the sea air and hydropathy are already doing you amonstrous deal of good.”
As Mrs. Budd concluded, she wiped her eyes, and appeared really gladthat her niece had a less consumptive look than when she embarked. Rosesat, gazing at her aunt, in mute astonishment. She knew how much andtruly she was beloved, and that induced her to be more tolerant of herconnection’s foibles than even duty demanded. Feeling was blended withher respect, but it was almost too much for her, to learn that thislong, and in some respects painful voyage, was undertaken on heraccount, and without the smallest necessity for it. The vexation,however, would have been largely increased, but for certain freecommunications that had occasionally occurred between her and thehandsome mate, since the moment of her coming on board the brig. Roseknew that Harry Mulford loved her, too, for he had told her as much witha seaman’s frankness; and though she had never let him know that hispartiality was returned, her woman’s heart was fast inclining towardhim, with all her sex’s tenderness. This made the mistake of heraunt tolerable, though Rose was exceedingly vexed it should ever haveoccurred.
“Why, my dearest aunt,” she cried, “they told me it was on your accountthat this voyage was undertaken!”
“I know they did, poor, dear Rosy, and that was in order not to alarmyou. Some persons of delicate constitutions--”
“But my constitution is not in the least delicate, aunt; on thecontrary, it is as good as possible; a blessing for which, I trust, I amtruly grateful, I did not know but you might be suffering, though youdo look so well, for they all agreed in telling me you had need of asea-voyage.”
“I, a subject for hydropathy! Why, child, water is no more necessary tome than it is to a cat.”
“But going to sea, aunty, is not hydropathy--”
“Don’t say that, Rosy; do not say that, my dear. It is hydropathy on alarge scale, as Captain Spike says; and when he gets us into blue water,he has promised that you shall have all the benefits of the treatment.”
Rose was silent and thoughtful; after which she spoke quickly, like oneto whom an important thought had suddenly occurred.
“And Captain Spike, then, was consulted in my case?” she asked.
“He was, my dear, and you have every reason to be grateful to him. Hewas the first to discover a change in your appearance, and to suggesta sea voyage. Marine Hydropathy, he said, he was sure would get you upagain; for Captain Spike thinks your constitution good at the bottom,though the high colour you have proves too high a state of habitualexcitement.”
“Was Dr. Monson consulted at all, aunt?”
“Not at all. You know the doctors are all against hydropathy, andmesmerism, and the magnetic telegraph, and everything that is new; so wethought it best not to consult him.”
“And my aunt Sprague?”
“Yes, she was consulted after everything was settled, and when I knewher notions could not undo what had been already done. But she is aseaman’s widow, as well as myself, and has a great notion of the virtueof sea air.”
“Then it would seem that Doctor Spike was the principal adviser in mycase!”
“I own that he was, Rosy dear. Captain Spike was brought up by youruncle, who has often told me what a thorough seaman he was. ‘There’sSpike, now,’ he said to me one day, ‘he can almost make his brigtalk’--this very brig too, your uncle meant, Rosy, and, of course, oneof the best vessels in the world to take hydropathy in.”
“Yes, aunty,” returned Rose, playing with the pen, while her air provedhow little her mind was in her words. “Well, what shall I say next to myaunt Sprague?”
“Rose’s health is already becoming confirmed,” resumed the widow, whothought it best to encourage her niece by as strong terms as she couldemploy, “and I shall extol hydropathy to the skies, as long as I live.As soon as we reach our port of destination, my dear sister Sprague, Ishall write you a line to let you know it, by the magnetic telegraph--”
“But there is no magnetic telegraph on the sea, aunty,” interruptedRose, looking up from the paper, with her clear, serene, blue eyes,expressing even her surprise, at this touch of the relict’s ignorance.
“Don’t tell me that, Rosy, child, when everybody says the sparks willfly round the whole earth, just as soon as they will fly from New Yorkto Philadelphia.”
“But they must have something to fly on, aunty; and the ocean will notsustain wires, or posts.”
“Well, there is no need of being so particular; if there is notelegraph, the letter must come by mail. You can say telegraph, here,and when your aunt gets the letter, the postmark will tell her how itcame. It looks better to talk about telegraphic communications, child.”
Rose resumed her pen, and wrote at her aunt’s dictation, asfollows:--“By the magnetic telegraph, when I hope to be able to tell youthat our dear Rose is well. As yet, we both enjoy the ocean exceedingly;but when we get off the Sound, into blue water, and have sent the pilotashore, or discharged him, I ought to say, which puts me in mind oftelling you that a cannon was discharged at us only last night, and thatthe ball whistled so near me, that I heard it as plain as ever you heardRose’s piano.”
“Had I not better first tell my aunt Sprague what is to be done when thepilot is discharged?”
“No; tell her about the cannon that was discharged, first, and about theball that I heard. I had almost forgot that adventure, which was a veryremarkable one, was it not, Biddy?”
“Indeed, Missus, and it was! and Miss Rose might put in the letter howwe both screamed at that cannon, and might have been heard as plainly,every bit of it, as the ball.”
“Say nothing on the subject, Rose, or we shall never hear the last ofit. So, darling, you may conclude in your own way, for I believe I havetold your aunt all that comes to mind.”
Rose did as desired, finishing the epistle in a very few words, for,rightly enough, she had taken it into her head there was no pilot to bedischarged, and consequently that the letter would never be sent. Hershort but frequent conferences with Mulford were fast opening her eyes,not to say her heart, and she was beginning to see Captain Spike in histrue character, which was that of a great scoundrel. It is true, thatthe mate had not long judged his commander quite so harshly; but hadrather seen his beautiful brig, and her rare qualities, in her ownerand commander, than the man himself; but jealousy had quickened hisobservation of late, and Stephen Spike had lost ground sensibly withHarry Mulford, within the last week. Two or three times before, theyoung man had thought of seeking another berth, on account of certaindistrusts of Spike’s occupations; but he was poor, and so long ashe remained in the Swash, Harry’s opportunities of meeting Rose weregreatly increased. This circumstance, indeed, was the secret of hisstill being in the “Molly,” as Spike usually called his craft; the lastvoyage having excited suspicions that were rather of a delicate nature.Then the young man really loved the brig, which, if she could not beliterally made to talk, could be made to do almost everything else. Avessel, and a small vessel, too, is rather contracted as to space, butthose who wish to converse can contrive to speak together often, evenin such narrow limits. Such had been the fact with Rose Budd and thehandsome mate. Twenty times since they sailed, short as that time was,had Mulford contrived to get so near to Rose, as to talk with her,unheard by others. It is true, that he seldom ventured to do this,so long as the captain was in sight, but Spike was often below, andopportunities were constantly occurring. It was in the course of thesefrequent but brief conversations, that Harry had made certain dark hintstouching the character of his commander, and the known recklessness ofhis proceedings. Rose had taken the alarm, and fully comprehending heraunt’s mental imbecility, her situation was already giving her greatuneasiness. She had some undefined hopes from the revenue steamer;though, strangely enough as it appeared to her, her youngest and mostapproved suitor betrayed a strong desire to escape from that craft, at
the very moment he was expressing his apprehensions on account of herpresence in the brig. This contradiction arose from a certain esprit decorps, which seldom fails, more or less, to identify the mariner withhis ship.
