James Fenimore Cooper's Five Novels

by James Fenimore Cooper

  “A sail! a sail! by George a sail! under what colours, friend; king’s, or rebels’? Here has been a blunder, with a vengeance! The cook has certainly been too late, or the lady is too early! ha, ha, ha—Oh! you are wicked, free livers in the army!”

  The tough old tar enjoyed his joke exceedingly, chuckling with delight at his discovery. He was, however, alone in his merriment, none of the soldiers venturing to understand his allusions, any further than by exchanging a few stolen looks of unusual archness. Howe bit his lips, with obvious vexation, and sternly ordered the man to repeat his errand in a voice that was more audible.

  “A lady,” said the trembling menial, “wishes to see your excellency, and she waits your pleasure, sir, in the library.”

  “Among his books, too!” shouted the admiral—“that would have better become you, my joking friend! I say, young man, is the girl young and handsome?”

  “By the lightness of her step, sir, I should think her young; but her face was concealed under a hood.”

  “Ay! ay! the jade comes hooded into the house of the king! Damn me, Howe, but modesty is getting to be a rare virtue amongst you gentlemen on shore!”

  “’Tis a plain case against you, sir, for even the servant, as you find, has detected that she is light of carriage,” said the smiling Burgoyne, making a half motion towards rising. “It is probably some applicant for relief, or for permission to depart the place. Suffer me to see her, and spare yourself the pain of a refusal?”

  “Not at all,” said Howe, gaining his feet with an alacrity that anticipated the more deliberate movement of the other—“I should be unworthy of the trust I hold, could I not lend an occasional ear to a petition. Gentlemen, as there is a lady in the case, I presume to trespass on your indulgence. Admiral, I commend you to my butler, who is a worthy fellow, and can give you all the cruises of the bottle before you, since it left the island of Madeira.”

  He inclined his head to his guests, and passed from the room with a hurried step, that did not altogether consult appearances. As he proceeded through the hall, his ears were saluted by another burst from the hearty old seaman, who, however, enjoyed his humour alone, the rest of the party immediately turning to other subjects, with well-bred dullness. On entering the room already mentioned, Howe found himself in the presence of the female, who, notwithstanding their apparent indifference, was at that very moment occupying the thoughts, and exercising the ingenuity of every man he had left behind him. Advancing at once to the centre of the apartment, with the ease and freedom of a soldier who felt himself without a superior, he asked, with a politeness somewhat equivocal—

  “Why am I favoured with this visit? and why has a lady whose appearance shows she might command friends at any time, assumed this personal trouble?”

  “Because I am a supplicant for a favour that might be denied to one who petitioned coldly,” returned a soft, tremulous voice, deep within the covering of a silken calash. “As time is wanting to observe the usual forms of applications I have presumed to come in person, to prevent delay.”

  “And surely, one like you, can have little reason to dread a repulse,” said Howe, with an attempt at gallantry, that would have better become the man who had offered to be his substitute. While speaking he advanced a step nigher to the lady, and pointing to her hood, he continued—“Would it not be wise to aid your request, with a view of a countenance that I am certain can speak better than any words—whom have I the honour to receive, and what may be the nature of her business?”

  “A wife who seeks her husband,” returned the female, dropping the folds of her calash, and exposing to his steady eyes, the chaste countenance of Cecil. The sudden annunciation of her character was forced from the lips of the unclaimed bride, by the freedom of a gaze to which she was unused; but the instant she had spoken, her eyes fell on the floor in embarrassment, and she stood deeply blushing at the strength of her own language, though preserving the apparent composure and dignity of female pride. The English general regarded her beauty for a moment, with a pleased, though doubting eye, before he continued—

  “Is he whom you seek within or without the town?”

  “I much fear, without!”

  “And you would follow him into the camp of the rebels? This is a case that may require some deliberation. I feel assured I entertain a lady of great beauty; might I, in addition, know how to address her?”

  “For my name I can have no reason to blush,” said Cecil—“’tis noble in the land of our common ancestors, and may have reached the ears of Mr. Howe—I am the child of the late colonel Dynevor.”

