Ingraham, J. H. (Joseph Holt), 1809-1860 [1845], The cruiser of the mist (Burgess, Stringer & Co., New York) [word count] [eaf192].
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Front matter
Covers, Edges and Spine
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Preliminaries
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TO THE PUBLIC.
[figure description] Notice.[end figure description]
THE illustrations with which this book is enriched are drawn from the important works of celebrated
authors of ancient and modern times, and have been reproduced after originals by well-known
artists. To make a list that would be even approximately complete of the great writers whose works
have furnished subjects for our pictures would be impossible within the limits of this notice; but
the following names will serve as an indication, at least, of the abundance of the material that is
offered to the public in these pages. Among the writers who are counted as classics in their several
countries will be found:
HOMER, VIRGIL, DANTE, TASSO,
æSCHYLUS, OVID, BOCCACCIO, ARIOSTO,
SOPHOCLES, PLUTARCH, PETRARCH, CERVANTES.
LONGUS, LIVY,
MUSæUS,
GOETHE, UHLAND, WIELAND, EBERS,
LESSING, TIECK, GRIMM, FREYTAG,
SCHILLER, FOUQUÉ, WAGNER AUERBACH,
HEINE, TEGNER.
Preliminaries
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Title Page
THE
CRUISER OF THE MIST.
BY J. H. INGRAHAM,
AUTHOR OF “CAPTAIN KYDD,” “THE QUADROON,” “THE DANCING FEATHER,”
ETC., ETC.
NEW-YORK:
BURGESS, STRINGER AND COMPANY.
1845.
Preliminaries
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Main text
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CHAPTER I. THE HALF BROTHERS.
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On one of those brilliant mornings peculiar
to the early autumnal days, when
the atmosphere is like chrystal in transparency,
and the skies are turgid with their
leepest blue, two persons stood together
upon an eminence that commanded the
Bay of Raritan and a wide expanse of the
ocean horizon to the eastward.
They were both young men, though
there was two or three years difference in
their ages. The junior had scarcely passed
his nineteenth year. He was a youth
of a delicate appearance, with beauty of
feature and person almost feminine. His
figure was slender and elegant, and his air
was gentle and confiding. There was a
world of soul speaking from the depths of
his large blue eyes, and every movement
of his fine mouth betrayed the most exquisite
sensibility. His hair was of a bright
shining brown, and was worn free from
the scissors' profanation, about his white
neck, its rich masses mocking the proudest
tresses of the fairest maiden. The
hands were exquisitely formed and like
pliant ivory. Upon one of the fingers
sparkled a diamond, the only ornament he
wore. Notwithstanding the delicacy of
his appearance, and the extreme fairness
and beauty of his countenance, there was
in his look an expression of decision, a certain
air of resolution, that indicated a great
and noble spirit. His effeminacy seemed
to be on the outer side only, to lay in that
which nature had made him, rather than in
any deficiency of manly character. It was
a house of beauty, in which dwelt the soul
of a hero.
His companion was taller and of more
imposing stature and aspect. He was
about one-and-twenty, but with the physical
development of a man two or three
years older. His complexion, unlike that
of the youth, was dark, his eyes black and
full of restless fire, and his air and looks
spirited and daring. In legitimate beauty
of aspect, he was not surpassed by the
other, though his face was as brown as a
gypsy's, and his hair as raven black as that
of a young Indian chieftain; and, indeed,
he not a little resembled in aspect and
bearing a Logan or an Osceola.
Both of the young men were clad in
suits of mourning. The place upon which
they were standing was a slight eminence
at the extremity of the grounds of a country
seat which was partly visible through
the trees in their rear. To their right, not
far distant, was visible the picturesque
town of Perth Amboy, with its rural spire,
and to their left stretched away northward
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the straits that separate Staten Island from
the Jersey main. Opposite was the woodcrowned
cape of the island, and passing it,
the eye took in the range of Raritan Bay,
and the sparkling sea beyond Sandy Hook.
The rich beauty of the early morning, the
dark green shores of the vast island on the
other side of the channel; the lively landscape
of town and hamlet, villa and farmhouse;
the shining waters of the flowing
river that mingled its wave with those of
the bay at their feet; the fisher's skiff
glancing by; the distant sail; the sea-gull
with flashing wing; all contributed to
draw forth the heart's best emotions in
manifestation of gratitude and delight.
But the countenances of the two young
men were troubled. The younger stood
pensively leaning against an old oak that
overshadowed the verdant spot where they
were, while the latter, with folded arms
and dark brow, paced to and fro a few feet
from him.
At length the former, raising his beautiful
eyes, filled with sadness and anxiety,
spoke:
“My dear Randolph, this grief, nay this
anger on your part is wholly unnecessary.
I am willing to share with you half of the
patrimony!”
“You are kind, kind and noble, brother,
like yourself; but I cannot accept it. Nay—
hear me. I cannot accept from you
that which is by right mine own. Against
you I have no anger—no ill feeling. Although
we have different mothers, we are
children of the same father, and are brothers.
I do not blame you. I only blame,
aye—if I dared curse her who —”
“Randolph! do not curse! Forget not
that she is my mother!” cried the youth,
placing his jewelled forefinger upon his
brother's lips.
“I will not curse her for your sake, Arthur!
But you know how deeply I am
wronged!”
“I know it, Randolph; I feel for you, and
I repeat to you that I am ready to do you
that justice which you have been denied!”
“Justice should have been extended to
wards me by my weak, misguided father.
But I will not speak thus bitterly lest I
curse my father also. But Arthur, this is
a grief heavy to bear—a disappointment I
was little prepared to meet, though I might
have foreseen it from my knowledge of the
ambitious and avaricious spirit of my stepmother!”
“She is my mother, brother!”
“True, true! I will not speak ill of her
before your gentle ears, Arthur!”
Thus speaking, he once more resumed
his walk at the foot of the oak, grief and
resentment struggling together in his expressive
face. Arthur watched his looks
with deep solicitude, but suffered him to
pursue in silence his stern and troubled
thoughts.
The father of these two young men belonged
to one of the oldest American families
which had been for a century distinguished
for its opulence and patriotism.—
Their grandfather, Colonel Ledyard, was
a distinguished officer of the revolution,
and was slain at the capture of a redoubt
which he had bravely defended to the last
extremity. Their father, General Ledyard,
but a few weeks before the opening
of this story, at the close of the war of
1812, had returned to his estate near Perth
Amboy, crowned with honors and with a
distinguished military reputation.
Although a brave man and a skilful soldier,
he possessed a weakness which converted
his household into a scene of unhappiness.
Early in life he had wedded a
young and beautiful woman, nearly allied
by blood to Leni Lenape, a celebrated
chief of the Six Nations, being the daughter
of Sir Harold Howe, who had married
this chief's daughter. Randolph was the
issue of this union. A year after his birth
his mother died, and in two years afterwards
General Ledyard married a lady of
distinguished beauty, but of a proud and
ambitious spirit. She had birth and family
reputation to recommend her to his notice,
but was almost without a bridal portion.
He was fascinated by her beauty,
and she by his wealth. It was a union on
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one side of interest, on the other of infatuation.
At length the wife became a mother.
From this hour all the ambition of
her nature was awakened in behalf of her
own child, and by the aid of a deep and
well arranged scheme she succeeded in
withdrawing the affection of the father
from his first-born, and fixing it upon the
second boy. Being a woman of a strong
mind, and possessed of infinite tact and
subtlety, she was not long in gaining that
ascendancy over the mind of her infatnated
husband, which placed her at once in
the throne of domestic rule. Randolph
was sent away to a boarding-school before
he was in his seventh year, and all the
affections and attentions of the parents
were lavished upon Arthur. His wonderful
beauty endeared him still more to his
father, while each day the image of his
eldest child faded more and more from his
memory.
General Ledyard was not, however,
wholly lost to that parental regard which
nature called upon him to bestow upon his
absent child. Once a year Randolph was
brought home to remain during the Christmas
holidays; and the general firmly insisted
on this privilege for the supplanted
boy, although in opposition to the wishes
of his wife. These visits of the young
Randolph were seasons of great joy to
him. He looked forward to them for
months, and loved to remember them long
after his return from school. During these
visits his father, as if in some atonement
for his neglect and injustice, took pains to
contribute all in his power to his happiness;
and although his step-mother did
not conceal her dislike to his presence, he
managed to enjoy his vacations; for so
long as his father smiled upon him, he little
heeded the frowning brows of his wife.
He therefore remembered the one with dislike,
the other with love; for he was not
yet old enough to see and understand the
injustice done him by his misguided father.
On these occasional visits he formed a
strong and abiding attachment for the little
Arthur, who unconsciously was supplant
ing his brother in the regard of his father.
The child loved him in return with a pure
and touching affection; and thus they
grew up friends and brothers, bound together
by ties of the tenderest affection.
Years passed on, and Randolph was
sent to college, while Arthur remained at
home under the charge of tutors. Randolph
graduated with honor, and returned
to his father's roof. It was just before the
close of the war with England, and his father
was still in the army, though daily
expected to return.
The reception of the young heir at Lenape
manor was cold and repulsive on the
part of his step-mother; but as this was
what Randolph looked for from her, it did
not distress him. Arthur received him
with open arms, and the tenderest expressions
of fraternal affection. Randolph was
now in his twenty-first year, and just entering
the world as a man, and fitted by
education to act his part upon its stage
with honor. He was now fully capable of
viewing his own attitude in his father's
house, and clearly comprehending the secret
motive which had banished him from
childhood from his paternal halls. Yet he
loved Arthur no less, nor felt less attachment
to his father, whose weakness he
saw had thus exiled him from those joys
of home which Arthur alone had shared.
Towards his brother he harbored none but
the kindliest feelings. He loved him, aside
from all this, and he felt he could never
cease to love him. He knew that he was
innocent of his father's estrangement towards
himself, and he well knew the generous
and noble attributes of his head and
heart. There was no spirit of rivalry, no
envy, no suspicion in his breast towards
him. All his hostility was directed towards
her whom he was well aware was
the proper object of his reproaches and resentment.
Towards his father he entertained
the same affection and respect
which had grown up with him from childhood;
and while he censured him for his
weakness in submitting to his wife's rule,
he loved and honored him for the kindness
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which he had shown him when he visited
home, and for the indulgences which he
bestowed upon him during the period of
his stay at the university.
Randolph had been a few days at home,
in the enjoyment of the society of his brother
Arthur, whom he loved for his beauty
and gentleness with the tenderness of a
brother for a sister, when one evening as
he was waiting for Arthur to join him in a
row upon the water, a servant appeared
and said that Arthur could not come.
“Is he ill?” asked Randolph with quick
affection.
“I think he is not; but he bade me say
he was engaged.”
“This is singular, when he proposed the
sail himself. I will go in and see him!”
Thus speaking, Randolph re-entered the
house and hastened to his brother's room.
The door was locked. He called to him,
and at first received no reply; at length
Arthur answered and bade him “go away
and not disturb him, but to sail alone if he
wished to sail!”
Such a reply from his beloved brother
he had never before received; and he was
struck with amazement.
“Arthur, can it be possible that is your
voice?” he cried with a tone that expressed
eloquently his surprise.
“Yes, sir. I do not wish to go with you.
Do not annoy me!”
Randolph knew not what to make of this
conduct in one who had been hitherto all
affection towards him. He was about to
give some angry reply, when he checked
himself, silently walked through the hall to
the terrace and took his way at a quick step
towards the water-side. He felt more grief
than anger. He wondered wherein he had
offended his brother. There was a path by
the shore, shady and retired, into which he
turned his steps. It was a favorite walk
both of Arthur and himself. Here he paced
to and fro till twilight, revolving in his mind
his conduct, recalling his words and actions,
to ascertain how he had drawn upon himself
his brother's resentment; for the displeasure
of those we love and who have
loved us, is the deepest grief the heart can
bear. In this examination he acquitted
himself.
“I will see Arthur! I will demand an
explanation! I will know what I have
done; and if I have offended, I will ask his
forgiveness! I cannot endure this suspense!”
With this resolution he hastened towards
the house. Before he had gone twenty
steps, he saw his brother walking with his
mother in a retired path. They seemed to
be closely engaged in conversation. She
was leaning upon his arm. The shadows
of the trees near him shielded him from
their observation; and they advanced towards
the spot where he stood. He withdrew
to a covert of laurels, for he did not
come to meet Arthur, except when he was
alone.
“I will let them pass on, and when they
separate I will speak to my brother,” he
said, as he stepped back from the walk.
They came nearer, walking slowly.—
Madame Ledyard was a tall and stately
woman, with a queenly look, and a face
still of great beauty; but its expression
was cold and haughty, and full of worldliness.
Her ambitious and selfish character
was stamped indelibly amid the lines
of beauty. They came nearer, so that he
could now hear their words. Her face
was flushed, and wore an angry air, while
his was pale, and bore an expression of
deep sorrow and pain. He was listening
to her with anxious attention.
“There is nothing, my son, but such guarded
treatment towards him, that will save
your life. You cannot be blind to his hypocrisy.
He assumes the garb of love that he
may hold you in his grasp when he would.
He knows that you are loved better than
himself, and his fiery soul seeks revenge
upon you. It was for this that he invites
you upon the water. It is the easiest thing
for a boat to upset and to call it accident!”
“My dear mother, this suspicion, I again
repeat, is unworthy of Randolph. He is
noble and true. I asked him to go on the
water—not he me! I know he loves me
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sincerely. He cannot hate me merely because
our father loves me most. I will
love him instead of my father's love. All
you say only weakens my suspicions and
fears. I am sorry I spoke to him as I did
when he came for me. But your story of
his duplicities was just ended, and impressed
my mind with horror. You are
deceived in him, my dearest mother! Randolph
is incapable of any wrong towards
me; and as soon as he returns to the
shore, I will cast myself into his arms, and
ask his forgiveness!”
“Arthur, you will offend me! You are
as vacillating as the wind. What changes
your opinion, when, an hour ago, you believed
all I told you?”
“Your assertions made since, have each
one served to weaken your first general
statement of my brother's desire to take
my life. It was I that proposed to go a
gunning yesterday; it was I that proposed
the sail this evening; it was I that wished
to mount the young horse that threw me,
while Randolph would have deterred me
from backing him. You do not love my
brother, dear mother, and you easily think
evil of him!”
“Well, you will find yourself in peril
yet through too much confidence in this
fierce and revengeful young man, Arthur.
It is at the risk of my displeasure that you
associate with him again. The general
will be at home in a day or two, and I hope
then he will have something to do, besides
plot your death!”
“I do not believe Randolph has any
evil thought against me, dear mother!”
cried Arthur, warmly.
“Bless you, Arthur, my noble Arthur,
for that word!” exclaimed Randolph, suddenly
appearing before them.
The two brothers rushed into each
others arms.
“Forgive me, Randolph!”