But the writing was finished, and the letter sealed with wax, Mrs. Buddbeing quite as particular in that ceremony as Lord Nelson, when thefemales again repaired on deck. They found Spike and his mate sweepingthe eastern part of the Sound with their glasses, with a view to lookout for enemies; or, what to them, just then, was much the same thing,government craft. In this occupation, Rose was a little vexed to seethat Mulford was almost as much interested as Spike himself, the love ofhis vessel seemingly overcoming his love for her, if not his love of theright--she knew of no reason, however, why the captain should dread anyother vessel, and felt sufficiently provoked to question him a littleon the subject, if it were only to let him see that the niece was not ascompletely his dupe as the aunt. She had not been on deck five minutes,therefore, during which time several expressions had escaped the twosailors touching their apprehensions of vessels seen in the distance,ere she commenced her inquiries.
“And why should we fear meeting with other vessels?” Rose plainlydemanded--“here in Long Island Sound, and within the power of the lawsof the country?”
“Fear?” exclaimed Spike, a little startled, and a good deal surprisedat this straight-forward question--“Fear, Miss Rose! You do not thinkwe are afraid, though there are many reasons why we do not wish to bespoken by certain craft that are hovering about. In the first place, youknow it is war time--I suppose you know, Madam Budd, that America is atwar with Mexico?”
“Certainly,” answered the widow, with dignity--“and that is a sufficientreason, Rose, why one vessel should chase, and another should run. Ifyou had heard your poor uncle relate, as I have done, all his chasingsand runnings away, in the war times, child, you would understand thesethings better. Why, I’ve heard your uncle say that, in some of his longvoyages, he has run thousands and thousands of miles, with sails set onboth sides, and all over his ship!”
“Yes, aunty, and so have I, but that was ‘running before the wind,’ ashe used to call it.”
“I s’pose, however, Miss Rose,” put in Spike, who saw that the niecewould soon get the better of the aunt;--“I s’pose, Miss Rose, thatyou’ll acknowledge that America is at war with Mexico?”
“I am sorry to say that such is the fact, but I remember to have heardyou say, yourself, Captain Spike, when my aunt was induced to undertakethis voyage, that you did not consider there was the smallest dangerfrom any Mexicans.”
“Yes, you did, Captain Spike,” added the aunt--“you did say there was nodanger from Mexicans.”
“Nor is there a bit, Madam Budd, if Miss Rose, and your honoured self,will only hear me. There is no danger, because the brig has the heels ofanything Mexico can send to sea. She has sold her steamers, and, as foranything else under her flag, I would not care a straw.”
“The steamer from which we ran, last evening, and which actually firedoff a cannon at us, was not Mexican, but American,” said Rose, with apointed manner that put Spike to his trumps.
“Oh! that steamer--” he stammered--“that was a race--only a race, MissRose, and I wouldn’t let her come near me, for the world. I should neverhear the last of it, in the insurance offices, and on ‘change, did I lether overhaul us. You see, Miss Rose--you see, Madam Budd--” Spike everfound it most convenient to address his mystifying discourse to theaunt, in preference to addressing it to the niece--“You see, Madam Budd,the master of that craft and I are old cronies--sailed together whenboys, and set great store by each other. We met only last evening, justa’ter I had left your own agreeable mansion, Madam Budd, and says he,‘Spike, when do you sail?’ ‘To-morrow’s flood, Jones,’ says I--his nameis Jones;--Peter Jones, and as good a fellow as ever lived. ‘Do you goby the Hook, or by Hell-Gate--’”
“Hurl-Gate, Captain Spike, if you please--or Whirl-Gate, which somepeople think is the true sound; but the other way of saying it isawful.”
“Well, the captain, my old master, always called it Hell-Gate, and Ilearned the trick from him--”
“I know he did, and so do all sailors; but genteel people, now-a-days,say nothing but Hurl-Gate, or Whirl-Gate.”
Rose smiled at this; as did Mulford; but neither said anything, thesubject having once before been up between them. As for ourselves, weare still so old-fashioned as to say, and write, Hell-Gate, and intendso to do, in spite of all the Yankees that have yet passed through it,or who ever shall pass through it, and that is saying a great deal. Wedo not like changing names to suit their uneasy spirits.
“Call the place Hurl-Gate, and go on with your story,” said the widow,complacently.
“Yes, Madam Budd--‘Do you go by the Hook, or by Whirl-Gate?’ said Jones.‘By Whirl-a-Gig-Gate,’ says I. ‘Well,’ says he, ‘I shall go through theGate myself, in the course of the morning. We may meet somewhere to theeastward, and, if we do, I’ll bet you a beaver,’ says he, ‘that I showyou my stern.’ ‘Agreed,’ says I, and we shook hands upon it. That’s thewhole history of our giving the steamer the slip, last night, and of mynot wishing to let her speak me.”
“But you went into a bay, and let her go past you,” said Rose, coollyenough as to manner, but with great point as to substance. “Was not thata singular way of winning a race?”
“It does seem so, Miss Rose, but it’s all plain enough, when understood.I found that steam was too much for sails, and I stood up into the bayto let them run past us, in hopes they would never find out the trick.I care as little for a hat as any man, but I do care a good dealabout having it reported on ‘change that the Molly was beat, by even asteamer.”