  “The niece of Lord Cardonnell!” exclaimed her auditor, in amazement, instantly losing the equivocal freedom of his manner in an air of deep respect—“I have long known that Boston contained such a lady; nor do I forget that she is accused of concealing herself from the attentions of the army, like one of the most obdurate of our foes—attentions which every man in the garrison would be happy to show, from myself down to the lowest ensign—do me the honour to be seated?”

  Cecil bowed her acknowledgments, but continued standing—

  “I have neither time nor spirits to defend myself from such an imputation,” she answered—“though should my own name prove no passport to your favour, I must claim it in behalf of him I seek.”

  “Should he be the veriest rebel in the train of Washington, he has great reason to be proud of his fortune!”

  “So far from ranking among the enemies of the king, he has already been lavish of his blood in behalf of the crown,” returned Cecil, unconsciously raising the calash again, with maiden bashfulness, as she felt the moment was approaching when she must declare the name of the man, whose influence over her feelings she had already avowed.

  “And he is called?”

  The answer was given to this direct question, in a low but distinct voice. Howe started when he heard the well-known name of an officer of so much consideration, though a meaning smile lighted his dark features, as he repeated her words in surprise—

  “Major Lincoln! his refusal to return to Europe, in search of health, is then satisfactorily explained! Without the town did you say! there must be some error.”

  “I fear it is too true!”

  The harsh features of the leader contracted again into their sternest look, and it was apparent how much he was disturbed by the intelligence.

  “This is presuming too far on his privilege,” he muttered in an under tone.—“Left the place, say you, without my knowledge and approbation, young lady?”

  “But on no unworthy errand!” cried the almost breathless Cecil, instantly losing sight of herself in anxiety for Lionel—“private sorrows have driven him to an act, that, at another time, he would be the first to condemn, as a soldier.”

  Howe maintained a cool, but threatening silence, that was far more appalling than any words could be. The alarmed wife gazed at his lowering face for a minute, as if to penetrate his secret thoughts, then yielding, with the sensitiveness of a woman, to her worst apprehensions, she cried—

  “Oh! you would not avail yourself of this confession to do him harm! Has he not bled for you; lingered for months on the verge of the grave, in defence of your cause; and will you now doubt him! Nay, sir, though chance and years may have subjected him, for a time, to your controul, he is every way your equal, and will confront each charge before his Royal Master, let who may bring them against his spotless name!”

  “’Twill be necessary,” the other coldly replied.

  “Nay, hearken not to my weak, unmeaning words,” continued Cecil, wringing her hands, in distress; “I know not what I say. He has your permission to hold intercourse with the country weekly?”

  “For the purpose of obtaining the supplies necessary to his past condition.”

  “And may he not have gone on such an errand, and under favour of the flag you yourself have cheerfully accorded?
”

  “In such a case would I not have been spared the pain of this interview!”

  Cecil paused a moment, and seemed collecting her faculties, and preparing her mind for some serious purpose. After a little time, she attempted a smile, saying, more calmly—

  “I had presumed too far on military indulgence, and was even weak enough to believe the request would be granted to my name and situation.”

  “No name, no situation, no circumstances, can ever render”—

  “Speak not the cruel words, lest they once more drive me from my recollection,” interrupted Cecil. “First hear me, sir—listen to a wife and a daughter, and you will recall the cruel sentence.”

  Without waiting for a reply, she advanced to the door of the room, passing her astonished companion with composure and dignity. In the outer passage, she beckoned from among the loiterers in the hall, to the stranger who had accompanied her in the visit to the warehouse, and when he had approached, and entered the room, the door once more closed, leaving the spectators without, wondering whence such a vision of purity could have made its way within the sullied walls of Province-house.

  Many long and impatient minutes were passed by the guests in the banqueting-room, during the continuance of this mysterious interview. The jests of the admiral began to flag, just as his companions were inclined to think they were most merited, and the conversation assumed that broken and disjointed character which betrays the wandering of the speakers’ thoughts.