“Freely! I have overheard all that
you have said in my defence. And you,
madam, I also forgive,” he said, turning
and fixing upon her pale face his deep
penetrating glance, “when you can forgive
yourself!”
“Arthur, come with me,” commanded
his step-mother, her voice trembling with
rage.
“Randolph, are we friends again?”
said the youth in a low tone, grasping his
hand.
“Yes, brother! I do not blame you! I
know where the evil influence works. I
only grieve, dear Arthur, that you should
have suspected me!”
“Never would I have accused you from
any other lips than my dear mother's! I
am sorry she does not love you. It shall
be my sweet task to undeceive her respecting
you, my brother. From this hour—”
“We are brothers,” emphatically responded
Randolph, as he pressed Arthur's
hand between his own.
CHAPTER II. THE SUBTLE STEP-MOTHER.
The same evening General Ledyard
reached home. He met Randolph with
the same frank affection with which he
embraced Arthur. He gazed upon the
former with parental pride, as his heart
bore testimony to his manly person and
noble air. He felt proud of him as his
son. These looks of regard were not unnoticed
by Madam Ledyard. They deepened
her hostility to the young man, and
she resolved that she would seek his destruction,
that Arthur might not only share
all his father's love, but be also the heir to
his property. She was not satisfied that
he should inherit one half of it; her
cupidity grasped at the whole. It vexed
her that his father should entertain towards
him the least regard, and she determined
to destroy in his bosom, if possible to do
so, the remaining traces of his love for
him. The two brothers at length retired
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from the drawing room. Their father
bade to each the same kindly good night.
For a few moments after they departed,
both were silent; at length the general
spoke:
“How finely Randolph looks. He is
really a noble-looking young man. I can
see his mother's air about him! He seems
to be very fond of Arthur, and Arthur of
him. I am glad to see it. They have
been much separated, and now they are
getting to the years of manhood, they
should bind their hearts together!”
“It were better they should be as little
with each other as possible,” said Madam
Ledyard imperatively.
“Why so? Nay, I am glad that Randolph
has returned, that Arthur may have
a companion. I have lately reflected a
good deal upon our neglect of him for so
many years, and—”
“Neglect? Pray, sir, how have you
neglected him? Has he not been to the
best schools? Have you ever stinted him
in expenses? Has he not passed through
the university at a cost of full five thousand
dollars out of your purse. Has he not
been richly clothed, had horses, and even
hounds, and all else that a young man
could require? Instead of neglect, you
had better say indulgence, General Ledyard!
If you had taken my advice, and
kept him under more, he would have been
better than he is now!”
“Better? Is he not upright and honorable?”
demanded the general with surprise.
“Yes, I dare say, so far as his word and
money matters are concerned. But —”
“But what, my dear wife! You seem
to mean something, you hesitate to speak!”
“Well, I will not hesitate. Have you
forgotten your love for Arthur?”
“No. He is very dear to me?”
“He is not so dear as this fiery Randolph.”
“Nay, he is more so. This you well
know.”
“Yet you did not speak in praise of
Arthur as he went out, but must commend
your eldest son's looks and air!”
“Because I have not seen Randolph in
eighteen months before, and the change in
him has been striking; while it is not
three months since I was last at home and
saw Arthur. Besides he is always beautiful
in my eyes. To praise him is to waste
words!”
“I am glad to hear you say so!”
“The boy is very dear to me! yes, far
dearer than Randolph, who, as you say, is
over fiery.”
“Randolph never loved or respected
me!”
“For this I do not like him, as you well
know.”
“But I should not mind this so much, if
he loved our dear child!”
“Loved Arthur?”
“Yes.”
“They are very fondly attached to one
another!”
“It is only on one side. Arthur in his
confidence and good temper, idolizes his
unworthy brother. Randolph only assumes
a love he never did feel, and never
can feel!”
“Is this possible?” demanded General
Ledyard with surprise.
Yes, you know how Randolph has been
put away, though the eldest, because I
would not have my child to be domineered
over by him. Well, now that he is of age,
and can observe for himself, he understands
his position, and feels that Arthur
is preferred before him in both of our
affections. His spirit is goaded by this reflection,
and he has resolved that he will
avenge himself upon his half-brother for
his fancied wrongs. He therefore feigns
a love for him, humors him, flatters him,
and in every way tries to ingratiate himself
into his favor. His object is wholly
to lull suspicion both in him and us, and
by-and-by take his opportunity to put him
out of the way by a sudden death, that
shall seem to the world to be accidental!”
“Can this horrible idea have ever been
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conceived by him?” cried General Ledyard,
rising from his chair in great amazement.
“Yes, and he only waits a suitable occasion
for accomplishing his purpose
against the unsuspecting boy!”
“If I could believe this—if I had evidence
of this fact—but, it is impossible!
I cannot believe Randolph capable of any
thing so wicked!”
“You do not know the young man so
well as I do!” answered the step-mother
very decidedly.
“What proof have you?”
“A mother's watchful fears. I have
observed him closely. He tempts him to
gun with him, to boat with him, to ride
unbroken horses, so that he may in this
manner have his death compassed without
suspicion to himself!”
“It is incredible. What can he gain
by it? Simple revenge, because his brother
is most loved, could never arm him
with such deadly intent against him. I
have heard of one brother slaying another
who stood in the way of his patrimony.
But Randolph can have no such motive!”
“Randolph is avaricious.”
“Avaricious? He is the last person—”
“Listen to me,” interrupted the lady in
an imperative manner; “he is avaricious.
He knows that but for your second marriage,
he would have been your sole heir.
He now has hopes of but half of that
which he deems his own. He is, therefore,
hostile to me, and full of bitter hatred,
disguised under the cloak of affection
towards Arthur. By removing him, he
becomes your sole heir!”
General Ledyard shook his head. He
remained painfully thoughtful.
“I do not see that even this is sufficient
motive that so great a murder should be
done. I never suspected before, that
Randolph was avaricious. Yet it may be
so. But even the motive is not sufficient!”
“Love and jealousy added to avarice, I
doubt not, you will hold as strong enough
motives!”
“Yes! but —”
“Randolph Arthur are both admirers
of the beautiful Olive Oglethorpe. Arthur
is of course, preferred to his brother.
Randolph covers his disappointment and
jealousy under the mantle of fraternal affection,
but only to strike a dagger to his
heart from the covert of its folds!”
“What you say may then possibly be
true! But if he is a youth of such dark
passions, who is to blame? Has he not
been banished by us beyond our care and
counsels?”
“Not a word, general! I am surprised
you should speak thus upon a matter long
since perfectly understood between us. I
will not hear one word in defence of Randolph.
He must be expelled from your
roof ere another sun sits, or I and my child
will go!”
“Well, well, if he is the person you represent
him —”
“If he is! Do you question my word,
General Ledyard?”
“No, my dear, not your word, but the
facts!”
“The facts are as I have told you. Do
you wish to delay till Arthur is brought
in and laid at your feet a corpse?”
“I will call Randolph, and have speech
with him forthwith. I will learn from his
own lips —”
“Do you think he will confess? You
are certainly very simple, General Ledyard,
to think he will be foolish enough to criminate
himself!”
“Well, then to-morrow I will send him
away. He shall be supplied with money,
and depart on his travels!”
“He shall not have money; you have
thrown away enough upon him. You will
impoverish Arthur by this extravagant expenditure
of your income!”
“To-morrow I will see what must be
done. I am not very well just now. The
wound I received is not yet healed, and
troubles me when I am at all excited.
To-morrow I shall be rested, and then this
matter shall be settled to your satisfaction.
Yet I cannot think Randolph —”
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“Don't talk any more, general, it may
make your wound worse. Let it pass till
to-morrow. I know then you will do just
as I wish!”
“Yes, I have always sought your happiness,
Ann, in preference to my own!”
The next morning came, and brought
with it illness to the misguided father.
The relation he had received from his
wife of Randolph's character, had filled
him with grief and indignation; while he
was troubled with fears for the safety of
Arthur, whom he loved as Jacob loved
Benjamin. He had never ceased to entertain
a certain degree of affection for Randolph;
but it was not to be weighed with
his tender regard for his youngest born.
But when he beheld his elder son in the
full stature and beauty of manhood, then
his heart expanded with paternal pride,
and as he gazed on him, he felt towards
him something of that parental emotion
which had so long lain dormant in his
breast. It was this awakening sensibility
that the artful and observing woman had
grappled with in its first motions.
The agitation of mind which the intelligence
of Randolph's wicked purposes
towards his brother, produced in him, with
the irritation of his unhealed wound,
brought on a fever of an alarming character.
The third day it reached its crisis.
The symptoms, however, promised unfavorably,
and on the fourth day his physicians
pronounced him doubtful. It was
late at night. The attendants had been
sent out of the chamber. Madam Ledyard
alone remained. She bent over the face
of the invalid. He slept but with disturbed
slumber. At length he awakened and
beheld her.
“Ann, I feel that I am near my end.
Send to me my sons!” he said feebly.
She left the chamber. In the anteroom
sat two men, one of whom held papers
in his hand. As she came near them,
one of them rose and said,
“We are both here, Madam. How is
the general, now?”
“Failing fast,” answered the lady, put
ting to her eyes a cambric hankerchief.
“Have you drawn up the will?”
“Yes, madam. Shall I read it to you?”
“If you please. I would like to know
if it is as my husband directed.”
“It is as you dictated. I have drawn it
up word for word, save a blank for the
name.”
“That is as I wished. I will listen, if
you will read rapidly.”
The lawyer, in a low voice, run over
the testamentary document to her.
“It is all right. Remain here until I
return.”
The subtle woman then departed, and
crossed the hall towards Arthur's room.
In the passage Randolph met her.
“How fares it with my father, madam?”
he inquired, in a voice of deep sympathy
and looks of filial anxiety.
“He sleeps, and must not be disturbed.
The sound of your footsteps annoy him.
You will show your regard for him most
by keeping your chamber.”
Randolph made no reply, but softly retiring
to his apartment, closed the door. She
waited until she saw it shut, and then entered
the room occupied by Arthur. He
was asleep.
“My son, rise up quickly and follow
me! Your father asks for you. Make no
no noise, nor delay!”
Arthur followed her across the hall, and
past the two men, whose presence he regarded
with surprise.
“They are the lawyer and a witness
only, my son.”
“Why are they here?”
“Your father wishes to make a will.”
“There is no need. My brother and
myself share equally his estate.”
“Hist! do not speak! Enter with me!”
Arthur beheld his father lying like one
just ready to depart. He approached and
knelt by his bed-side, and bathed his hand
in tears.
“Where is your brother?”
“He said he cared not to see you,”
quickly answered Madam Ledyard.
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“Randolph said so?” repeated Arthur,
with surprise and incredulity.
“Hush, boy! Do not excite your father
at such a time!”
“Sent my son such a message to me?”
“He did, general, and very haughtily
too!”
“Let me see him. He could not have
understood—he could not have been himself,”
cried Arthur, advancing towards the
door.
“Nay, if you leave him you will miss
your father's blessing. Randolph sent the
message by me. Kneel, my son, and receive
your father's dying benediction!
You see how low he is; his minutes are
already numbered.”
Arthur knelt again by the pillow. The
dying soldier placed his hand upon his
head, and blessed him with a few earnest
words of prayer. When he had ended,
Arthur embraced him tenderly, and then
would have hastened from the room to seek
his brother; for his soul was shocked by
the report of his conduct, and he would
see for himself why he should thus treat
his father's dying request.”
“Remain with me, Arthur. Would you
leave me alone with the dying!”
The young man could not answer. He
stood in silence gazing upon his father
through his tears. Madam Ledyard went
out and returned with the two men.
“Who are these?” asked the general,
looking upon them.
“They are the attorney and witness.”
“Oh, yes! I promised to make a will!”
“You promised me this morning, dear
husband, to make a will, leaving me sole
executrix. But such is not the will you
now must make.” (Here Arthur stole
unperceived from the chamber.) “Since
the treatment you have just received from
Randolph, you should exclude him from
all possession in the inheritance.”
“He deserves it,” answered the general
with emphasis. “Had the will been so
drawn up, I would have signed it!”
“It is so drawn up!” said the woman,
with a look of triumph. I knew well how
Randolph would treat you, and I had the
will worded in favor of Arthur, the child
who has truly been a child to you!”
“Let me see it! gasped the general.
“Give me a pen! Support me, Ann! The
boy shall be punished! I— I— believe
all you have told me! He shall be cut off
with a shil—shilling!”
The pen was dipped in ink, and placed
in his fingers. With a firm hand, and
with a boldness that surprised those present,
he affixed his signature to the instrument.
The pen, as he formed the last
letter, dropped from his grasp, his head
sank back heavily upon the pillow, and his
spirit had fled ere the ink with which he
had traced his son's sentence upon the
parchment, was dry.
The younger brother, ignorant of this
transaction making him sole heir to the
exclusion of his brother, had left the
chamber when he saw his mother engaged,
and hastened to his apartment. He found
Randolph up, and anxiously waiting for
some intelligence from his father; for
hearing his brother's step, he had softly
opened his door, supposing it to be a servant.”
“Do you come from him, Arthur?” he
asked eagerly.
“Yes; but —”
“And how fares he now? I would hasten
to him, but your mother bade me keep
away, saying he must not be disturbed.”
“When did she say so?” demanded Arthur,
with an energy that surprised him.
“Not twenty minutes ago!”
“Did she not call you to his bedside,
and did you not send him a message that
you would not come?”
“Can it be possible you believe I did?”
“Yet such was the word my mother
brought to our father. He sent her for
both of us. She returned with me, saying
you refused to come.”
“It is false! false as —. But I must
be patient with this wicked woman! Arthur,
if you will believe me, learn that no
such message has been brought me from
my father, else would I have flown on
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wings of love and duty to obey it. I was
in the hall some twenty minutes ago, when
she came through. She saw me, and reproved
me for being up and disturbing the
house when my father would sleep. I returned
to my room, and heard her approach
your door, and soon after, partly opening
my door, I saw you follow her forth from
your room! As I hope to live hereafter,
I had no message from my father, and sent
him back no such answer!”
As he spoke, he covered his face with
his hand, and the tears forced themselves
through his fingers. Arthur stood mute
with astonishment. He idolized his mother;
he believed her the very soul of
truth and goodness; he thought her perfect
in every thing: and all this was she
to him! He was wholly blind to her true
character. Yet now she seemed to have
spoken falsely of Randolph. Which was
he to believe, his brother or his mother?
Randolph's words rung with the rich
metal of truth and honesty. Could it be
possible his mother had told that which
was false. He hesitated.
“I see you doubt my word, Arthur. Be
it so!” said Randolph, bitterly. “But it
matters not. You say my father sent for
me! I will go to him, and thus give the
lie to thy mother's foul report!”