This ended the discourse for the moment, Clench again having somethingto say to his captain in private.
“How much of that explanation am I to believe, and how much disbelieve?” asked Rose, the instant she was left alone with Harry. “If it be allinvention, it was a ready and ingenious story.”
“No part of it is true. He no more expected that the steamer would passthrough Hell-Gate, than I expected it myself. There was no bet, or race,therefore; but it was our wish to avoid Uncle Sam’s cruiser, that wasall.”
“And why should you wish any such thing?”
“On my honour, I can give you no better reason, so far as I amconcerned, than the fact that, wishing to keep clear of her, I donot like to be overhauled. Nor can I tell you why Spike is so muchin earnest in holding the revenue vessel at arm’s length; I knowhe dislikes all such craft, as a matter of course, but I can see noparticular reason for it just now. A more innocent cargo was never stuckinto a vessel’s hold.”
“What is it?”
“Flour; and no great matter of that. The brig is not half full, beingjust in beautiful ballast trim, as if ready for a race. I can see nosufficient reason, beyond native antipathy, why Captain Spike shouldwish to avoid any craft, for it is humbug his dread of a Mexican, andleast of all, here, in Long Island Sound. All that story about Jones isa tub for whales.”
“Thank you for the allusion; my aunt and myself being the whales.”
“You know I do mean--can mean nothing, Rose, that is disrespectful toeither yourself or your aunt.”
Rose looked up, and she looked pleased. Then she mused in silence, forsome time, when she again spoke.
“Why have you remained another voyage with such a man, Harry?” sheasked, earnestly.
“Because, as his first officer, I have had access to your house, when Icould not have had it otherwise; and because I have apprehended that hemight persuade Mrs. Budd, as he had boasted to me it was his intentionto do, to make this voyage.”
Rose now looked grateful; and deeply grateful did she feel, and hadreason to feel. Harry had concealed no portion of his history from her.Like herself, he was a shipmaster’s child, but one better educated andbetter connected than was customary for the class. His father had paid agood deal of attention to the youth’s early y
ears, but had made a seamanof him, out of choice. The father had lost his all, however, with hislife, in a shipwreck; and Harry was thrown upon his own resources, atthe early age of twenty. He had made one or two voyages as a secondmate, when chance threw him in Spike’s way, who, pleased with someevidences of coolness and skill, that he had shown in a foreign port,on the occasion of another loss, took him as his first officer; in whichsituation he had remained ever since, partly from choice and partly fromnecessity. On the other hand, Rose had a fortune; by no means a largeone, but several thousands in possession, from her own father, andas many more in reversion from her uncle. It was this money, taken inconnection with the credulous imbecility of the aunt, that had awakenedthe cupidity, and excited the hopes of Spike. After a life of lawlessadventure, one that had been chequered by every shade of luck, he foundhimself growing old, with his brig growing old with him, and little leftbeside his vessel and the sort of half cargo that was in her hold. Wantof means, indeed, was the reason that the flour-barrels were not morenumerous.
Rose heard Mulford’s explanation favourably, as indeed she heard mostof that which came from him, but did not renew the discourse, Spike’sconference with the boatswain just then terminating. The captain nowcame aft, and began to speak of the performances of his vessel in a wayto show that he took great pride in them.
“We are travelling at the rate of ten knots, Madam Budd,” he saidexultingly, “and that will take us clear of the land, before night shutsin ag’in. Montauk is a good place for an offing; I ask for no better.”
“Shall we then have two offings, this voyage, Captain Spike?” askedRose, a little sarcastically. “If we are in the offing now, and are tobe in the offing when we reach Montauk, there must be two such places.”
“Rosy, dear, you amaze me!” put in the aunt. “There is no offing untilthe pilot is discharged, and when he’s discharged there is nothing butoffing. It’s all offing. On the Sound, is the first great change thatbefalls a vessel as she goes to sea; then comes the offing; next thepilot is discharged--then--then--what comes next, Captain Spike?”
“Then the vessel takes her departure--an old navigator like yourself,Madam Budd, ought not to forget the departure.”
“Quite true, sir. The departure is a very important portion of aseaman’s life. Often and often have I heard my poor dear Mr. Budd talkabout his departures. His departures, and his offings and his--”
“Land-falls,” added Spike, perceiving that the shipmaster’s relict was alittle at fault.
“Thank you, sir; the hint is quite welcome. His landfalls, also, wereoften in his mouth.”
“What is a land-fall, aunty?” inquired Rose--“It appears a strange termto be used by one who lives on the water.”
“Oh! there is no end to the curiosities of sailors! A ‘land-fall,’ mydear, means a shipwreck, of course. To fall on the land, and a veryunpleasant fall it is, when a vessel should keep on the water. I’veheard of dreadful land-falls in my day, in which hundreds of souls havebeen swept into eternity, in an instant.”
“Yes; yes, Madam Budd--there are such accidents truly, and seriousthings be they to encounter,” answered Spike, hemming a little to clearhis throat, as was much his practice whenever the widow ran into anyunusually extravagant blunder; “yes, serious things to encounter. Butthe land-fall that I mean is a different sort of thing; being, as youwell know, what we say when we come in sight of land, a’ter a v’y’ge;or, meaning the land we may happen first to see. The departure is thebeginning of our calculation when we lose sight of the last cape orheadland, and the land-fall closes it, by letting us know where we are,at the other end of our journey, as you probably remember.”
“Is there not such a thing as clearing out in navigation?” asked Rose,quickly, willing to cover a little confusion that was manifest in heraunt’s manner.
“Not exactly in navigation, Miss Rose, but clearing out, with honestfolk, ought to come first, and navigation a’terwards. Clearing out meansgoing through the Custom-House, accordin’ to law.”
“And the Molly Swash has cleared out, I hope?”
“Sartain--a more lawful clearance was never given in Wall Street; it’sfor Key West and a market. I did think of making it Havana and a market,but port-charges are lightest at Key West.”
“Then Key West is the place to which we are bound?”
“It ought to be, agreeable to papers; though vessels sometimes miss theports for which they clear.”
Rose put no more questions; and her aunt, being conscious that she hadnot appeared to advantage in the affair of the “land-fall,” was alsodisposed to be silent. Spike and Mulford had their attention drawn tothe vessel, and the conversation dropped.