  At length a bell rang, and orders came from the commander-in-chief, to clear the hall of its curious idlers. When none were left but the regular domestics of the family, Howe appeared, supporting Cecil, closely hooded, to the conveyance that awaited her at the gate. The air of the master communicated a deep respect to the manners of the observant menials, who crowded to aid the departure, with officious zeal. The sentinels dropped their arms, with the usual regularity, to their chief, as he passed to the outer portal in honour of his unknown companion, and eyes met the expressive glances of eyes, as all who witnessed the termination of this visit, sought in the countenances of those around them, some solution of its object.

  When Howe resumed his seat at the table, another attempt was made by the admiral to renew the subject; but it was received with an air so cold, and a look so pointedly severe, that even the careless son of the ocean forgot his humour under the impression of so dark a frown.

  Chapter XXIX

  “Nor martial shout, nor minstrel tone,

  Announced their march—”

  Scott.

  * * *

  CECIL SUFFERED the night to advance a little, before she left Tremont-street, to profit by the permission to leave the place, which her communication had finally obtained from the English general. It was, however, far from late when she took leave of Agnes, and commenced her expedition, still attended by Meriton and the unknown man, with whom she has already, more than once, made her appearance in our pages. At the lower part of the town she left her vehicle, and pursuing the route of several devious and retired streets, soon reached the margin of the water. The wharves were deserted. Indicating the course to her companions, by her own light and hurried footsteps, the youthful bride moved unhesitatingly along the rough planks, until her progress was checked by a large basin, between two of the ordinary wooden piers which line the shores of the place. Here she paused for a moment, in doubt, as if fearful there had been some mistake, when the figure of a boy was seen advancing out of the shadows of a neighbouring store-house.

  “I fear you have lost your way,” he said, when within a few feet of her, where he stood, apparently examining the party. “May I venture to ask whom or what you seek?”

  “One who is sent hither, on private duty, by orders from the commander-in-chief.”

  “I see but two,” returned the lad, hesitating—“where is the third?”

  “He lingers in the distance,” said Cecil, pointing to Meriton, whose footsteps were much more guarded than those of his mistress. “Three is our number, and we are all present.”

  “I beg a thousand pardons,” returned the youth, dropping the folds of a sailor’s over-coat, under which he had concealed the distinguishing marks of a naval dress, and raising his hat at the same moment, with great respect; “my orders were to use the utmost precaution, ma’am, for, as you hear, the rebels sleep but little to-night!”

  “’Tis a dreadful scene I leave, truly, sir,” returned Cecil, “and the sooner it will suit your convenience to transport us from it, the greater will be the obligation you are about to confer.”

  The youth once more bowed, in submission to her wishes, and requested the whole party to follow whither he should lead. A very few moments brought them to a pair of water-stairs, where, under cover of the duskiness thrown upon the basin from the wharf, a boat lay concealed, in perfect readiness to receive them.

  “Be stirring boys!” cried the youth, in a brisk, officer-like tone; “ship your oars as silently as if stealing away from an enemy. Have the goodness, ma’am, to enter, and you shall have a quick and safe landing on the other shore, whatever may be the reception of the rebels.”

  Cecil and her two attendants complied without delay, when the boat glided into the stream with a velocity that promised a speedy verification of the words of the midshipman. The most profound stillness reigned among these nocturnal adventurers, and by the time they had rowed a short distance, the bride began to lose the consciousness of her situation, in contemplation of the scene.

  The evening was already milder, and by one of those changes, peculiar to the climate, it was rapidly becoming even bland and pleasant. The light of a clear moon fell upon the town and harbour, rendering the objects of both visible. The huge black hulls of the vessels of war, rested sullenly on the waters, like slumbering leviathans, without even a sail or a passing boat, except their own, to enliven the view in the direction of the port. On the other hand, the hills of the town rose, in beautiful relief, against the clear sky, with here and there a roof or a steeple reflecting the pale light of the moon. The bosom of the place was as quiet as if its inhabitants were buried in midnight sleep, but behind the hills, in a circuit extending from the works on the heights of Charlestown, to the neck, which lay in open view of the boat, there existed all the evidences of warfare. During the few preceding nights the Americans had been more than commonly diligent in the use of their annoyances, but now they appeared to expend their utmost energies upon their enemies. Still they spared the town, directing the weight of their fire at the different batteries which protected the approaches to the place, as already described, along the western borders of the peninsula.