As he spoke, he stalked proudly, and
with an air of grief and defiance through
the hall, in the direction of his father's
chamber.
CHAPTER III. THE WILL.
Randolph, on entering his father's chamber,
met the attorney and his companion
passing out. The former looked upon
him with a smile so significant, that he
stared with surprise; but the next moment
he forgot the look in the presence of
the dead.
“He has departed without bestowing
upon me his blessing,” he said as he gazed
upon the rigid face of his father. “Woman,
wicked and evil woman, this is your
cruelty. My father sent for me, and you
reported to him falsely, that I would not
see him. My father,” he cried, kneeling
by the corpse, and pressing his lips to the
icy cheek, “my dear father, I knew not
that you desired to see me, else I would
have been near thee when thy spirit fled.
To thee, departed spirit, who art still hovering
near, to thee I address myself. Thou
knowest all things now, and thou knowest
the purity of my filial love, and also thou
seest clearly through the wickedness of
this woman!”
“What means this mockery of the
dead, sir?” cried Madam Ledyard, with
ill-suppressed rage. “Rise and quit the
room!”
“I shall not, Madam. I have here a right
above you all. Here will I remain. But
for you, I should have shared my father's
love, but you poisoned his mind against
me, and exiled me from my home and
from his heart. God will judge you!”
The widow shrunk, abashed before the
stern reproof of the indignant young man.
“Come, Arthur, come with me, and let
us leave him here. His power will be
short!”
“Nay, mother, I feel deeply for my dear
brother. I will remain with him!”
“Now that his father no longer lives,”
said the artful woman, “he will have no
restraint over his hatred for you. You
are rash to remain a moment in his presence!”
“I do not fear Randolph,” answered
Arthur quietly. “He will do me no harm!”
Madam Ledyard was vexed, but for the
present she thought best to forbear.
“After the funeral, when the will is
made known, I shall have my revenge,”
she murmured to herself as she quitted
the room.
“Arthur,” said Randolph, turning towards
him with tearful eyes, “this is a
heavy blow to both of us. He was our
father, mine as well as yours. Though
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he loved me little, yet I always loved and
respected him. Now that he is no more,
let us be to each other in his place!”
“My dear brother!” exclaimed Arthur,
embracing him with impulsive affection.
“Arthur,” said Randolph, as he raised
his brother from his shoulder, on which he
had thrown himself, “let me warn you
against the tales with which your mother
fills your ears. She loves me not, and
would have you also hate me. But if she
says to you ever, that I do not love you,
she says what is false. You are very
dear to me. Now that our father is no
more, I as your elder brother, feel bound
to you by a closer tie. You love your
mother, you believe her to be all that is
upright and good; but she is good only to
you. Be cautious how you heed what she
whispers to you of me!”
“I will never believe any thing against
you, Randolph. I will quicker suppose
my dear mother deceived, than that you
should be false. You have my fullest confidence
and trust!”
“Thanks, thanks, dear brother. Now do
we understand each other. What a sad
sight is this lifeless clay. The spirit that
ever dwelt in it smiles upon our love, for
now it sees my heart, and knows its truth!
But let us leave the room to those who
come to prepare the dead for the grave!”
On the morning of the third day after
the death of General Ledyard, he was
placed in the family tomb, and the mourners
returned to the mansion. The attorney
produced the will at the widow's request,
and read it aloud. It made Arthur the
sole heir, with a legacy of one hundred
dollars to Randolph.
The surprise of Arthur was no less
great than that of Randolph.
“Brother—Randolph!” he cried, rushing
towards him, “despise me not—censure
me not, for I knew not of this until
this moment. But it shall be void. It
shall have no effect whatever. The base
will I will destroy with my own hands!”
As he spoke he snatched it from the
hands of the attorney, and was preparing
to destroy it, when his mother rushed forward
and rescued it.
“Are you mad, boy?”
“No mother, but just and honorable!”
Randolph stood silent and pale as a statue.
He seemed not to fully comprehend
the fatal truth. At length he smiled bitterly,
and bowing with haughty defiance
to his step-mother, he left the room and
the house.
He took his way wildly through the
garden, he scarce knew whither. His
brain whirled, his blood was on fire with
the intensity of his feelings. He reached
the water-side, and remained gazing vacantly
upon the bay. The sea breeze
cooled his brow, and he became more composed.
He began to reflect. He saw
that this result had been brought about by
the subtle acts of his step-mother.
“It is her work. This she has achieved
as the finishing stroke to her hatred of
me! I see through it all. I understand
how it was. My father sent for us both,
to see us ere he died. She gave the message
only to my brother, and returned to
him, saying I refused to come. Then my
father in his displeasure, cast me off, making
my brother his heir! How has that
boy stood in the way of my happiness
ever since he was born. I could almost
hate him as well as his mother! But I
will not think evil of him. He loves me.
He is gentle, good, brave, and all that a
brother could wish in a brother. No, I
will not think evil of him! Yet —”
“Nay, dear brother,” said the low voice
of Arthur at his ear; “nay, let no more
words fall from your lips. I am indeed,
I have been for years your enemy, but
most innocently so. For your sake I
would willingly die now. I am more
grieved than you are at this wicked will.
I can hardly forgive my father!”
“Can you forgive your mother? It was
by her arts, Arthur, your mother brought
this end about. She would not that my
father's dying blessing should descend
upon my head, and so withheld from me
the message which she conveyed to you.
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To him you said she reported that I haughtily
refused to come. Displeased at this, he
made you his sole heir. It is your mother's
act!”
“Can it be possible my mother could
do this thing?” he asked with deep sorrow.
“Your mother is the only one to blame.
Upon her head —”
“Nay, spare her. It is not possible she
can have been so wicked!”
“Do you doubt my word, Arthur? I
repeat to thee she bore me no message,
and I sent back no such answer as she
poured into my father's ears. But let this
pass. God will judge her! I never more
enter that house. It is yours and hers!
I shall go forth upon the world to carve
my own fortunes. I refuse to touch the
pitiful legacy that has been named in the
will. Why should a brave man despair,
though he be a beggar. It is true the war
is ended, but all the paths of life are not
fenced up. Some one will I find open to
me. So, farewell, brother!”
“Do not leave me brother!” cried Arthur,
clinging to him. “Forgive all that I have
innocently done to cause this!”
“You have done nothing, brother. But
I cannot remain. I shall go. There is
my boat chafing at her moorings, awaiting
me to embark in her. I shall obey the
call. I will commit my destiny to the
winds, and whithersoever they blow shall
my prow be set!”
“I cannot have you leave me, brother,”
cried Arthur, in deep distress. “The
whole patrimony shall be your own. I
ask nothing but your love!”
Randolph made no reply, but paced in
silence the green sward upon the eminence
upon which they stood. It was at this
moment that our story opened! It was in
vain that Arthur now proceeded to urge
upon Randolph the acceptance of one half
of their patrimony. He positively refused,
and with a feeling of reckless despair,
cried,
“Do not speak to me more, brother. Do
not stay me with thy grasp, else I shall
begin to say bitter words even to you; for
dark thoughts and an evil mind against
you is fast coming upon me. I fly from
you, lest I hate you and strike you!”
Thus speaking, the wretched young man
tore himself from his brother's nervous
hold with such vehemence, that Arthur
reeled and fell upon the ground. He lay
for several minutes partially insensible.
He was about to rise to his feet to pursue
and entreat his brother to remain, when
he heard his mother's shriek, and the next
moment was folded in her arms, as she
knelt beside him upon the ground.
“Has he slain you? Oh, my child, do
you live? Where are you wounded?”
“No one has wounded me. Where is
Randolph. Let me rise, mother. I would
call to my brother, and entreat him not to
leave me!”
“Your brother is an assassin! He has
fled! I saw him from the portico when
he struck you down. My limbs would
hardly bring me to the spot. I could not
utter a cry to give the alarm to pursue
him as he fled down the precipice! But
he shall not escape!”
“Mother, Randolph has not harmed
me!” cried Arthur firmly and almost indignantly.
“If you name such a suspicion
again, I shall cease to love you. Do
not hold me!”
“Has he not wounded you?”
“No, I fell. I was alone to blame!”
“You would kiss his hand if he should
strike a dagger to your heart, I believe!”
Arthur released himself from his mother,
and hastened to the verge of the
bank, in the hope of seeing Randolph, and
of being able to prevail upon him to return.
“You need not make the effort to cause
me to believe that young man did not
strike you down,” said Madam Ledyard,
as she saw Randolph seated in the stern
of his pleasure boat, the sails hoisted to
the winds, flying down the bay. “Why
has he escaped?”
“Mother, he escapes from no one! He
is in despair! Your weak love for me has
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[figure description] Page 015.[end figure description]
broken my noble brother's heart! He flies,
that he may forever shut out from his eyes
scenes where he has suffered so much
sorrow! Ask your own heart, my mother,
why he flies. Be sure it is not for guilt.
I would have detained him! I offered him
the half—I offered him the whole of the
patrimony which you have so wickedly
obtained for me, if he would remain, and
let me share his beloved presence; but he
would accept nothing at my hands. He
answered that he should have received justice
from my father and from you, and not
charity from me. Nay, he even spoke
harshly to me, and did say that if he did
not fly soon, he should hate me as one of
the authors of his misery. I am grieved
and angry, mother, that you should have
done what you have done! Much rather
would I have become a beggar, than that
the bright sky of Randolph's love for me
should be darkened by a single cloud!”
“Do you reproach me, boy? Have I
not done all for your sake? Have I —”
“Do not speak of it! You have made
me as well as Randolph the victim of your
weak and guilty affection for me. I pity
my brother. I reproach both you and my
father. May God forgive him! Through
you, mother, he was banished from the endearments
of home, that I might have the
sole love of my father. He has been made
all his life a sacrifice for me; yet he has
never hated me. His noble heart has always
overflowed with love and tenderness
towards me. It has been your wicked aim
to supplant him by me. The idea of making
me the sole heir, I fear, has been from
the first in your mind. Oh, that I had
known all this! But it is now too late to
retrieve the past. Though I have unintentionally
injured my brother, I feel that I
have nothing to reproach myself for in unkindness
towards him. Never did I speak
a harsh word to him.—Noble Randolph!”
continued Arthur, gazing with eyes full of
tears after the swiftly departing boat,
“for me you have been sacrificed, and you
have not reproached me. For your sake
I refuse to benefit by my father's unjust
will. I will use no portion of the estate
that is rightfully your own. I too will try
my fortunes in the wide world; for I wish
my lot to be no better, no happier than
yours!”
“Do you mean what you are thus saying?”
cried Madam Ledyard, with a pale
cheek and a heavy conscience smiting
her for what she had done; “do you mean
to say you will not touch the property?”
“Yes, firmly and solemnly, and I appeal
to God above, and to my brother now in
view, in testimony of the truth of my
words. Mother, I have ceased to respect
you. My eyes are open to your guilt.
You have for twenty years been playing a
great game of crime. It was not love for
me so much as wicked ambition, that has
led you on in this career. You have succeeded
in your wishes! But how? True,
your son is the heir of the estates you
coveted for him, and the true heir is flying
from home. But your son not only refuses
to share an estate thus wickedly come by,
and the fruits of your guilty ambition fall
to the ground and perish. This is God's
judgment upon you!”
Madam Ledyard stood before him, transfixed
with mingled grief, rage, and disappointment.
There was no penitence in
the tearful eye; no sorrow in the pale
cheek; no remorse in the trembling lip.
These effects were caused by darker and
sterner emotions. She saw by the firmness
of the tone in which the young man
spoke, and by the resolute expression of
his indignant eyes, that he was sincere in
his determination. She approached him,
grasped his wrist with one hand, and pressed
the other strongly upon his shoulder,
while her eyes sought his.
“Arthur, do you refuse to accept what
I have worked all my life to place in your
hands?”
“I do most positively!”
“You refuse then at your peril!”
“Do not menace me, mother. I feel
that I am superior to you, because I am
innocent. You have degraded yourself by
your crimes. You have forfeited the
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[figure description] Page 016.[end figure description]
respect which I owe you. Do not menace
me, for I am above your menaces!” Rather
kneel and seek forgiveness of God!”
“And this is my reward!” she cried
bitterly. “Oh, Arthur, do not reject the
wealth and power that is now yours.
Have pity upon me. Do not cast aside
what I have sold my soul to obtain for
you!”
“Shall I use the price of my brother's
life—of my mother's soul!” he said with
indignant scorn. “Leave me, mother! I
would stand here and gaze on my brother's
form, so long as it is in sight. Do not disturb
me in this only happiness left me!”
The ambitious, and now wretched mother
stood back abashed and reproved.
She had began to reap the bitter fruits of
her duplicity. She saw all her hopes
dashed at a single blow. She felt that she
had calculated without the consent of him
who was the object of all her aims. That
he would refuse to take possession of the
estate, she had no suspicion. His refusal
came upon her like a thunder-clap. She
would have threatened, but she beheld in
the beautiful and gentle youth, to her surprise,
a spirit awakened, which she knew
not slumbered in his bosom. She saw that
his breast was the home of truth and honor,
and that her evil temptations found there
no resting-place.
She remained silent a few moments, reflecting
what course she should adopt to
regain her influence over him. He stood,
in the meanwhile, gazing after the departing
boat, at intervals waving his handkerchief,
which signal, to his great joy, was
answered by Randolph. At length the
little bark passed out of sight, a league
distant, by turning the southern bend of
Staten Island. During all this time, Madam
Ledyard remained silent, waiting till
his attention should be again given to her.
He turned towards her with looks full of
grief.
“Mother, there has departed one I love
better than any other being on earth. I
would that he had taken me with him, for
I cannot well bear a separation from him!”
“Your love for your brother is misplaced.
It is well for you he is gone. I know he
would have sought your life!”
“Not a word of that, Madam! I would
trust him—aye, as quickly as I would
yourself!”
“Oh, Arthur, do not look upon me so
coldly,” said the artful woman; “if you
will forgive me, I will try and atone for
what I have done!”
“Are you sorry for it?” he said severely.
“With all my heart. I did what I did
only for your good. Forgive me, for it
was from love for you, and a desire to see
you rich and happy!”
“Riches bring not happiness to any!
But I forgive you!”
“Thanks, my dear son; now my heart
is relieved. We are friends once more,
as mother and child should be. It was all
my fondness for you!”
“I would rather you should have hated
me than loved me thus wickedly. But it
is past. Randolph will no more return.
I shall follow him ere many days; for this
is no longer my home!”
“Whose then?”
“Randolph's!”
“Well, we will not talk of this now.
Let us return to the house, my dear child.
But first promise me that you will not
leave me without my knowledge!”
“This I promise. My intention is to
go to the city, and there establish myself
in some honorable calling. I shall go as
a poor youth, and trust to God and my own
industry!”