The reader can readily suppose that the Molly Swash had not beenstanding still all this time. So far from this, she was running “downSound,” with the wind on her quarter, or at south-west, making greathead-way, as she was close under the south shore, or on the island sideof the water she was in. The vessel had no other motion than that ofher speed, and the females escaped everything like sea-sickness, for thetime being. This enabled them to attend to making certain arrangementsnecessary to their comforts below, previously to getting into roughwater. In acquitting herself of this task, Rose received much usefuladvice from Josh, though his new assistant, Jack Tier, turned out tobe a prize indeed, in the cabins. The first was only a steward; but thelast proved himself not only a handy person of his calling, but one fullof resources--a genius, in his way. Josh soon became so sensible of hisown inferiority, in contributing to the comforts of females, that heyielded the entire management of the “ladies’ cabin,” as a littleplace that might have been ten feet square, was called, to hisuncouth-looking, but really expert deputy. Jack waddled about below, asif born and brought up in such a place, and seemed every way fitted forhis office. In height, and in build generally, there was a surprisingconformity between the widow and the steward’s deputy, a circumstancewhich might induce one to think they must often have been in eachother’s way, in a space so small; though, in point of fact, Jack neverran foul of any one. He seemed to avoid this inconvenience by a speciesof nautical instinct.
Towards the turn of the day, Rose had everything arranged, and wassurprised to find how much room she had made for her aunt and herself,by means of Jack’s hints, and how much more comfortable it was possibleto be, in that small cabin, than she had at first supposed.
After dinner, Spike took his siesta. He slept in a little state-roomthat stood on the starboard side of the quarter-deck, quite aft; asMulford did in one on the larboard. These two state-rooms were fixtures;but a light deck overhead, which connected them, shipped and unshipped,forming a shelter for the man at the wheel, when in its place, as wellas for the officer of the watch, should he see fit to use it, in badweather. This sort of cuddy, Spike termed his “coach-house.”
The captain had no sooner gone into his state-room, and closed itswindow, movements that were understood by Mulford, than the latter tookoccasion to intimate to Rose, by means of Jack Tier, the state of thingson deck, when the young man was favoured with the young lady’s company.
“He has turned in for his afternoon’s nap, and will sleep for just onehour, blow high, or blow low,” said the mate, placing himself at Rose’sside on the trunk, which formed the usual seat for those who couldpresume to take the liberty of sitting down on the quarter-deck. “It’s ahabit with him, and we can count on it, with perfect security.”
“His doing so, now, is a sign that he has no immediate fears of therevenue steamer?”
“The coast is quite clear of her. We have taken good looks at everysmoke, but can see nothing that appears like our late companion. She hasdoubtless gone to the eastward, on duty, and merely chased us, on herroad.”
“But why should she chase us, at all?”
“Because we ran. Let a dog run, or a man run, or a cat run, ten to onebut something starts in chase. It is human nature, I believe, to givechase; though I will admit there was something suspicio
us about thatsteamer’s movements--her anchoring off the Fort, for instance. But lether go, for the present; are you getting things right, and to your mind,below decks?”
“Very much so. The cabin is small, and the two state-rooms the merestdrawers that ever were used, but, by putting everything in its place, wehave made sufficient room, and no doubt shall be comfortable.”
“I am sorry you did not call on me for assistance. The mate has aprescriptive right to help stow away.”
“We made out without your services,” returned Rose, slightlyblushing--“Jack Tier, as he is called, Josh’s assistant, is a veryuseful person, and has been our adviser and manager. I want no betterfor such services.”
“He is a queer fellow, all round. Take him altogether, I hardly ever sawso droll a being! As thick as he’s long, with a waddle like a duck, avoice that is cracked, hair like bristles, and knee high; the man mightmake a fortune as a show. Tom Thumb is scarcely a greater curiosity.”
“He is singular in ‘build,’ as you call it,” returned Rose, laughing,“but, I can assure you that he is a most excellent fellow in hisway--worth a dozen of Josh. Do you know, Harry, that I suspect hehas strong feelings towards Captain Spike; though whether of like ordislike, friendship or enmity, I am at a loss to say.”
“And why do you think that he has any feeling at all? I have heard Spikesay he left the fellow ashore, somewhere down on the Spanish Main, or inthe Islands, quite twenty years since; but a sailor would scarce carry agrudge so long a time, for such a thing as that.”
“I do not know--but feeling there is, and much of it, too; though,whether hostile or friendly, I will not undertake to say.”
“I’ll look to the chap, now you tell me this. It is a little odd, themanner in which he got on board us, taken in connection with the companyhe was in, and a discovery may be made. Here he is, however; and, asI keep the keys of the magazine, he can do us no great harm, unless hescuttles the brig.”
“Magazine! Is there such a thing here?”
“To be sure there is, and ammunition enough in it to keep eightcarronades in lively conversation for a couple of hours.”
“A carronade is what you call a gun, is it not?”
“A piece of a one--being somewhat short, like your friend, Jack Tier,who is shaped a good deal like a carronade.”
Rose smiled--nay, half laughed, for Harry’s pleasantries almost tookthe character of wit in her eyes, but she did not the less pursue herinquiries.
“Guns! And where are they, if they be on this vessel?”
“Do not use such a lubberly expression, my dear Rose, if you respectyour father’s profession. On a vessel, is a new-fangled Americanism,that is neither fish, flesh, nor red-herring, as we sailors say--neitherEnglish nor Greek.”
“What should I say, then? My wish is not to parade sea-talk, but to useit correctly, when I use it at all.”
“The expression is hardly ‘sea-talk,’ as you call it, but every-dayEnglish--that is, when rightly used. On a vessel is no more English thanit is nautical--no sailor ever used such an expression.”
“Tell me what I ought to say, and you will find me a willing, if not anapt scholar. I am certain of having often read it, in the newspapers,and that quite lately.”
“I’ll answer for that, and it’s another proof of its being wrong. In avessel is as correct as in a coach, and on a vessel as wrong as canbe; but you can say on board a vessel, though not ‘on the boards of avessel;’ as Mrs. Budd has it.”
“Mr. Mulford!”
“I beg a thousand pardons, Rose, and will offend no more--though shedoes make some very queer mistakes!”
“My aunt thinks it an honour to my uncle’s memory, to be able to usethe language of his professional life, and if she does sometimes makemistakes that are absurd, it is with motives so respectable that nosailor should deride them.”