  The ears of Cecil had long been accustomed to the uproar of arms, but this was the first occasion in which she was ever a witness of the mingled beauties and terrors of a cannonade at night. Suffering the calash to fall, she shook back the dark tresses from her face, and leaning over the sides of the little vessel, listened to the bursts of the artillery, and gazed on the flashes of light that mocked the dimmer illumination of the planet, with an attention that momentarily lured her into forgetfulness. The men pulled the boat with muffled oars, and so still was its progress, that there were instants when even the shot might be heard rattling among the ruins they had made.

  “It’s amazement to me, madam,” said Meriton, “that so many British generals, and brave gentlemen as there is in Boston, should stay in such a little spot to be shot at by a parcel of countrymen, when there is Lon’non, as still and as safe, at this blessed moment, as a parish church-yard, at midnight!”

  Cecil raised her eyes, and perceived the youth gazing at her countenance in undisguised admiration of its beauty. Blushing, and concealing her features beneath the calash, she turned away from the view of the conflict, in silence.

  “The rebels are free with their gunpowder to-night!” said the midshipman.—“Some of their cruisers have picked up another of our
store-ships, I fancy, or Mr. Washington would not make such a noisy time of it, when all honest people should be thinking of their sleep. Don’t you believe, Ma’am, if the admiral would warp three or four of our heaviest ships up into the channel, back of the town, it would be a short method of lowering the conceit of these Yankees?”

  “Really, sir, I am so little acquainted with military matters, that my opinion, should I venture to give one, would be worthless.”

  “Why, young gentleman,” said Meriton, “the rebels drove a galley out of the river, a night or two ago, as I can testify myself, having stood behind a large brick store, where I saw the whole affair, most beautifully conducted!”

  “A very fit place for one like you, no doubt, sir,” returned the midshipman, without attempting to conceal his disgust at so impertinent an interruption—“do you know what a galley is, Ma’am? nothing but a small vessel cut down, with a few heavy guns, I do assure you. It would be a very different affair with a frigate or a two-decker! Do but observe what a charming thing our ship is, Ma’am—I am sure so beautiful a lady must know how to admire a handsome ship!—she lies here-away, nearly in a range with the second island.”

  To please the youth, Cecil bent her head toward the quarter he wished, and murmured a few words in approbation of his vessel. But the impatient boy had narrowly watched the direction of her eyes, and she was interrupted by his exclaiming in manifest disappointment—

  “What! that shapeless hulk, just above the castle! she is an old Dutch prize, en flute, ay, older than my grandmother, good old soul; and it wouldn’t matter the value of a piece of junk, into which end you stepped her bowsprit! One of my school-fellows, Jack Willoughby, is a reefer on board her; and he says that they can just get six knots out of her, under her courses, and in smooth water with a fresh breeze, allowing seven knots for lee-way! Jack means to get rid of her the moment he can catch the admiral running large, for the Graves’s live near the Willoughbys’ in town, and he knows all the soundings of the old man’s humour. No, no, Ma’am, Jack would give every shot in his locker to swing a hammock between two of the beams of our ship. Do excuse me, one moment;”—presuming to take one of the hands of Cecil, though with sufficient delicacy, to point out his favourite vessel—“There, Ma’am, now you have her! She that’s so taunt rigged, with a flying-jib-boom, and her top-gallant-yards stopped to her lower rigging—we send them down every night at gun-fire, and cross them again next morning as regularly as the bell strikes eight.—Isn’t she a sweet thing, Ma’am? for I see she has caught your eye at last, and I am sure you can’t wish to look at any other ship in port.”