Thus speaking, he once more looked
down the bay, waved an affectionate adieu
towards the point where he had last seen
his brother's boat, and then slowly and
thoughtfully retraced his steps to the
house. His mother followed him in silence.
She saw that it would be indiscret
then to urge him to change his mind,
and left him undisturbed, trusting some
favorable opportunity would yet enable
her to effect her object.
CHAPTER IV. THE GUN-BRIG.
[figure description] Page 017.[end figure description]
We have said that our story opened
shortly after the close of the last war with
Great Britain. With the end of the contest
between the two belligerent nations,
did not terminate the evils which are the
fruits of war. It is true, the respective
fleets of the combatting nations, ceased
longer to engage in combat, and either
sailed peacefully upon the ocean in idle
cruising, or returned to their ports. But
there were armed vessels which had taken
part in the contest, which did not belong
to the legitimate service of the country.
These were privateers or letters of marque.
Numerous commissions of this kind
had been issued by the United States government,
and the vessels sailing under
them had done essential service to the
country.
The close of the war found many of
these free cruisers in commission. The
majority of them returned to port, and
ceased preying upon the commerce of the
late foe. Some few of them, however,
had been too long pursuing the adventurous
career of privateering, readily to obey
the voice of peace. The life they had led
for three years, had fascinated them with
its wild attractions. Money had been
easily acquired, and the excitement of the
battle and the chase had rendered excitement
a passion. Thus it happened that
for some weeks after the peace had been
ratified, and hostile operations between the
lawful fleets of the two nations had ceased,
the public ear was startled, by the rumor
that several peaceable merchant-ships,
not only of England, but of the United
States, had been boarded and plundered
off the coast by vessels, still claiming to
be privateers. As soon as this intelligence
reached Washington, four vessels of war
were despatched from as many ports, to
capture and destroy these lawless cruisers,
that dared openly to despise the proclamation
of peace. One of these sailed from
Boston, one from New York, one from
Baltimore, and another from Norfolk.
Two of them were brigs of war, the others
corvettes of eighteen and twenty guns.
This force was soon sweeping the coast
from Florida to the New England capes,
and four of the bucaniering privateers
were captured and brought into port.
This prompt action on the part of the government,
soon cleared the American seas
of these bold pirates, who had thus assumed
the national flag to cover their deeds of
rapine. The vessels of war returned to
their several ports, and the merchant-vessel
once more fearlessly unfurled her canvass
to the breeze.
The season of security, however, was
but brief. The last brig of war had not
been ten days anchored in port, ere a Boston
barque put into Newport, Rhode Island,
reporting that she had been boarded the
evening before, off Block Island, by an
armed schooner, filled with men, and
plundered of all the most valuable portion
of her cargo. This intelligence renewed
the former excitement, and without waiting
orders from the Department, the commanders
of the brig of war which was
moored in Boston Harbor, and of a sloop
of war that lay off the Battery, slipped
their cables, and almost at the same hour
put to sea.
The sloop took the passage of the East
River, passing into the Sound through
Hurlgate; while the brig doubled Cape
Cod, hoping to fall in with the bucanier in
the vicinity of the Island where the barque
reported herself to have been plundered.
It was on the morning of the third day
after the arrival of the barque in Newport,
that the armed brig came in sight of Block
Island. The wind was light, and having
been so for the last four days, her captain
was sanguine that he should fall in with
the pirate in the vicinity of the island.
He therefore kept a midshipman aloft with
a glass to sweep the horizon, while he
stood on towards the island with the wind
blowing gently from the south-west.
The dark mass of the huge island rose
before them in all its sterile grandeur,
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reflecting the first beams of the rising sun
from its higher elevations, while its base
lay in a dense mist that was resting upon
the sea. The brig under her royals and
weather topmast studdensail, her courses
hauled a it, and every thing drawing, moved
steadily towards the island. The captain
with a spy-glass at his eye, watched keenly
the inlets of the land as the fog opened, occasionally
turning his glass seaward, and
then in the direction of the main.
“The fellow can't have had wind enough
to have got far away from this,” he said,
turning to his first lieutenant who stood
near him. “If he is not lying under the
west shoulder of the island, I am quite
sure he has run up the Sound!”
“It has been almost calm the last three
days, and what with the fogs that begin
to prevail at this season, she could not
have got far away!”
“That is my opinion. Yonder is a
fishing-boat just emerging from the bank
of fog that encircles the island. Keep
her away a point, and bring the boat to!
The fisherman will be able to give us some
intelligence!”
The brig was steered in the direction of
the fishing boat, and a gun brought it to.
“Fisherman ahoy!”
“What do you want, hey?” replied a
sonorous voice in reply, from the throat of
an old weather-beaten man, who looked as
if he had been born upon the salt sea, and
cradled upon its stormy billows.
“Have you seen anything of a large
schooner, with long raking masts and a
red head painted on her bends?”
“There was such a craft hailed me and
bought fish of me yesterday afternoon. I
reckon she was a privateer!”
“It is the very same, my man!” answered
the captain joyfully. “But there are
no privateers now, the war is at an end!”
“That's true, or ought to be, capting,
sure enough. But the schooner had the
'Merican flag up, and was full of men,
and had as many as six guns, if not more!”
“She was a pirate. Can you tell me
which way she was standing?”
“Pirate or no, her skipper paid me in
silver for my fish, and when my main-boom
knocked my tarpaulin overboard, he bade
one of his men toss me this one, which is
worth two of mine! He was stan'nen' at
the time to the nor'-west, with the wind
son'.”
“Up the Sound?”
“Belike he was; but as a fog was
drivin in from sea just then, he hadn't
made sail from me more nor five minutes,
afore he was wrapped up in it from deck
to truck, so I couldn't see him!”
“Did you see the vessel cruising here
before yesterday?”
“Yes. She lay on the other side of the
island, two leagues off shore, pretty much
all day, about four days ago; at least it
was a craft that looked mazing like her!”
“Thank you, my good man. Luff a
little under the stern, and I will be as liberal
for your news, as this bucanier was
for your fish!”
Thus speaking, the captain of the armed
brig took from his purse a sovereign,
and as the little fishing vessel luffed up
across the brig's wake, tossed it into the
bottom of it. The old man lifted his tarpaulin,
exposing a head of thick grisly
hair, and bowing, picked up the coin, and
once more put away on his course towards
his fishing ground.
All was now excitement and action on
board the brig. Her course was altered
three points, so as to pass the island to
leeward, and she moved through the water
with freer and swifter motion; for before
she had been steering so as to weather the
island.
“If the wind would only haul to the
south, we should then get two more knots
with the aid of studdensail a-wing,” said
the captain; “but we can't expect too
many blessings at once. It is enough for
this morning, to know that our game has
not escaped us by running to the east or
south! If he is gone into the Sound, he
is ours!”
The bank of fog which had hung about
the island, now slowly climbed up its sides
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and sailed off upon an under current of
air, forming a low canopy of light cloud
above the sea. The whole shore of the
island now become visible, and was rapidly
and closely scanned by three spy-glasses,
in as many hands.
“He is not in shore there,” said the officer
of the deck emphatically.
“He may be on the other side of the
island,” observed the quarter-master. A
fleet of liners might be hid there, and we
not see 'em unless we sailed round!”
“We shall be in range to the north of
the island in half an hour, so that we can
take in the whole western shore at a
glance,” observed the captain; “but it is
my opinion that the bold rogue has ventured
his keel up the Sound, for the purpose
of showing himself to the good Connecticut
folk, and laughing at Uncle Sam's
cruisers. The fog still lays on the water
ahead, or else is slowly moving itself landward.”
“By ten o'clock we shall have a clear
horizon,” said the first lieutenant, “and if
he is in the Sound, we shall either see
him or hear of him before night! We
are going five knots full, and no doubt
when the fog gets into the sky, we shall
have an increase of breeze!”
“Heaven grant it!”
“Sail ho!” shouted the look-out from
the mast-head.
“Where away?” demanded the captain,
in a voice full of animation.
“To the westward, a point and a half
off the weather bow!”
The captain sprung into the weather
main rigging, and ascending rapidly a
dozen rattlings, levelled his glass.
“I can see nothing but the fog bank
that lays on the water a league ahead!”
he responded in a tone of vexation.
“I can see her masts striking above the
fog,” shouted the midshipman in the foretopgallant
cross-trees.
“Keep hold of her then. What does
she look like?”
“I can only see her two sticks; and
they may be either the royal-masts of a
brig, or the slender top-masts of a schooner!”
“Do you see any royal yard?”
“Nothing but the tops of the masts.
Now the fog rolls up and hides them, sir!”
“Keep the bearings, quarter-master.
One point and a half off the weather bow.
Luff as much, and see if we can make
her! I will go aloft and take a look!”
In a few seconds the young and ambitious
captain of the brig of war, stood by
the side of the middy upon the fore-topgallant
cross-trees. For the diameter of
four miles around him, the sea was clear
from fog; but a light bank of mist lay
upon the water two or three miles distant,
wholly concealing the main land and
Fisher's Island, which where but five and
seven miles distant ahead. Seaward the
atmosphere was clear, and to the south lay
Block Island, still overshadowed by the
bright cloud which had risen above it
from its base. The fisherman's skiff was
just visible in the eastern board, riding at
her anchor, and westward, near the head
of the island, were moored two or three
coasting shallops. The sea of fog that
lay above the watery sea ahead of the
brig, was about seventy feet in height, and
seemed to be slowly moving towards the
main land before the south-westerly wind
which wafted the vessel on. Its surface,
as viewed from the altitude at which the
captain stood, was undulating and restless
like the billowy ocean; now curling upward
in fantastic wreaths like smoke, now
tossing and eddying in feathery streamers,
as the fickle wind sported with it at its
will. Sometimes masses of the misty vapor
would heave themselves into the air
above the general surface in cloudy pinnacles,
till the breeze would break them
and scatter them, dissolving in air as they
flew. It was by one of these lifts of the
mist, that the masts of the vessel which
the midshipman had discovered, had been
suddenly concealed from his sight. As
the captain appeared on the cross-trees,
the masts re-appeared again. With his
unaided eye, he saw by their unusual rake,
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that they were the pencil-like topmasts of
a privateer-schooner, as all the clipper-built
craft of that day were termed.
“It is our man!” he exclaimed with
enthusiasm. “Mr. Waters, keep the
brig's head a point more to windward,”
he shouted to the deck below. “Pipe all
hands to quarters. There is no mistake
now but that we will have this kingfisher
in our own net before another half hour!”
The orders he had given were obeyed
with that animation which evinced an eager
desire to combat with the enemy.
The commander kept his glass at his eye
for a few moments after he had given
these orders, and closely watched the two
topmasts. The schooner to which they
belonged, seemed to be about a mile
within the bosom of the fog, and to be
slowly forging to the eastward. After a
few moments longer observation he was
satisfied that she was approaching on the
opposite tack to that on which the brig
was running. This conviction assured
him that he should not fail to fall in with
him; and in order that he should not lose
him by going into the fog, he gave the
order, to the surprise of his officers, to
shorten sail.
“The fog is moving away from us, sir,
almost as fast as we sail,” said the middy,
“and if you shorten sail, sir, we shall be
fully exposed to the schooner when she
comes out of it; and as we are not within
gun-shot of her, she may get away from
us!”
“You are right, Frank, for once in your
life. Hold on below till further orders!”
The schooner kept standing on towards
the fog, the verge of which was now half
a mile distant. The captain had now lost
sight of the masts altogether, and the
mist seemed to be rising from the sea. He
descended to the deck, and, without a word
to any one, threw himself over the side, at
the gangway, and dropped by the man-rope
close to the surface of the water. As
he expected, he could see under the fog,
which had risen at least two feet from the
water, and was still steadily ascending.
A mile distant he beheld with perfect distinctness
the lower portion of the dark hull
of the schooner. He now regained the
deck, and taking the bearings of the vessel,
crowded all sail, and in five minutes afterwards
entered the region of sea-cloud.
The fog lay upon the decks and filled
densely the atmosphere. Nothing was
visible but the white vapor around. A
man stationed over the side so as to see
underneath the fog, every minute reported
the position of the schooner.
The captain now joined him, and saw
that she was within reach of shot; but as
he was not able to see higher than her
gunwales, he did not like to fire, lest he
should be doing mischief to a friend. So
he waited impatiently the slow rising of the
mist as it became more and more rarified
by the sun's rays.
The brig, nevertheless, kept standing
on her way, steering a direct course for
the unconscious vessel.
“She is armed, I can see that much!”
cried the captain of the brig. “In two
minutes more her hull will be visible.
Keep away a little. That is it! so, steady
as you are. We shall be alongside of
her in six minutes. She seems to be
steering obliquely across our bows! stand
by them with that weather-bow gun. Now
silence every sound! steady as you are,
helmsman. I can now plainly see her
decks and her men! she is crowded with
heads. It is the schooner we are in search
of! Elevate the piece a little and fire at
a venture!”
The roar of the twelve-pounder broke
suddenly the stillness of the morning.
The captain and his officers watched
through the open ports the effect of the
shot upon the movements of the enemy.
But the schooner was at the same instant
enveloped in the smoke of her own guns,
and one after another in rapid succession
three balls whistled through the misty air
above the heads of those on the gun-brig's
deck.
“They are as wide awake as we are!”
exclaimed the captain: “when we
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supposed we were creeping down upon them
unseen, they have been watching us under
the curtain of fog just as we have been
watching them. They have aimed their
iron billiard-balls well, for every one of
them passed within twenty feet of the deck.
They were at the least eighteens! stand
by your guns, men, and be ready to give
her a broadside!”
The lint-locks flashed above the heads
of the men who held them. All waited
for the word.
“Luff a little!” shouted the captain.
“Luff it is, sir!” responded the helmsman.
“Steady, as you are!”
“Steady!”
“Fire, boys!”
The brig reeled under the recussion of
the simultaneous discharge of all her larboard
guns, and her captain, leaning over
the gun in the after port closely watched
the effect upon the schooner, which, when
last seen, was not half a mile distant. It
was some moments before the smoke of the
powder blew aside; and then he saw, to
his chagrin, that the fog had heavily settled
again upon the water. He could discern
no object a hundred fathoms distance.
“Confound my luck!” he cried with vexation;
“the concussion of the air and the
weight of the smoke together have settled
the fog and hid the fellow completely.
But we will stand on till we hear her
`speak' again, and so tell us her whereabouts;
keep still every one and listen for
the least noise from her!”
The schooner did not “speak” again.
In vain they listened. No gun replied to
the broadside; no sound of creaking yard
or rattling rope betrayed to their ears the
position of the invisible schooner.
CHAPTER V. THE SCHOONER OF THE MIST.