“I am rebuked for ever. Mrs. Budd may call the anchor a silver spoon,hereafter, without my even smiling. But if the aunt has this kindremembrance of a seaman’s life, why cannot the niece think equally wellof it?”
“Perhaps she does,” returned Rose, smiling again--“seeing all itsattractions through the claims of Captain Spike.”
“I think half the danger from him gone, now that you seem so much onyour guard. What an odious piece of deception, to persuade Mrs. Buddthat you were fast falling into a decline!”
“One so odious that I shall surely quit the brig at the first port weenter, or even in the first suitable vessel that we may speak.”
“And Mrs. Budd--could you persuade her to such a course?”
“You scarce know us, Harry Mulford. My aunt commands, when there isno serious duty to perform, but we change places when there is. I canpersuade her to anything that is right, in ten minutes.”
“You might persuade a world!” cried Harry, with strong admirationexpressed in his countenance; after which he began to converse withRose, on a subject so interesting to themselves, that we do not thinkit prudent to relate any more of the discourse, forgetting all about theguns.
About four o’clock, of a fine summer’s afternoon, the Swash went throughthe Race, on the best of the ebb, and with a staggering south-west wind.Her movement by the land, just at that point, could not have beenless than at the rate of fifteen miles in the hour. Spike was in highspirits, for his brig had got on famously that day, and there wasnothing in sight to the eastward. He made no doubt, as he had told hismate, that the steamer had gone into the Vineyard Sound, and that shewas bound over the shoals.
“They want to make political capital out of her,” he added, using one ofthe slang phrases, that the “business habits” of the American people areso rapidly incorporating with the common language of the country--“Theywant to make political capital out of her, Harry, and must show her offto the Boston folk, who are full of notions. Well, let them turn herto as much account in that way as they please, so long as they keep herclear of the Molly. Your sarvant, Madam Budd”--addressing the widow, whojust at that moment came on deck--“a fine a’ternoon, and likely to be aclear night to run off the coast in.”
“Clear nights are desirable, and most of all at sea, Captain Spike,” returned the relict, in her best, complacent manner, “whether it be torun off a coast, or to run on a coast. In either case, a clear night, ora bright moon must be useful.”
Captain Spike rolled his tobacco over in his mouth, and cast a furtiveglance at the mate, but he did not presume to hazard any furthermanifestations of his disposition to laugh.
“Yes, Madam Budd,” he answered, “it is quite as you say, and I amonly surprised where you have picked up so much of what I call usefulnautical knowledge.”
“We live and learn, sir. You will recollect that this is not my firstvoyage, having made one before, and that I passed a happy, happy, thirtyyears, in the society of my poor, dear husband, Rose’s uncle. One musthave been dull, indeed, not to have picked up, from such a companion,much of a calling that was so dear to him, and the particulars ofwhich were so very dear to him. He actually gave me lessons in the ‘seadialect,’ as he called it, which probably is the true reason I am soaccurate and general in my acquisitions.”
“Yes, Madam Budd--yes--hem--you are--yes, you are wonderful in that way.We shall soon get an offing, now, Madam Budd--yes, soon get an offing,now.”
“And take in our departure, Captain Spike--” added the widow, with avery intelligent smile.
“Yes, take our departure. Montauk is yonder, just coming in sight; onlysome three hours’ run from this spot. When we get there, the open oceanwill lie before us; and give me the open sea, and I’ll not call the kingmy uncle.”
“Was he your uncle, Captain Spike?”
“Only in a philanthropic way, Madam Budd. Yes, let us get a good offing,and a rapping to’gallant breeze, and I do not think I should care muchfor two of Uncle Sam’s new-fashioned revenue craft, one on each side ofme.”
“How delightful do I find such conversation, Rose! It’s as much likeyour poor, d
ear uncle’s, as one pea is like another. ‘Yes,’ he used tosay, too, ‘let me only have one on each side of me, and a wrapper roundthe topgallant sail to hold the breeze, and I’d not call the king myuncle.’ Now I think of it, he used to talk about the king as his uncle,too.”
“It was all talk, aunty. He had no uncle, and, what is more, he had noking.”
“That’s quite true, Miss Rose,” rejoined Spike, attempting a bow, whichended in a sort of jerk. “It is not very becoming in us republicans tobe talking of kings, but a habit is a habit. Our forefathers had kings,and we drop into their ways without thinking of what we are doing.Fore-topgallant yard, there?”
“Sir.”
“Keep a bright look-out, ahead. Let me know the instant you makeanything in the neighbourhood of Montauk.”
“Ay, ay, sir.”
“As I was saying, Madam Budd, we seamen drop into our forefathers’ ways.Now, when I was a youngster, I remember, one day, that we fell in with aketch--you know, Miss Rose, what a ketch is, I suppose?”
“I have not the least notion of it, sir.”
“Rosy, you amaze me!” exclaimed the aunt--“and you a ship-master’sniece, and a ship-master’s daughter! A catch is a trick that sailorshave, when they quiz landsmen.”
“Yes, Madam Budd, yes; we have them sort of catches, too; but I now meanthe vessel with a peculiar rig, which we call a ketch, you know.”
“Is it the full-jigger, or the half-jigger sort, that you mean?”
Spike could hardly stand this, and he had to hail the topgallant-yardagain, in order to keep the command of his muscles, for he saw bythe pretty frown that was gathering on the brow of Rose, that she wasregarding the matter a little seriously. Luckily, the answer of theman on the yard diverted the mind of the widow from the subject, andprevented the necessity of any reply.
“There’s a light, of course, sir, on Montauk, is there not, CaptainSpike?” demanded the seaman who was aloft.
“To be sure there is--every head-land, hereabouts, has its light; andsome have two.”
“Ay, ay, sir--it’s that which puzzles me; I think I see one light-house,and I’m not certain but I see two.”
“If there is anything like a second, it must be a sail. Montauk has butone light.”
Mulford sprang into the fore-rigging, and in a minute was on the yard.He soon came down, and reported the lighthouse in sight, with theafternoon’s sun shining on it, but no sail near.
“My poor, dear Mr. Budd used to tell a story of his being cast away on alight-house, in the East Indies,” put in the relict, as soon as the matehad ended his report, “which always affected me. It seems there werethree ships of them together, in an awful tempest directly off theland--”
“That was comfortable, any how,” cried Spike;--“if it must blow hard,let it come off the land, say I.”
“Yes, sir, it was directly off the land, as my poor husband always said,which made it so much the worse you must know, Rosy; though CaptainSpike’s gallant spirit would rather encounter danger than not. It blewwhat they call a Hyson, in the Chinese seas--”
“A what, aunty?--Hyson is the name of a tea, you know.”
“A Hyson, I’m pretty sure it was; and I suppose the wind is named afterthe tea, or the tea after the wind.”
“The ladies do get in a gale, sometimes, over their tea,” said Spikegallantly. “But I rather think Madam Budd must mean a Typhoon.”
“That’s it--a Typhoon, or a Hyson--there is not much difference betweenthem, you see. Well, it blew a Typhoon, and they are always mortalto somebody. This my poor Mr. Budd well knew, and he had set hischronometer for that Typhoon--”
“Excuse me, aunty, it was the barometer that he was watching--thechronometer was his watch.”
“So it was--his watch on deck was his chronometer, I declare. I amforgetting a part of my education. Do you know the use of a chronometer,now, Rose? You have seen your uncle’s often, but do you know how he usedit?”
“Not in the least, aunty. My uncle often tried to explain it, but Inever could understand him.”
“It must have been, then, because Captain Budd did not try to makehimself comprehended,” said Mulford, “for I feel certain nothing wouldbe easier than to make you understand the uses of the chronometer.”
“I should like to learn it from you, Mr. Mulford,” answered the charminggirl, with an emphasis so slight on the ‘you,’ that no one observed itbut the mate, but which was clear enough to him, and caused every nerveto thrill.
“I can attempt it,” answered the young man, “if it be agreeable to Mrs.Budd, who would probably like to hear it herself.”
“Certainly, Mr. Mulford; though I fancy you can say little on such asubject that I have not often heard already, from my poor, dear Mr.Budd.”
“This was not very encouraging, truly; but Rose continuing to lookinterested, the mate proceeded.
“The use of the chronometer is to ascertain the longitude,” said Harry,“and the manner of doing it is, simply this: A chronometer is nothingmore nor less than a watch, made with more care than usual, so as tokeep the most accurate time. They are of all sizes, from that of aclock, down to this which I wear in my fob, and which is a watch in sizeand appearance. Now, the nautical almanacs are all calculated to someparticular meridian--”
“Yes,” interrupted the relict, “Mr. Budd had a great deal to say aboutmeridians.”
“That of London, or Greenwich, being the meridian used by those whouse the English Almanacs, and those of Paris or St. Petersburg, bythe French and Russians. Each of these places has an observatory, andchronometers that are kept carefully regulated, the year round. Everychronometer is set by the regulator of the particular observatory orplace to which the almanac used is calculated.”
“How wonderfully like my poor, dear Mr. Budd, all this is, Rosy!Meridians, and calculated, and almanacs! I could almost think I heardyour uncle entertaining me with one of his nautical discussions, Ideclare!”
“Now the sun rises earlier in places east, than in places west of us.”
“It rises earlier in the summer, but later in the winter, everywhere,Mr. Mulford.”
“Yes, my dear Madam; but the sun rises earlier every day, in London,than it does in New York.”
“That is impossible,” said the widow, dogmatically--“Why should not thesun rise at the same time in England and America?”
“Because England is east of America, aunty. The sun does not move, youknow, but only appears to us to move, because the earth turns round fromwest to east, which causes those who are farthest east to see it first.That is what Mr. Mulford means.”
“Rose has explained it perfectly well,” continued the mate. “Now theearth is divided into 360 degrees, and the day is divided into 24 hours.If 360 be divided by 24, the quotient will be 15. If follows that, foreach fifteen degrees of longitude, there is a difference of just onehour in the rising of the sun, all over the earth, where it rises atall. New York is near five times 15 degrees west of Greenwich, and thesun consequently rises five hours later at New York than at London.”
“There must be a mistake in this, Rosy,” said the relict, in a tone ofdesperate resignation, in which the desire to break out in dissent, wasstruggling oddly enough with an assumed dignity of deportment. “I’vealways heard that the people of London are some of the latest in theworld. Then, I’ve been in London, and know that the sun rises in NewYork, in December, a good deal earlier than it does in London, by theclock--yes, by the clock.”
“True enough, by the clock, Mrs. Budd, for London is more than tendegrees north of New York, and the farther north you go, the later thesun rises in winter, and the earlier in summer.”
The relict merely shrugged her shoulders, as much as to say that sheknew no such thing; but Rose, who had been well taught, raised herserene eyes to her aunt’s face, and mildly said--“All true, aunty, andthat is owing to the fact that the earth is smaller at each end than inthe middle.”
“Fiddle faddle with your middles an
d ends, Rose--I’ve been in London,dear, and know that the sun rises later there than in New York, in themonth of December, and that I know by the clock, I tell you.”
“The reason of which is,” resumed Mulford, “because the clocks ofeach place keep the time of that place. Now, it is different with thechronometers; they are set in the observatory of Greenwich, and keep thetime of Greenwich. This watch chronometer was set there, only six monthssince; and this time, as you see, is near nine o’clock, when in truth itis only about four o’clock here, where we are.”
“I wonder you keep such a watch, Mr. Mulford!”
“I keep it,” returned the mate, smiling, “because I know it to keep goodtime. It has the Greenwich time; and, as your watch has the New Yorktime, by comparing them together, it is quite easy to find the longitudeof New York.”
“Do you, then, keep watches to compare with your chronometers?” askedRose, with interest.
“Certainly not; as that would require a watch for every separate partof the ocean, and then we should only get known longitudes. It would beimpracticable, and load a ship with nothing but watches. What we do isthis: We set our chronometers at Greenwich, and thus keep the Greenwichtrue time wherever we go. The greatest attention is paid to thechronometers, to see that they receive no injuries; and usually thereare two, and often more of them, to compare one with another, in orderto see that they go well. When in the middle of the ocean, for instance,we find the true time of the day at that spot, by ascertaining theheight of the sun. This we do by means of our quadrants, or sextants;for, as the sun is always in the zenith at twelve o’clock, nothing iseasier than to do this, when the sun can be seen, and an arc of theheavens measured. At the instant the height of the sun is ascertainedby one observer, he calls to another, who notes the time on thechronometer. The difference in these two times, or that of thechronometer and that of the sun, gives the distance in degrees andminutes, between the longitude of Greenwich and that of the place on theocean where the observer is; and that gives him his longitude. If thedifference is three hours and twenty minutes, in time, the distance fromGreenwich is fifty degrees of longitude, because the sun rises threehours and twenty minutes sooner in London, than in the fiftieth degreeof west longitude.”