For several minutes the gun-brig stood
on the same steady course running by the
bearings of the compass towards the spot
where the schooner had last been seen,
Not a syllable was spoken on her decks,
that the least noise from the schooner
might be caught by them. Ten minutes—
twenty minutes! the brig stood on, and
yet nothing was seen or heard of the
stranger. All around them in a dense
mass hung the fog, and in height overtopping
the top-gallant yard so that the lookouts
aloft were unable to make out anything
in the dense vapor in which the brig
was enshrounded.
“That fellow must have brought this
fog about us for his own benefit,” exclaimed
the captain of the brig with an air of
supreme vexation. We have been running
twenty minutes by the watch dead for
him, and as we go four knots and he was
not half a mile distant when last seen, we
have shot past him, and, no doubt, left him
a mile astern! Ready about! we will try
him on the other tack, and if we don't fall
foul of him, we shall, at least, make our
way out of this infernal fog bank!”
The brig was put about and lay her
course S. S. E., making from three to
four knots. In less than ten minutes she
emerged from the mist into the clear sky
and bright sunshine, with the blue sea
visible southward to the horizon, and
Block Island crouched in sullen majesty
a league to windward off the starboard
quarter.
Every eye was rapidly surveying the
sea around in expectation of discovering
the schooner. Nothing like a sail was
visible, but the minute bark of the fisherman
they had spoken two hours before
rocking lightly on the undulating waves,
and the three shallops which lay moored
under the head of the island. The fog
bank still hung in a cloud low upon its
crest.
“Mr. Waters,” said the captain of the
gun-brig as soon as he satisfied himself
that the schooner was not in sight, “this
fellow has fairly given us the go-by! He
is hiding still in the fog bank, and laughs
at us. But the game won't be long in his
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own hands. It is to the main land about
four or five miles. The fog is steadily
advancing towards it. The schooner will
probably keep under it as long as he can
run safely, but the land will bring him up
in less than two hours; for the fog moves
from two to three miles an hour and will
in that time leave the sea clear and rise
over the land. The schooner will then
have to show herself, and the game will
then be up! My plan is to tack again and
stand in after the fog and be ready to attack
the schooner as soon as she gets from
under cover.”
“It will be an odd chase, sir!” answered
the lieutenant, laughing.
“Yes, to chase a fog bank! but we
must do it. It isn't half so bad as chasing
the Flying Dutchman. Can you judge
about where the schooner is likely to be
under that confounded mist?”
“I should think, sir, she ought to bear
about north by west.”
“So I was thinking. We will tack and
steer that course. Ready about!”
Once more the gun-brig tacked and
stood in towards the retreating line of fog,
which rose boldly like a wall of white vapor
eighty feet above the sea and extending
for miles east and west, parallel with
the Connecticut shore, and wholly concealing
it. It was slowly but steadily
moving landward before the wind.
Under shortened sail so as not to run
into the mist, the brig now stood on towards
it, keeping about a cable's length in
the clear atmosphere outside of it. A man
was placed in the fore-chains with the lead,
to report the depth of water as they advanced
shoreward, and a light messenger
boy was sent to the main truck to keep a
look out for the topmasts of the schooner,
while men were stationed upon the fore
and main-topgallant yards. Another man,
swung by a rope over the side, kept his
head close to the surface of the water to
report the least lifting of the fog. Every
means that skill and a determination to
come up with the enemy could devise was
resorted to, and all on board felt sanguine
of success.
The watch at length told the captain
that they had been running after the fog
forty-five minutes, and the log informed
him that the distance run was three miles.
The lead also gave only twelve fathoms of
depth of water.
“Twelve fathoms makes us within a
mile of the shore, sir,” said the lieutenant
looking at the chart.
“Yes, and I hear the boom of the breakers.
If that fellow is in that fog bank he
goes ashore, as true as fate. I will stand
on a few minutes longer.
“Quar—ter—less—sev—en!” sung the
leadsman in a clear tone. The brig had,
by degrees, forged ahead and got almost
within the fog. The captain quickly gave
orders to shorten sail.
“Breakers ahead!” cried at the same
moment the look-out from the bows.
“Helm-a-lee! jam her down hard!”
shouted the captain, springing himself to
the aid of the helmsman.
The brig came promptly up to the wind,
and just in time to leave under her lee counter
a large rock which formed the spur of
a ledge, over which the billows were breaking
with a combing spray.
“It takes a good pilot to follow a fog in
a stern chase ashore,” said the young commander
of the gun-brig as he looked over
the side and saw the perils he had escaped,
and which he was rapidly leaving astern.
“This is a hair's-breadth luck for us. The
schooner can't have kept on—if she has
she is a phantom. Heave her to!”
The officer of the deck promptly obeyed
the order, and the gun-brig having got an
offing, with her main-topsail aback, remained
stationary. They now watched
the fog which, slowly creeping to the land,
lifted as it reached it, and began to sail
over the rocks and trees skyward. The
whole line of beach with its ledges in front,
and the base of its banks and headlands,
lay outstretched before them in the cheerful
sunbeams. The commander of the
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brig and his officers gazed in consternation
and with chargin east and west along
the now clearly visible main. The schooner
was nowhere visible.
“The fellow must have been sunk by
our broadside,” cried the former with an
oath of the most positive tone. “Aloft
there! do you see anything of this jack-o-lanthern?”
“Sail ho!” cried the shrill voice of the
little messenger boy, who was perched
like a monkey upon the main truck.
“Where away, my ltttle manikin?”
“Over the top o'the island, sir. I can
just see her main-topmast!”
“Bravo, my lad! you shall have a
middy's warrant if we catch her.”
The brig was now got under sail again,
and the wind being free abeam, she lay
her course for the northern point of Fisher's
Island, which was west of them about
two and a half miles.
“I see how it is, Mr. Waters: the
fellow, all the time when we thought he
was running in with the fog, was cutting
through it westward athwart hause; and
so under cover of it, has given us the slip.
Ho, fore-top-gallant yard there! do you
discover her sticks yet?”
“Not yet, sir!” called back the middy
stationed there.
“I see 'em still, sir,” answered the messenger
boy: “she is at anchor, I guess.”
“He is cool enough to come to anchor,
knowing our presence,” said Mr. Waters,
taking a survey of the profile of the head
of the island, to see if he could discern the
masts over-topping them. “We are too
low to see them from the deck. In half an
hour we shall double the head-land and
pounce upon her, and all I ask then is fair
play.”
In about twenty minutes the masts of
the vessel were made out from the deck,
not a mile distant over the island. Each
instant the gun-brig opened upon her position,
and her top-sail yards soon became
visible. The captain with his glass was
standing upon the heel of the brig's bow-sprit,
closely watching her as she began
to show herself. All at once he dashed
his hand against the spy-glass and uttered
a strong expression of intense disappointment.
“It is a fool's chase, gentlemen,” he
cried to his officers as he walked aft.
“This is an ordinary coasting schooner,
and is no more like our cruiser in the mist
than a Dutch milk-maid is like a belle!”
The gun-brig rapidly turned the north
end of the island, and what they had been
so sanguine was the chase, showed herself
to be a large topsail schooner with a
poop-deck, anchored near the land, and
loaded with crates of hay. The brig bore
down towards her to hail her.
“Ho, the schooner!”
“Aye, aye, captain!” responded the skipper,
jumping upon his traffrail.
“How long have you been laying here?”
“Since last night. My vessel started a
plank, and I put in here to ground her at
high-water, and repair it!”
“Have you seen anything of an armed
schooner?”
“No, I reckon not!”
“Have you seen any schooner in these
waters this morning?”
“No, only mine!”
“Very well,” returned the vexed captain,
as the brig passed on her course.
“Now, gentlemen,” he added, turning to
his officers, “can you tell me what can
have become of the chase? I must acknowledge
I am fairly done up!”
“It is possible, she may have been sunk
by our broad-side,” observed the first officer.
“Hardly probable. We should have
heard her men's cries, or seen spars afloat!
I don't know what to make of her. If I
hadn't heard her guns, and the whiz of her
shot over our heads, I should be inclined
to believe that my eyes had deceived me,
and I was cheated by an illusion!”
“It is a very strange affair, sir!”
“It is possible, sir,” said the junior lieutenant,
“she may have steered east instead
of west, and so kept in the fog till she got
too far for us to see her!”
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“That is what I think, gentlemen. But
as I know of no break in the coast eastward,
into which she could have run after
the fog left her, and as she could not have
got more than four or five miles distant, I
am surprised we did not see her!”
“There is an inlet, sir, about five miles
east of where we like to have struck,” said
the boatswain, who was aft performing
some duty of his station, touching his hat
as he spoke.
“Ah, do you know this?”
“Yes, sir. I was born not ten miles from
where we are now, sir, and know all the
coast as well as I do the seams in my
hand!”
“Look to the chart, Mr. Waters!”
The chart was examined, and a narrow
inlet discovered laid down upon it, running
two or three miles into the land.
“Is this deep enough, boatswain, for a
vessel of the schooner's size?”
“Yes, sir, if she don't draw more than
seven feet!”
“How far up is there this depth of
water?”
“About a mile and a quarter, sir, at flood
tide.”
“Then there we shall find the schooner,”
said the captain with joy. “Ready
about! If we tack this way much longer,
the brig will learn to waltz without a
French master!”
The gun-brig once more steered eastwardly.
The wind was baffling and veering
from the south to S. S. W.; but gave
the brig about four and a half knots progress.
Every thing was prepared for a
conflict, and all was unusual excitement
on board, from the gallant commander
down to the lob-lolly boy; for the peculiar
circumstances of the chase had wetted
curiosity, and inspired one and all with a
desire to fall in with and capture the trickish
schooner.
The brig, after an hour's sailing along
the coast, and within a mile of it, opened
the mouth of the inlet which the boatswain
pointed out. As the tide was ebbing, the
captain felt very anxious to reach the inlet
while there was water enough; for he
naturally supposed the schooner, if she
had taken shelter there, had run up some
distance, to be out of reach of his guns.
His vexation, therefore, was very great
when he found on arriving off the mouth
of the passage, that the tide was too low
to admit his vessel.
“We will lay off here, however, and
send a boat up to look for the schooner,”
he said, giving orders to man the first
cutter.
The inlet was a creek about a third of a
mile wide at the mouth, and fenced nearly
across with fishing barriers of stakes interwoven,
so that there was a very narrow
passage left for a vessel. Through this
the boat pulled up the stream. It contained
the commander of the gun-brig, a midshipman,
and eight oarsmen only. They
pulled up about half a mile, when turning
a sharp point, they discovered the schooner
quietly moored across the stream. She
was a very long and beautiful vessel, with
an air singularly bold and warlike. She
was in all points, in perfect order, and
the very model of a clipper man-of-war-schooner.
The captain of the brig, concealed
by the thick foliage that overhung
his boat, surveyed her for a few moments
with a seaman's eye, and with increased
admiration.
“She is a perfect beauty,” he at length
exclaimed, “and I will have her before
night, or she shall have me!”
He then noiselessly retraced his course
down the creek, and after two hour's absence,
once more reached his own deek.
It was now past two o'clock. The tide
was still ebbing, and it would be near ten
at night before the flood would enable the
brig to go up the creek. This time was
passed in sounding the channel, and making
preparations for the attack. In the
meanwhile there were apparent no signs
that the schooner was aware of the brig's
vicinity; although she could be plainly
seen from the heights that overhung the
creek, by any one who should ascend
them.
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About an hour before sun-set, a sail
was discovered from the mast-head, in the
western board. As she approached, she
was made out to be a large ship. She
even came near enough for the captain of
the gun-brig to see that she was a sloop--of-war,
with the American colors flying.
A closer scrutiny enabled him to make
her out as the “Franklin,” which had
been stationed in the port of New York.
“The schooner is now fairly trapped,”
he said, as he made this discovery. “Foster,
of the Franklin, has got news of the
plunder of the barque as well as ourselves,
and has run down through the Sound in
search of her. I had quite as lief that I
had the taking of the bueanier alone; but
let Foster have a share in the affair. Between
us this fog-ship shan't escape us!”
“We are likely to have a fog to-night,
sir, by the thick haze to the east,” said Mr.
Waters.
“Yes, no doubt, for they prevail at this
season, and it would be rare to have a
night without one. But we have the fellow
blockaded so snugly that a fog can't
help him now. Get up the signals, sir.
Let us tell our friend what game we have
here!”
The brig set her signals, which were
answered by the sloop of war, which was
now within three and a half miles. The
brig then telegraphed the intelligence of
“the enemy in shore,” when the corvette,
which heretofore was steering south east,
altered her course, and bore away for the
gun-brig. The sun was just sinking
under the horizon, in a skyey sea of gold,
when the ship came within speaking distance,
under the stern of the brig of war.
“Have you seen this pirating privateer?”
hailed her commander through his trumpet.
“Aye, aye; and have him fairly caught.
I had news of his being in these waters
three days since, and immediately put to
sea after him. I fell in with him this
morning, but he escaped me in a fog, and
run into this creek, where he is moored
half a mile up it. Are you cruising after
him also?”
“Yes. News of his boarding and plundering
a barque reached me from Newport
day before yesterday, and I immediately
slipped cable and run down the
Sound. I am glad you have got him
where he can be taken care of. But
come aboard, and let us talk over the
matter.”
The captain of the brig pulled alongside
of the ship, and being warmly met by
his friend, they returned to his cabin,
where over certain choice wines the former
related the particulars of the chase.
It was finally decided, as soon as the
tide served, that the brig, seconded by the
sloop's boats, should sail up the creek, lay
along side of the schooner, and either capture
her or sink her.
The sun had not been half an hour set,
leaving a sparkling sky without a cloud
when the wind chopped round to the east
and brought rapidly in from the sea a
dense column of fog which had been long
gathering there. The land, the stars, the
water were enveloped. The two vessels
became invisible to one another. The
mist seemed each moment to grow heavier,
and fell like tropical dews upon the deck,
wetting them as if a fine rain was falling.
The two captains fearing that the schooner
would avail herself of this her favorite
covert to get to sea, resolved not to wait
for the tide, but take the sloop in close to
the mouth of the creek so as to guard it,
and ascend the inlet in both vessels boats.
This was done, and the boats, seven in
all, containing one hundred and thirty
men, pulled to the point where the schooner
was seen moored. They passed the
place, rowed a mile beyond till the water
shoaled to a fathom, and after a close
search of the mid-channel and both banks,
returned to their vessels, as satisfied as
they were vexed and confounded, that the
schooner had in some way managed completely
to effect her escape out of the river
under the cover of the mist!
-- 026 --
CHAPTER VI. THE TWO INTERVIEWS.
[figure description] Page 026.[end figure description]
We now return to Randolph, whom we
last saw in his little boat rapidly disappearing
from the eyes of his brother down
the Raritan Bay. He had taken leave of
Arthur, and hurried from him to his boat,
without having formed any definite plan
of action. His mind was confused, and
his soul agitated by deep and passionate
emotions. He felt himself the victim of
the wicked devices of one who, instead of
being his enemy, should have been in the
place of a mother to him. Yet from his
childhood he had been persecuted by her
with singular vindictiveness, and now,
through her subtlety and craft, he had, in
his manhood, been defrauded not only of
his father's affection and dying blessing,
but of his patrimony. He felt that he had
endured more than his human spirit could
patiently bear. His pride forbade him to
seek legal redress, by breaking the will,
and equally indisposed him from accepting
at Arthur's hands the gift of what was
rightfully his own. He was sick at heart
with the duplicity and wrongs which had
been practised upon him, and felt as if the
world would henceforward have no charm
for him. Fondly loving his unworthy
father, his heart was filled with grief that
he should have died believing him undeserving
either of his blessing or his love.
With these bitterly painful reflections, intruded,
in spite of himself, cold and hard
thoughts against Arthur, although his good
sense and generous nature reproved them
as unjust.
With his bosom as tumultuous as the
ocean in a storm, he leaped into his boat—
his own pleasure boat, in which he had
taken with Arthur many a happy sail—
and hoisting the light canvass, darted
away from the beach, trusting he should
never set foot upon it more. After he had
got half a mile from it, he turned to look
back, and beholding his brother waving
his handkerchief to him, he returned the
signal, while his eyes filled with tears at
parting with one so well beloved.
“Fare thee well, brother! I have loved
you as myself—nay, as one dearer than
self. But perchance we shall see each
other no more! I leave with you that
happiness which will never more visit my
bosom. You are rich and good, and all
the path of life before you is fair and
pleasant. To me the future seems obscured
with clouds, and gloomy with impenetrable
night. Be happy, brother!
Gladly, I know, you would have shared
with me that which your wicked mother
has wrested from me to bestow upon you;
but what thou hast keep as thine, for thine
it now is! Were it seventy times bestowed
upon me by thee, I should never feel
that it was mine. No, I am too proud to
be a dependent even upon thee. Thy
mother shall never say that I lived an almoner
upon her son's bounty! Rather do
I choose, as I now do, to wander an exile
from home, and carve out with my own
hands that fortune, whatever it may be,
which is before me. One day, brother,
we may meet again under better auspices.
But for the present we have need to part.
My presence with you would be a constant
restraint upon you in the possession
of your inheritance. I will not be in your
sight to reproach you. Farewell! Farewell!”
Thus speaking, he again waved his
hand in reply to Arthur's repeated signals
of affection, and then firmly turned his face
away, and directed his attention to the
management of his little bark. His general
design was to sail round to New York,
which he could reach, with the wind as it
then was, in five or six hours, there dispose
of his boat, and take passage in some vessel
bound to France, where he resolved to
enlist as an adventurer; for France was
then the field of military glory.
The light vessel skimmed along with
rapid wing over the surface of the sparkling
bay, and shortly doubling the southernmost
point of Staten Island, passed out
-- 027 --
[figure description] Page 027.[end figure description]
of sight of the distant home from which
he was exiling himself, or, rather, from
which the crimes and injustice of an evil
woman had banished him. Tears of manly
regret and indignant feeling rushed to
his eyes as he looked upon the departing
scene of his birth, the theatre of such painful
events as had just transpired. But
dashing them away with his hand, he
cried, with an air of resolute defiance of
his evil fate,—
“This is no time for tears! Let Fate
do her worst! I am prepared for whatever
is prepared for me by inexorable
lestiny, however dark and stern it may
prove to be! One thing I have to sustain
me, and that is that I am innocent. No
man have I wronged. No evil have I ever
put my hand to. I am not a criminal
escaping from crime, thank God! I am
free in heart and spirit! Whatever lies
before me, I will maintain my integrity.
I will do nothing that shall cause me to
blush for myself, or the beautiful and beloved
Olive to blush for me. Alas, must
I leave her also! Must I depart without
bidding her adieu! In the great weight
of my griefs and wrongs, I have scarce
thought of her who is dearer than all else
on earth. I will see her! If she is generous,
she will not despise me in my
poverty. I will see her and unfold to her
all that has passed. By landing near
yonder forest-covered point, I shall be within
a league of her abode! I will see her
ere I depart from these scenes forever!”
With this mental determination he steered
his boat in the direction of a wooded
promontory about a mile distant, and soon
landed upon a beach upon which grew a
clump of low trees. Here he secured his
boat, and springing to the land, hastened
along the sands until he came to the
verge of the woodlands. He found a path
by which he entered them, and was soon
lost in their depths.
The seat of Colonel Oglethorpe was
situated diagonally opposite the villa of
Lenafe Manor, upon Staten Island. The
two houses, though two miles and a half
distant from each other, and on opposite
sides of the Raritan Strait, were in sight
one of the other. The place where Randolph
landed was on the east side of the
island, which was here three miles broad,
and which he had to cross on foot to reach
the villa.
Colonel Oglethorpe was a man of fortune
and a widower, with an only daughter.
This maiden was about nineteen,
and surpassingly fair. She was a brunette,
with large oriental eyes and a
figure commandingly tall, yet full of
grace. She was intelligent, witty, and
possessed that peculiar fascination which
bewilders, ensnares, and takes captive at
will.
She was passionately loved by the ardent
Randolph, and silently worshipped
by the gentle Arthur. Her preference
was for the former, although, if a maiden
can possess two hearts, she had one for
each of them. Her love for Arthur was,
however, more sisterly than passionate;
and as such Randolph looked upon it.
Neither brother was jealous of the other,
for though both loved her, they each loved
her after a different manner. Although
Randolph would have been miserable to
see her Arthur's bride, Arthur could have
given her away to him in wedlock without
emotion, and loved her afterwards precisely
as he loved her before; for his
feeling with regard to her was independent
of and superior to all ideas of marriage.
Randolph had been betrothed to the
lovely Olive Oglethorpe only a few days
prior to his father's return from the field;
and since then, events had transpired with
such rapidity, he had not seen her. His
chief feeling of regret at having his patrimony
wrested from him was, that it menaced
his happiness with her; and this reflection
added bitterness to his emotions of
grief and indignation. He had too much
pride of character to retain her pledged
hand now that he was pennyless and
homeless. He, therefore, now resolved to
see her and take leave of her, not merely
-- 028 --
[figure description] Page 028.[end figure description]
to say adien, but to tell her just his position,
and restore her that freedom which she
had transferred to him when he was regarded
as the wealthy heir of General
Ledyard. At first, when he fled to his
boat to leave his home, his intention was to
depart without seeing her, feeling that she
would treat him with coldness; and he
did not feel in the mood to have his feelings
more keenly wounded than they were.
But, as he reflected while he sailed down
the bay, it occurred to him that it would
be the most manly and honorable course
for him to see her, state to her his fallen
condition, restore her her promise of betrothal,
and then fly from her, also, forever.
It cannot be denied that secret hope
whispered to the ear of his heart that she
might not regard so seriously as he himself
did, the change in his fortunes, and
would generously refuse to receive back
her pledge of affiance.
Olive Oglethorpe was seated at her harp,
near an open window that commanded a
view of the Raritan straits and the villa
of Lenafe Manor, two miles distant on the
opposite side, with the town of Perth Amboy
farther away to the south. She was
alone, and practising a piece of music
which, instead of being printed, was exquisitely
executed with the pen, as if the
composition of an amateur. At the bottom
of the last page were the initials, in very
small letters, “R. L.” She went through
the composition, and then pausing for a
moment, lifted her eyes towards the view
from the open window. As she did so, a
glow of pleasure lighted up her beautiful
face, and leaving her harp, she quickly
went out upon the piazza.
The object that drew her attention was
a small skiff that a single oarsman was
propelling rapidly across the water from
the direction of Lenafe Manor. It was
about half a mile off, and the person of the
rower was not easily recognizable. She
took down a small telescope from a rack
in the hall, and opening it, placed it to her
eye and directed it upon the approaching
boat.
“It is Arthur, as I thought!” she said
to herself: “Randolph would have been in
his sail boat! I will go and meet him at
the shore.
She delayed an instant to take a sunhat
from a large arm-chair in the hall, and
then hastened to the water-side, followed
by a very large and magnificent Newfoundland
dog, who had risen from the
mat to attend her, as was his wont. An
elegant grey-hound, with the agile motions
of a deer, also bounded after her footsteps.
Sometimes he would leap far ahead, then
turn, like a bird on the wing, and crouch
at the feet of his mistress for a glance of
admiration or affection; when, receiving
it, he would rise and make a graceful
bound high over the back of the stately
Romeo, as if mocking his graver movements.
The Newfoundland, however,
paid no regard to the erratic sports of his
companion, but kept closely behind the
lovely girl with the air of a protector.
The skiff soon reached the green mound
of the lawn, and Arthur, leaping to the
shore, pressed in silence the hand of the
lovely girl. His face was pale and his
looks full of sadness.
“What has happened, dear Arthur?”
she asked with solicitude. “Why did
not Randolph come with you? But why
should I ask, when you have but just followed
to the tomb your dear father! yet
there is an anxiety, not springing from
grief for the dead, in your face, that leads
me to fear some evil has happened!”
“There has an evil happened. My
brother has fled forever from home!”
“Fled?”
“Yes, Olive. But let us walk together
here beneath these trees and I will tell
you all!”
They turned aside into a path that
wound along the shore, and as they walked
Arthur related to her all that had transpired
at Lenafe Manor. He did not even
spare his mother, for his eyes were fully
open to her guilty duplicity, but freely
told all that she had done, and its fatal
consequences upon the happiness of his
-- 029 --
[figure description] Page 029.[end figure description]
brother. Olive listened with the deepest
interest, with the most painful attention.
She truly loved Randolph, and appreciated
truly all the noble qualities of his mind
and heart. Her bosom bled for him.
“Oh that I had known this all before
he fled!” she cried with emotion. Oh
that he had come to me and made me a
confidant of his griefs and deep wrongs.”
“You know his proud spirit. There is
no doubt that his sensitiveness at his condition
has prevented him from approaching
you.”
“It should not have done so, Arthur.
Randolph ought to have known me well
enough to extend to me his confidence at
such an hour. Can it be possible that he
has gone! gone without a word of farewell!
gone without giving me an opportunity
of sympathising with him. He has
acted wrong—he has acted foolishly. He
has done me injustice. Did I not pity him
for his misfortunes, I could be angry with
him. And you offered to restore him his
patrimony?” she asked impressively.
“Yes, Olive, I even was ready to surrender
all to him!”
“And he refused?”
“Most firmly!”
“And left you precipitately?”
“He bade me a hurried farewell and
the next moment was upon the water. I
would have detained him—I clung to him,
as I told you, and he threw me off to escape!”
“And your wicked mother dared accuse
him of striking you down!”
“God forgive my mother!”
“Nay, I will not say an `Amen' to that
prayer. Your mother has been Randolph's
evil spirit ever since he was a
child! She is the cause of his wretchedness
now, and must answer to God's bar
for whatever crime or errors his present
despair may drive him to!”
“My mother has been very cruel to
him!”
“Cruel is no word to express her guilt.
But I spare her, Arthur, for your sake. I
am glad he still loves you, though to you
he has been sacrificed. I am glad he turned
not against you! it is so like his noble
nature! Where, think you, has he gone?”
“I know not. Doubtless he has steered
his boat towards the city, as I saw it disappear
in that direction.”
“And how long ago?”
“About two hours!”
“He cannot have gone far as yet. The
wind does not blow strong. My riding
horse is in the stable, and you know he is
as fleet as an eagle. Do not delay, Arthur.
Come with me to the house and I will order
him at once. Ride with the speed of
love and pity along the road, the length of
the island if need be, till you see his boat
upon the water. There are points along
the road that will give you views of the
bay. If you ride with a free rein you
will overtake him ere he gets to the head
of the Island. Anywhere you will find
fishermen to take you off to him in their
wherries. You cannot fail to overtake him—
say to him that I must see him! command
him to return to me!”
“Your wishes and my own are one,
dear Olive! In obeying you, I follow the
impulses of my own affection!”
In a few moments afterwards Arthur
was riding like the wind along the highway
that extended from the southern end
of the Island to its northern extremity,
now winding its way over wooded hills,
now traversing pleasant vales, now over-hanging
the shores of New York bay.
Olive ascended a slight eminence that
commanded the road, and followed his
course, with prayers for his success, until
he was lost to sight. She then turned to
descend, when, as she was passing a
clump of larch trees, Randolph suddenly
stood before her. She was so surprised
at his unexpected appearance that she
shrieked and retreated from him.
“Nay, hast thou so soon heard the news,
and am I a monster in thy sight too,” he
said in the bitter words that his wounded
heart dictated. “Well, I will not detain
you long, lady! I have sought thee to say
that I give thee back thy troth!”
-- 030 --
[figure description] Page 030.[end figure description]
“Randolph!” said the maiden, recovering
her self-possession, and approaching
him with a look of sympathy and
love, while she laid her hand upon his
proudly folded arms: “Randolph, I know
all. I feel for you with all my heart!”
“Yes, I know you know all. I saw
my brother with you but now. Doubtless
he thought ill news grows cold with keeping,
and so he hastened hither to tell thee
that I am a beggar and he is the heir!”
“You do Arthur a wrong, Randolph,”
answered Olive with surprise. “He came
to tell me you had gone and to consult
with me what to do. He is at this moment
flying on the wings of love to endeavor
to overtake your boat, which we
supposed was steering along the Island
towards the city. You have much to
make you feel bitterly, Randolph, but you
have no right to accuse those who are innocent!”
You speak warmly in the boy's defence!
I doubt not he will supplant me in
your love, as he has done in my patrimony.
Be it so! He is handsomer than I.—You
love him in a sisterly way, and this is near
akin to passion's wilder love.—He is rich
and—”
“No more!—I forgive you, Randolph,
because you have had much to embitter
your soul. But I will not listen to words
so unworthy of yourself—so unjust to
me!”
“Well, then, I will be silent! I am not
myself, I feel. I have been deeply wronged.
The dwelling upon it maddens my
brain. But let that pass. I came here,
Olive, to tell thee I was a beggar and to
give thee back thy troth! But rumor,
swifter-winged, came with the news before
me. Take thy troth.—I am henceforth
nought to thee. Wed with my
brother! he loves thee! I did mark his
eye's passion as he kissed thy hand and
left thee but now!”
The offended maiden's face became
flushed with an indignant hue, and she
stood for a moment regarding her lover
with an expression of intense displeasure.
“Randolph, you show me a dark shade
in your character I knew not was in it!
This jealousy is unmanly and unworthy of
yourself!”
“Well, it may be so, it may not be so.
Time will show. Thou and Arthur will
yet wed, mark me! That there may be
no bar to your happiness, that Randolph
the penniless may not mar it, I here give
thee back thy pledge!”