“A watch is a watch, Rosy,” put in the aunt, doggedly--“and time istime.--When it’s four o’clock at our house, it’s four o’clock at youraunt Sprague’s, and it’s so all over the world. The world may turnround--I’ll not deny it, for your uncle often said as much as that, butit cannot turn in the way Mr. Mulford says, or we should all fall offit, at night, when it was bottom upwards. No, sir, no; you’ve startedwrong. My poor, dear, late Mr. Budd, always admitted that the worldturned round, as the books say; but when I suggested to him thedifficulty of keeping things in their places, with the earth upsidedown, he acknowledged candidly--for he was all candour, I must saythat for him--and owned that he had made a discovery by means of hisbarometer, which showed that the world did not turn round in the way youdescribe, or by rolling over, but by whirling about, as one turns in adance. You must remember your uncle’s telling me this, Rose?”
Rose did remember her uncle’s telling her aunt this, as well as a greatmany other similar prodigies. Captain Budd had married his silly wifeon account of her pretty face, and when the novelty of that was over,he often amused himself by inventing all sorts of absurdities, to amuseboth her and himself. Among other things, Rose well remembered hisquieting her aunt’s scruples about falling off the earth, by laying downthe theory that the world did not “roll over,” but “whirl round.” ButRose did not answer the question.
“Objects are kept in their places on the earth by means of attraction,” Mulford ventured to say, with a great deal of humility of manner. “Ibelieve it is thought there is no up or down, except as we go from ortowards the earth; and that would make the position of the last a matterof indifference, as respects objects keeping on it.”
“Attractions are great advantages, I will own, sir, especially to oursex. I think it will be acknowledged there has been no want of them inour family, any more than there has been of sense and information. Senseand information we pride ourselves on; attractions being gifts from God,we try to think less of them. But all the attractions in the world couldnot keep Rosy, here, from falling off the earth, did it ever come bottomupwards. And, mercy on me, where would she fall to!”
Mulford saw that argument was useless, and he confined his remarks,during the rest of the conversation, to showing Rose the manner inwhich the longitude of a place might be ascertained, with the aid of thechronometer, and by means of observations to get the true time of day,at the particular place itself. Rose was so quick-witted, and alreadyso well instructed, as easily to comprehend the principles; the detailsbeing matters of no great moment to one of her sex and habits. But Mrs.Budd remained antagonist to the last. She obstinately maintained thattwelve o’clock was twelve o’clock; or, if there was any difference,“London hours were notoriously later than those of New York.”
Against such assertions arguments were obviously useless, and Mulford,perceiving that Rose began to fidget, had sufficient tact to change theconversation altogether.
And still the Molly Swash kept in swift motion. Montauk was by this timeabeam, and the little brigantine began to rise and fall, on the longswells of the Atlantic, which now opened before her, in one vast sheetof green and rolling waters. On her right lay the termination of LongIsland; a low, rocky cape, with its light, and a few fields in tillage,for the uses of those who tended it. It was the “land’s end” of NewYork, while the island that was heaving up out of the sea, at a distanceof about twenty miles to the eastward, was the property of Rhode Island,being called Blok Island. Between the two, the Swash shaped her coursefor the ocean.
Spike had betrayed uneasiness, as his brig came up with Montauk; but thecoast seemed clear, with not even a distant sail in sight, and he cameaft, rubbing his hands with delight, speaking cheerfully.
“All right, Mr. Mulford,” he cried--“everything ship-shape andbrister-fashion--not even a smack fishing here-away, which is a littleremarkable. Ha!--what are you staring at, over the quarter, there?”
“Look here, sir, directly in the wake of the setting sun, which we arenow opening from the land--is not that a sail?”
“Sail! Impossible, sir. What should a sail be doing in there, so nearMontauk--no man ever saw a sail there in his life. It’s a spot in thesun, Madam Budd, that my mate has got a glimpse at, and, sailor-like, hemistakes it for a sail! Ha--ha--ha--yes, Harry, it’s a spot in the sun.”
“It is a spot on the sun, as you say, but it’s a spot made by avessel--and here is a boat pulling towards her, might and main; goingfrom the light, as if carrying news.”
It was no longer possible for Spike’s hopes to deceive him. There wasa vessel, sure enough; though, when first seen, it was so directly ina line with the fiery orb of the setting sun, as to escape commonobservation. As the brig went foaming on towards the ocean, however,the black speck was soon brought out of the range of the orb of day, andSpike’s glass was instantly levelled at it.
“Just as one might expect, Mr. Mulford,” cried the captain, loweringhis glass, and looking aloft to see what could be done to help his craftalong; “a bloody revenue cutter, as I’m a wicked sinner! There she lies,sir, within musket shot of the shore, hid behind the point, as it mightbe in waiting for us, with her head to the southward, her helm harddown, topsail aback, and foresail brailed; as wicked looking a thing asFree Trade and Sailor’s Rights ever ran from. My life on it, sir, she’sbeen put in that precise spot, in waiting for the Molly to arrive. Yousee, as we stand on, it places her as handsomely to windward of us, asthe heart of man could desire.”
“It is a revenue cutter, sir; now she’s out of the sun’s wake, that isplain enough. And that is her boat, which has been sent to the lightto keep a look-out for us. Well, sir, she’s to windward; but we haveeverything set for our course, and as we are fairly abeam, she must be agreat
traveller to overhaul us.”
“I thought these bloody cutters were all down in the Gulf,” growled thecaptain, casting his eyes aloft again, to see that everything drew.“I’m sure the newspapers have mentioned as many as twenty that aredown there, and here is one, lying behind Montauk, like a snake in thegrass!”
“At any rate, by the time he gets his boat up we shall get the start ofhim--ay, there he fills and falls off, to go and meet her. He’ll soon beafter us, Captain Spike, at racing speed.”