As he spoke he placed in her hand a
ring. She received it passively, as if she
took it not, and with a face as colorless as
snow. He did not look upon her, but
turning away with a gloomy brow and
haughty step, the next moment disappeared
in the forest at the foot of the hill from
which he had a few minutes before issued.
The maiden remained for several minutes
motionless where he parted from her.
Her affection had received a shock that
almost paralysed her. She could scarcely
realise what had passed. It seemed a
painful dream. At length her eyes fell
upon the ring, which had fallen from her
hand to the ground.
“And this is all real! Randolph has
been here and gone again! What an
interview! He seemed no longer himself.
The blow he has received must
have unsettled his reason. What cause
had he for quarrel with me? He seems
to have sought me out to insult me, and
to pour forth his bitterness upon me!
Miserable himself, he would make me so
also! I pity him. I forgive him! How
darkly his brow was overcast! How suspiciously
he looked upon me! Is it possible
he truly believes I despise him! It
may be, for one's own heart gives its hue
to everything around it. He says Arthur
loves me! Is it possible that this is
true?”
The maiden was silent. She seemed
to be thinking upon something that confused
her cheek and brought an expression
of gentle joy into her dark eyes. “Is it
possible Arthur loves me?” again fell unconsciously
from her lips.
-- 031 --
CHAPTER VII. THE KEEPER.
[figure description] Page 031.[end figure description]
The afternoon of the day on which the
events related in the foregoing chapter
transpired, a schooner, which had been
sometime seen from the light-house at
Sandy Hook standing in from sea, came
to about a mile from the point, with her
fore-topsail aback.
“That is a rakish-looking craft to be
out when it aint war-time, sir,” said the
keeper of the light, as he surveyed her
from his lantern. “I shouldn't wonder if
she wasn't any better than she should
be!”
This remark was addressed to Randolph
Ledyard, who stood by his side.
This young man, after quitting Olive
Oglethorpe, with whom he had become
angry, because he was miserable himself,
and whom, from the mere wontonness of
a spirit given up to despair, he had accused
of inconstancy, had made his way
to his boat in a state bordering upon
phrenzy. He really believed his suspicions
of Olive and his brother, so readily
does wretchedness give credence to whatever
is likely to make it more wretched;
and under the influence of these emotions
he let his angry feelings have full wing.
He reproached not only her but his brother,
and in the bitterness of his soul accused
him of being a party with his mother to
his own ruin. A secret monition of his
conscience told him he was unjust; but
silencing it with the loud tones of his despair
and grief, he let only his darker emotions
take possession of his bosom.
Thus, by the time he regained his boat,
he had brought to a head in his bosom the
most intense hostility towards Arthur, and
the most bitter resentment against Miss
Oglethorpe. He hoisted his sail and
moved swiftly from the shore. The wind
had by this time chopped round to the
north and west, and to reach the city he
saw he would have to beat all the way,
and that it would take till midnight.
“What matters it where I go now. I
am satisfied of Olive's duplicity, and of my
brother's hypocrisy. What care I what
becomes of me! I may as well fling my
sail to the wind and let it blow me where
it lists! I am reckless, and laugh at reason
and prudence! Come, friendly breeze,
I commit my bark and myself to thee!”
With this wild resolve, he turned the
prow of his boat before the breeze, and
went bounding away over the sparkling
waves in the direction of Sandy Hook and
the open sea.
As he, at length, came abreast of this
point still steering with wilful firmness a
course fair before the wind, which was
blowing him rapidly seaward, he thought
he discovered, some distance to the right,
and in the direction of the shore, the arm
of a man waving above the water. Obeying
the impulse of humanity, he kept away
towards the object, and as he came nigh,
he saw a man struggling amid the waves.
The next moment he was alongside of
him, and drew him into the boat.
It was the light-house keeper. He informed
him, as soon as he was sufficiently
restored to speak, that he had started an
hour before, in a wherry, to go up to Amboy,
when a shark had struck his boat
with such force as to break it in two, and
leave him without other support than his
two oars. From that time he had been
making the best use of his strength to regain
the Hook.
Randolph steered towards the light-house
point with the rescued keeper; and
being urged by him to land and partake
of some refreshment, he had yielded, and
followed him to his house. The consciousness
of having saved a fellow-being's
life, the gratitude of the man and that of
his wife and children, temporarily dissipated
his misanthropy. He felt less bitterness
at heart than before, but with no
less determination to commit his fortunes
to chance.
He had been sometime watching the
schooner ere it came to off the point, and
admiring the grace and swiftness with
which she moved, and the beautiful sym
-- --
[figure description] Page 032.[end figure description]
metry of her how black huyll and slender
spars.
"She is certainly very war-like look-
ing," answered Randolf to the keeper's
remark. "It is likely she is a govern-
ment vessel. You see she has the Ameri-
can flag flying."
"Yes, I see that , sir; but that craft
isn't Uncle Sam's. I've been a sailor,
and a man-o'-war's-man too, in my time,
and I know a coaster. That are chap, I
reckon, wouldn't lay there quite so bold
and quiet if a government vessel should
happen to heave in sight"
"Why, what do you suspect the schoon-
er to be?"
"I rather guess she has been a priva-
teers that the government have been send-
ing cruisers out against lately?"
Yes, that is my 'pinion if I was axed
it."
"I suppose that all these vessels had
been taken."
All but one, so far as we know," answered
the keeper, with emphasis.
"And what one is that?"
"Why, haven't you heard? Why, they
call her the Mist-ship. The papers is full
of it. Why, you see, sir, the four armed
vessels Uncle Sam sent out after the peace
was 'clared to pick up them chaps as
wouldn't stop their privateerin', (for it's
no better nor piracy, sir, to privateer after
peace is made,) thought they'd got 'em
all, and went back to port again. But
they hadn't been ten days at their moor-
ings afore in comes a barque to Newport
or Providence, or some place on the Sound,
reportin' as how she'd been boarded and
plundered off Block Island by a armed
schooner with a red stripe; and blast my
timbers if that craft don't look as if she
had one about her bends! I wish I had a
glass to see."
"I think you are right. I am quite
positive she is striped with red, though at
this distance I may imagine it."
"It looks to me 'mazing like a stripe o'
red; but let that be as it may, the schooner
what boarded the barque had such a stripe,
raked amazing, and lay low in the water,
carried eight guns, and was filled with
men!"
"So this seems to be," observed Ran-
dolph, with interest, as he fixed his eyes
keenly upon the stationary vessel which
was the object of their remarks.
"Well, I don't say whether this chap is
the same or not," answered the keeper,
shaking his head very slowly, as if alto-
gether inclined to believe that it was the
same; "but, howsomnever, as soon as the
skippers of a government brig what was
layin' in Boston harbor, and of a sloop of
eighteen guns, as lay off the Battery up to
town, heard this news, they slips to sea.
The Bostoner doubles Cape Cod, and the
Yorker cuts down the Sound slap through
Hurl Gate!"
"What was the result of their prompt
movements? I remember seeing in one
of the papers, two or three weeks ago, an
account of their departure. But I have
not learned what success they had."
"What success? Why, they fell in
with the schooner and chasedher, but she
got away from 'em in a fog. They then
fell in with her a half dozen times more;
now way up the Sound, now off Cape
Cod, then again under Block Island and
Montauk's Point; but if a fog didn't al-
ways help her get off clear, may I be shot!
I saw one o' the crew o' the sloop when I
was up to Quarantine yesterday, and he
told me it was his gospel belief the shoon-
erhad the devil for first mate, and that he
al'ays called up a fog when the craft
wanted to get out of any scrape. But,
howsomever, he said he would take his
bible oath that the fog smelt strong of
brimstone!"
Randolph smiled, and again directed his
attention towards the light and beautiful
-- 033 --
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vessel, which lay quietly under her reversed
topsail about a mile distant from
the light-house.
“And did these two vessels give up the
chase?”
“Yes. After trying a fortnight to catch
her, the sloop put back for a lighter and
faster craft to take her place, while the
brig remained on the cruising ground.
You see, this schooner of the Mist out-sailed
both, always running three knot to
their two. The fastest schooner Uncle
Sam has got is going to be sent after her,
or else has already put to sea. But, I'll
be willing to swear, that's the vessel they
have been chasin'; and that while they
are poking about in the Sound, and about
Cape Cod, she has danced this way laughing
at them. But there's one objection,
sir, to her bein' the Cruiser of the Mist,”
said the keeper, gravely.
“What is that?”
“The seaman as sailed in the sloop on
her cruise, told me she was never seed
except in a fog, or close aboard of one!”
“Then there is very clear proof that
this is the schooner of the Mist,” said
Randolph, quickly, at the same time smiling
at the coincidence. “Look southwardly,
and tell me whether that is not a
bank of fog advancing along the coast
parallel with it, and extending its wing a
league or more seaward!”
“Blast my eyes, you are right, sir!
There's no mistakin' her now,” answered
the keeper, looking a little superstitious.
“Yet this is not altogether conclusive,”
answered Randolph. “At this season,
fogs prevail every afternoon. It is nothing
remarkable to see this one now.”
“Nothing to see the fog, but something
to see the schooner here, sir. It aint usual
to see such a craft as this in these waters.
I don't believe she'd ha' been here if the
fog want close by. That's my positive
belief.”
“It is certainly very singular,” remarked
Randolph.
He now surveyed the schooner with increasing
interest. The more closely he
observed her, the better satisfied he was
of the truth of the keeper's suspicions.
There was about her an air at once lawless
and daring. Her aspect was thoroughly
bucaniering.
“I wish the sloop-o'-war up to town was
four leagues nearer this craft than she is,”
said the keeper, emphatically. “But I
dare say, if she was, the schooner would
run into the fog-bank to the south'ard, and
get off as she al'ays does.”
“There can be no harm in boarding
her, to see what she is,” said Randolph.
“Boarding her! I'd as lief put my
head into a shark's mouth, as I would
have done, and couldn't help it, if it hadn't
been for you, sir.”
“Have you ever a fisherman's suit?”
“Yes, I have.”
“Tarpaulin, jacket and trowsers, and
all?”
“Yes. But what then, sir?”
“I am resolved to see what this craft
is. I will run nigh her as a fisherman,
in one of the little wherries I see hauled
up on the beach. If I don't return, you
may have my boat for yours, and my
clothes for your fishing suit!”
The keeper regarded him for an instant
with surprise.
“You don't mean to say you would like
to go on board that ere ugly customer?”
“Yes. Lend me your boat and clothes!
If I go as I am, they may regard me as a
spy. As a fisherman I shall excite no
suspicion, and they will not trouble me.”
The keeper at length yielded. Randolph
then wrote a few words upon a
card, and gave it to him, saying he would
repay him for his life that he had saved
by taking it at once over to Colonel Oglethorpe's.
The keeper promised to do so,
affixing it to the lining of his hat.
Randolph was not long in transforming
himself outwardly into a rough-looking
fisherman, for the apparel of the keeper
was of the roughest kind. He darkened
his face and hands with earth-water to
destroy their freshness, and wet his fine
dark locks with sea-water to dishevel and
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[figure description] Page 034.[end figure description]
give them a neglected look. In less than
half an hour after conceiving the idea,
he was in the fishing skiff, with lines
and bait, and pulling out from the light-house,
his course eagerly watched by the
keeper, who admired his courage, while
he trembled for his safety.
The young man, after getting half a
mile from the shore, cast his lines, and
fished for about ten minutes with a professional
deliberation that would have deceived
the most suspecting observer. He
then pulled up his lines, and resuming his
oars, rowed further out, gradually nearing
the schooner, until he came within cable's
length of her, when he began to pull rapidly
past, as if not wishing to remain in her
neighborhood. He saw that she was
crowded with men, and heavily armed.
Although her length was full one hundred
feet, she was not more than five feet out
of the water. She crouched upon the
surface like a watching leopard. He saw
plainly enough now the red stripe which
marked her identity with the schooner
which had plundered the barque. This
discovery confirmed him in his determination not to quit her until he had boarded
her and discovered her true character.
His real motive in thus venturing was
hardly known to himself. It was the
prompting of a restless desire of adventure,
to which his spirit in its present mood
was readily open. He had got just abeam
of the schooner's quarter, when a person
hailed him from her quarter deck.
“Skiff, ahoy!”
“What say?” he answered, in a voice
and manner characteristic of the profession
he assumed.
“Come aboard, I would speak with
you!”
“I am going out fishing, sir!”
“Come alongside, I say, if you don't
want me to send a boat and fetch you,”
repeated the man, in a stern tone.
Randolph desired nothing better than to
comply, and turning the head of his skiff
towards the schooner, he pulled up under
her gangway.
“Come aboard, my man,” said another
officer, who came to the gangway.
Randolph obeyed, and found himself on
the deck of an armed vessel frowning with
batteries, and crowded with men in blue
shirts and white canvass trowsers. On
the quarter deck were two or three men
in uniforms resembling that of the American
navy. The officer who spoke to him
last wore a laced cap and a blue round-about
with the anchor button. He was
not more than seven or eight and twenty,
had a handsome face, and a look of singular
resolution.
“Do you belong on the Hook, my man?”
he asked him, in the decided tone of a
man accustomed to command with peremptory
authority.
“I live above, sir, towards Amboy.”
“So much the better. I suppose you
know the water about here well?”
“Yes, tolerably.”
“Could you pilot my schooner to Amboy
in the night, and thence down between
Staten Island and the Jersey Main
to New York harbor?”
“I should rather not undertake it, sir.
Is this an United States vessel?”
“Don't you see her colors?” answered
the officer, sternly. “Answer me if you
can pilot me!”
“Yes, sir!”
“That is prompt. You are just the
man I want on board. Have you been up
to town within a day or two?”
“No, sir.”
“Do you know if the sloop-of-war Franklin
is in port?”
“Yes, I believe so.”
“Have you heard of the schooner Wasp
sailing lately?”
“I heard of an armed schooner that left
yesterday down the Sound.”
“Ah, then she is off, as I expected, Ellis,”
said the officer, turning to the officer
who had first hailed Randolph, a young,
hard-featured man, who stood near him.
“We shall have all our own way. But
we will stand up the Bay an hour or so, to
see whether anything is moving above,
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[figure description] Page 035.[end figure description]
and then, as night comes on, return and
run up to Amboy. What we do must be
done to night! Young man, you must be
content to have your boat cast adrift, and
remain on board till morning. I need
your services. Fill away again. We
shan't have to send into the Hook to steal
a pilot, now that heaven has sent us
one!”
The schooner's topsail once more filled
to the wind, and the vessel, with her fore
and main sheet close hauled aft, began to
move up the bay in the direction of the
city. She kept on parallel with the eastern
shores of Staten Island for several
miles, and then the young officer, who was
the commander of the schooner, went aloft
with a glass to survey the harbor. It was
just as the sun was setting. After a little
while he descended to the deck.
“The Franklin lays at her anchor
wholly unsuspicious. We can now have
the whole bay in our own hands,” he said,
to the officer he had called Ellis.