Everything occurred as those two mariners had foreseen. The revenuecutter, one of the usual fore-top-sail schooners that are employed inthat service, up and down the coast, had no sooner hoisted up her boat,than she made sail, a little off the wind, on a line to close with theSwash. As for the brig, she had hauled up to an easy bowline, as shecame round Montauk, and was now standing off south southeast, stillhaving the wind at south-west. The weatherly position of the cutterenabled her to steer rather more than one point freer. At thecommencement of this chase, the vessels were about a mile and a halfapart, a distance too great to enable the cutter to render the lightguns she carried available, and it was obvious from the first, thateverything depended on speed. And speed it was, truly; both vesselsfairly flying; the Molly Swash having at last met with something verylike her match. Half an hour satisfied both Spike and Mulford that, bygiving the cutter the advantage of one point in a freer wind, she wouldcertainly get alongside of them, and the alternative was therefore tokeep off.
“A starn chase is a long chase, all the world over,” cried Spike--“edgeaway, sir; edge away, sir, and bring the cutter well on our quarter.”
This order was obeyed; but to the surprise of those in the Swash, thecutter did not exactly follow, though she kept off a little more. Herobject seemed to be to maintain her weatherly position, and in thismanner the two vessels ran on for an hour longer, until the Swash hadmade most of the distance between Montauk and Blok Island. Objects wereeven becoming dimly visible on the last, and the light on the pointwas just becoming visible, a lone star above a waste of desert, the sunhaving been down now fully a quarter of an hour, and twilight beginningto draw the curtain of night over the waters.
“A craft under Blok,” shouted the look-out, that was still kept aloft asa necessary precaution.
“What sort of a craft?” demanded Spike, fiercely; for the very mentionof a sail, at that moment, aroused all his ire. “Arn’t you making afrigate out of an apple-orchard?”
“It’s the steamer, sir. I can now see her smoke. She’s just clearing theland, on the south side of the island, and seems to be coming round tomeet us.”
A long, low, eloquent whistle from the captain, succeeded thisannouncement. The man aloft was right. It was the steamer, sure enough;and she had been lying hid behind Blok Island, exactly as her consorthad been placed behind Montauk, in waiting for their chase to arrive.The result was, to put the Molly Swash in exceeding jeopardy, and thereason why the cutter kept so well to windward was fully explained. Topass out to sea between these two craft was hopeless. There remainedbut a single alternative from capture by one or by the other,--andthat Spike adopted instantly. He kept his brig dead away, settingstudding-sails on both sides. This change of course brought the cutternearly aft, or somewhat on the other quarter, and laid the brig’s headin a direction to carry her close to the northern coast of the island.But the principal advantage was gained over the steamer, which couldnot keep off, without first standing a mile or two, or even more, to thewestward, in order to clear the land. This was so much clear gain to theSwash, which was running off at racing speed, on a north-east course,while her most dangerous enemy was still heading to the westward. As forthe cutter, she kept away; but it was soon apparent that the brig hadthe heels of her, dead before the wind.
Darkness now began to close around the three vessels; the brig and theschooner soon becoming visible to each other principally by means oftheir night-glasses; though the steamer’s position could be easilydistinguished by means of her flaming chimney. This latter vessel stoodto the westward for a quarter of an hour, when her commander appeared tobecome suddenly conscious of the ground he was losing, and he wore shortround, and went off before the wind, under steam and canvas; intendingto meet the chase off the northern side of the island. The very personwho had hailed the Swash, as she was leaving the wharf, who had passedher in Hell-Gate, with Jack Tier in his boat, and who had joined heroff Throgmorton’s, was now on her deck, urging her commander by everyconsideration not to let the brig escape. It was at his suggestionthat the course was changed. Nervous, and eager to seize the brig, heprevailed on the commander of the steamer to alter his course. Had hedone no more than this, all might have been well; but so exaggeratedwere his notions of the Swash’s sailing, that, instead of suffering thesteamer to keep close along the eastern side of the island, he persuadedher commander of the necessity of standing off a long distance to thenorthward and eastward, with a view to get ahead of the chase. This wasnot bad advice, were there any certainly that Spike would stand on, ofwhich, however, he had no intention.
The night set in dark and cloudy; and, the instant that Spike saw, bymeans of the flaming chimney, that the steamer had wore, and was goingto the eastward of Blok, his plan was laid. Calling to Mulford, hecommunicated it to him, and was glad to find that his intelligentmate was of his own way of thinking. The necessary orders were given,accordingly, and everything was got ready for its execution.
In the meantime, the two revenue craft were much in earnest. Theschooner was one of the fastest in the service, and had been placedunder Montauk, as described, in the confident expectation of her beingable to compete with even the Molly Swash successfully, more especiallyif brought upon a bowline. Her commander watched the receding form ofthe brig with the closest attention, until it was entirely swallowed upin the darkness, under the land, towards which he then sheered himself,in order to prevent the Swash from hauling up, and turning to windward,close in under the shadow of the island. Against this manoeuvre,however, the cutter had now taken an effectual precaution, and herpeople were satisfied that escape in that way was impossible.
On the other hand, the steamer was doing very well. Driven by thebreeze, and propelled by her wheels, away she went, edging further andfurther from the island, as the person from the Custom-House succeeded,as it might be, inch by inch, in persuading the captain of the necessityof his so doing. At length a sail was dimly seen ahead, and thenno doubt was entertained that the brig had got to the northward andeastward of them. Half an hour brought the steamer alongside of thissail, which turned out to be a brig that had come over the shoals, andwas beating into the ocean, on her way to one of the southern ports. Hercaptain said there had nothing passed to the eastward.
Round went the steamer, and in went all her canvas. Ten minutes laterthe look-out saw a sail to the westward, standing before the wind. Oddas it might seem, the steamer’s people now fancied they were sure of theSwash. There she was, coming directly for them, with squared yards! Thedistance was short, or a vessel could not have been seen by that light,and the two craft were soon near each other. A gun was actually clearedon board the steamer, ere it was ascertained that the stranger was theschooner! It was now midnight, and nothing was in sight but the coastingbrig. Reluctantly, the revenue people gave the matter up; the MollySwash having again eluded them, though by means unknown.
Jack Tier; Or, The Florida Reef Page 3