“Shall we tack ship?”
“Yes; put about now, and let us try
and reach the Hook again before the fog
sweeps in from sea. It has been my good
friend on occasion, but I don't care to have
it come upon us before we get up to Amboy.
You look as if you would say something,
fisherman!”
“I was about to ask if this is not the
vessel that the Franklin has been cruising
after?”
“Well, suppose it is, what then? You
would refuse to pilot us, I suppose. But
if you love life you will do as you are
bid!”
“No, I should the more gladly pilot her.
I have heard of your skill in escaping
your pursuers, and I admire your courage!”
“The devil you do! So, you are a good
friend to us, then?”
“You could never find better. To tell
you the truth, I knew what you were before
I left the shore, and pulled off to you
to join your vessel!”
“Ah, this is a good fellow, after all,”
said the officer, laughing, and turning to
his juniors on the deck. “So we are safe
in trusting him.”
“You can trust me with safety, sir!”
“I am glad of it. The service I am on
is—but come into my cabin, I have a question
or so to ask you about those who
dwell in this region.”
Randolph followed him into the cabin.
He had conceived a suspicion, from some
words that were dropped by the other officers,
that the schooner was bound on a
freebooting expedition up Raritan Bay,
and that some villa was particularly the
object of plunder. He thought that Lenafe
Manor and Colonel Oglethorpe's house
might be the end of the expedition, and he
resolved, if tact and art could do it, to possess
himself of the confidence of the commander
and get the secret.
CHAPTER VIII. THE PILOT.
The cabin, into which Randolph followed
the captain of the schooner, was finished
handsomely with polished oak panels,
and combined elegance and luxury with
the warlike paraphernalia of pistols and
cutlasses, arranged in cresents and circles—
stars of swords, and standing-racks
of blunderbusses and small arms.
The commander of the schooner himself
was a young man, a little undersized,
with an accomplished address, and the
air of a man who knew the world.
“You say you are a friend to my vessel,”
he said, as he threw himself upon a
settee, while Randolph, not being invited
to sit, stood before him.
“Yes!”
“You live near Perth Amboy?”
“Yes sir!”
“Do you know General Ledyard?”
“I knew him,” answered Randolph,
without betraying any emotion of surprise:
“but he lives no longer!”
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“Ah! is he dead?”
“Three days since!”
“So! that is quite as well. He has
left a widow?”
“Yes!”
“I am told he was rich, and that he possesses
a deal of plate, besides keeping all
his money at his house in gold and silver.”
“So I have heard people say!”
“He is dead, then!” said the captain,
musingly. “Do you know Colonel Oglethorpe?”
“I know he lives on the Island, not far
from Amboy.”
“He has a fair daughter, I am told.”
Randolph started with such emotion
that the young captain half rose, and regarded
him with a look of surprise.
“Yes, I have seen her;” he promptly
answered, seeing that he had nearly subjected
himself, perfect as he acted his
part, to suspicion.
“She is passing rich, as well as fair!”
“I have heard the Colonel was rich.”
“He is doubly so in possessing this
sweet daughter and his gold!”
Randolph's eyes flashed; for he did
not feel like permitting any other man to
speak of the maiden whom he had so
madly loved, albeit he had so lately parted
from her in angry displeasure. It was
with difficulty he could command his feelings.
“Have you seen her?”
“Have I, indeed! aye, I have had the
honor of being a rejected suitor!”
“You?”
“Why, man, you need not speak so
loud, as if you were talking to a fellow-fisherman.
Yes, I have seen her. We
met three years agone, in the city, at the
opera, for I went to operas then, and was
in society; but,” added the bucanier in a
light tone, “I used other men's names
after I had worn my own out, and so I
took to privateering. I got to be captain
of this craft just as the war closed, and
not being in the mood to give up my command
ere I had got something by it, I continued
at sea; and because I have board
ed a few vessels, and borrowed what I
needed, the pother has been raised about
my ears that you have heard of. Vessels
worth bringing to are scarce of late, and
hearing that General Ledyard's villa lay
near the sea, and knowing that my sweet
haughty beauty, Miss Oglethorpe, dwelt
near by, I took it in my head to leave my
pursuers behind me, and pay a visit both
for beauty and booty!”
Randolph could hardly restrain his fiery
spirit. He conceived at once, on the spot,
the most deadly hostility for the captain
who dared to think of, and speak lightly of
a maiden once so dear to him. He vowed
revenge. His motive in deciding to
board the schooner, though at first scarcely
defined, assumed, as he rowed towards
her, a definite aim. He resolved that he
would become the instrument of her capture,
and thereby achieve a reputation
that should place him in the path to fame
and honor; for the reckless feelings which
had at first agitated his soul had been
gradually subdued and removed by the
moral influence which his benevolent act
in rescuing the drowning keeper reflected
back upon his heart. A nobler feeling
took possession of his soul; and the sight
of the freebooting schooner, when he beheld
her from the lantern of the light-house,
instead of presenting to his mind a
welcome field for lawless adventure, as it
would have done a few hours before, in
spired him with the brave and noble resolution
to attempt the achievement of her
capture. For this end he assumed the
disguise which he now wore, and fearlessly
threw himself into the midst of those
whom he determined to betray on the first
opportunity. Little, however, did he anticipate
that on board that vessel he should
hear the name of Olive Oglethorpe, or
listen to a project for plundering Lenafe
Manor. He now saw the necessity of
preserving strictly his disguise, towards
which not the least suspicion had yet been
directed. He seemed to be, to all on board,
the fisherman he assumed to be. The necessity
of coolness and self-possession kept
-- 037 --
[figure description] Page 037.[end figure description]
him so constantly watchful that he had no
time to dwell, as heretofore, upon his own
wrongs. He could think only of the singular
events with which he had now so
strangely become associated.
“I will punish the arrogance of this
man!” thought he to himself, “and at the
same time do my country service. I will
remain by him, and on board his vessel till
both are in the power of those who seek
them. I will contribute to her capture,
or perish in the attempt!”
“You are thoughtful, fisherman,” said
the corsair, regarding him closely: “what
are you thinking of?”
“Whether it would be full tide at the
time you would wish to be at Lenafe
Manor.”
“I am glad you are regarding my interests
instead of your own. I want to be
up with Amboy as soon after dark as
may be; for I do not care about having
my movements observed!”
“The fog will soon be in from sea to
help you.”
“Can you pilot the schooner up to Amboy
under a fog? You see it will be dark
in half an hour, long as these autumn twilights
are. The sun is already down.
With the night and the fog we shall be
secret enough running up, but will it be
possible?”
“I have sailed in Raritan Bay till I can
go anywhere in the night, so that I can
see a compass!”
“Good! Then all is favorable. Do
you know the most retired path to Lenafe
Manor from the water-side?”
“Yes. I can guide you.”
“And also to the villa of Colonel Oglethorpe?”
“Yes, captain!”
“You are a treasure. Half the trouble
is taken off my hands; for, to tell you the
truth, I have never been at either of the
places, and have only the directions of
others. Be faithful and serviceable, my
good man, and you shall be well rewarded,
but deceive me and your death is as certain
as your treachery!”
“Do not doubt me. I am already half
a bucanier!”
“So you seem. But I am called on
deck. Come up also, and remain aft, for
I don't care to have you mix with the
men,—besides we shall soon need your
services.”
They went on deck, Randolph following
the captain, with the air of an inferior,
though it was with difficulty he could
bend his proud carriage to the subservient
demeanor demanded of him.
The rich glow of twilight filled the sky
and illumined the landscape still with the
brightness of day. The wind was just
rippling the surface of the water, which
was the color of mingled topaz and gold,
and every wave, reflecting the crimson
clouds of the west, as it broke, seemed to
scatter rubies upon the surface. The
deep green of the shores of Staten Island,
which lay to the right as they sailed southwardly
along them, contrasted beautifully
with the pure cerulean of the heavens
bending above. South, about a league
distant, rose the light-house of Sandy
Hook, like a column of alabaster marking
the eastern limits of the new world. Seaward,
hung low upon the bosom of the
deep, the evening mist, which, at the declining
of the sun at this season, was wont
to fling its vapory mantle over land and
water. It seemed at rest, but was slowly
moving towards the main, and was distant
from the schooner only about a mile and
a half.
“It is a question whether we or the fog
get to the mouth of the Raritan Bay first,
said the, captain of the schooner to his
first officer, Ellis, as he surveyed it. “It
is an even chance! But our good fisherman
here, says he can pilot us in by compass
and lead! So we will let our friend
mist embrace us, if it will, for it may do
us service, for what we know, as heretofore!”
“One would think you raised mists at
your will, captain,” said Randolph. “The
story is, that when you are chased, you
always have one to run under, and that
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[figure description] Page 038.[end figure description]
you are never seen, indeed, except in a
fog-bank!”
“That is pretty nigh the truth,” answered
the corsair, laughing. “So they
tell such stories of me and my schooner,
do they? Well, so much the better. I
care not how much they talk, so they
never have to say, `The Cruiser of the
Mist' is at last captured! Men shall
never have that to say, so long as I tread
her deck!”
Randolph smiled slightly, with that feeling
of self-confidence which springs from
a determined purpose. The schooner
stood on, with a light wind from the north,
and rapidly approached the light-house.
The fog-bank also steadily moved in from
sea, till it nearly overhung the Hook. The
twilight deepened, and the light of the
heavens suddenly blazed up, flinging its
fiery scarf out upon the water to the very
vessel's side. Yet there was still more
day than night. The shores of Jersey,
with the spire of Perth Amboy, were distinctly
outlined against the bright west.
The captain of the schooner stood upon
his deck watching the advancing mist,
fearing lest it should cover the entrance
to the Raritan Bay, which was just before
him, ere they could enter it.
“That fog comes in strangely, Ellis,” he
said, after regarding closely the centre of
the misty column, which seemed to advance
more rapidly than the rest, and to
be more agitated, as if a current of wind
was forcing it along.
“Yes, I have been noticing it.”
“It will be upon us now in five minutes.
But we shall have doubled this point of
the island, into the Raritan, in three. Let
it come! It will cover our advance like
a good friend! But, what ho! That is
not all fog! To quarters! to quarters!
I am caught in my own meshes!”
Every eye was turned upon the advancing
mist, and slowly became visible, sail
by sail emerging from its vapory mass, a
tall pyramid of canvass. It came so suddenly
into view out of the cloud, as if it
had been of it, that every one was struck
with surprise and wonder. It was light
enough for the corsair captain to recognise
the gun-brig which he supposed he
had left watching for him off Block Island.
He was, however, cool and self-possessed.
His rapid orders were given with spirit
and decision. The schooner was instantly
kept away three points, so as to bring
her broad-side to bear, while her ports
were thrown open, her guns run out, and
every man stood at his post ready for battle.
It was a moment of intense expectation.
The two vessels, moving different ways,
came nearer and nearer every instant.
The brig had evidently, from the sudden
confusion on board, come upon the schooner
unexpectedly. The drum rolled loudly
to quarters, and the voices of her officers
could be heard giving their quick and
startling orders. The two vessels were
not a third of a mile from each other when
the brig emerged from the mist, under
which she had come into the bay in pursuit
of her foe, and before the latter could
throw wide her ports, and run out her
guns, they were abeam of each other.
The schooner, with the men at her guns
and matches a-light, moved steadily by,
without a sound heard on board, and,
slowly entering the cloud of mist, out of
which the brig had come, was the next
moment lost to sight from the latter.
“Here is the devil's luck, and no mistake,”
exclaimed the commander of the
brig, as the schooner's main-boom disappeared
from his eyes in the fog. “Who
would have thought of finding him here.
If the fog-king isn't his particular crony,
I hope I may never catch the infernal
schooner. Ready, about! We have got
another fog chase for our amusement!
Three minutes more, and I would have
had my broad-side ready; but the men at
their suppers, and—confound my luck!
The fellow had his men at his guns, and
went by as if he disdained to waste powder
on us!”
The brig was put about, and had hardly
got steering way on her, when the mist
also enveloped her.
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[figure description] Page 039.[end figure description]
“It won't do to poke about here, with
Sandy Hook a-lee, and land all about us,”
said the captain, with deep chagrin. “We
have nothing to do but to anchor, to keep
from sticking the brig's nose ashore!
May he go ashore keel dry! But wishes
won't harm him. His craft is insured in
the fire office down below! Did you ever
see anything like it, Mr. Waters?”
“We seem to have brought the fog in
with us for his special benefit!”
“That is what vexes me. Who would
have supposed he was just where he was?
From the account of the coaster we spoke
this afternoon, I supposed she had run up
to the top of New York Bay! But I
might have known, if I had reflected a
moment, that the confounded craft would
never be found out of hail of a fog-bank!
Down anchor, and lay here and whistle
through our fingers till morning! I
wouldn't wonder, gentlemen, if the fellow
was lying to within three cable's length,
one side or the other, of us!”
“We were rightly informed, sir,” said
Mr. Waters, who was scarcely less annoyed
than his commander.
“Yes, the skipper told us truly in saying
he saw such a schooner making for
New York Bay. But what satisfaction is
it to have him here in a fog so thick that
you can make ground window-glass of it?
I suppose we shall have to lay here till an
hour or two after sun-rise.”
“The fog seldom breaks away before
then, unless it rains, or the wind blows
heavily.”
“Patience then. Doubtless she is
standing right out to sea. We will bide
our time.”
Thus speaking, the disappointed commander
of the brig lighted a cigar as a
comforter.
The schooner, in the meanwhile, after
standing on for a few minutes, came gently
to the wind, and directed her course
through the cloud that enshrouded her,
N. W. by W., directly for the head-land
of Perth Amboy, the bearings of which
had been taken by compass a moment before
the brig hove in sight.
“You will now stand by the helmsman
and con the schooner closely, man,” said
the captain. “One of you get into the
fore-chains and keep the lead going, and
report in a whisper to the officer. Make
no splashing in the water as you cast the
lead! The fog is my good angel, you
see, after all!” added the captain to Randolph.
“Yes, I see that it is. You made a
narrow escape!”
“My escapes are always pretty close
ones! The brig, I suppose, will poke
about astern till she anchors or runs
ashore. I trust to you to pilot me
safely!”
“I will do so,” answered Randolph,
who, although he knew nothing of the
sea, was perfectly familiar with the bay,
in which he had sailed and fished so often.
It is true, neither light-house nor land,
star nor sea, were visible, yet he was
familiar with the depth of water, and knew
that his present course would bring him
opposite the town.
At length the leadsman reported a depth
of water which Randolph well knew was
not half a mile from the bluff on which he
had last parted from Arthur. The tide
had taken the schooner northwardly, and
brought him some distance from the point
for which the vessel laid her course. He
reported to the corsair the position of his
vessel, who immediately anchored, and
despatched a boat in the direction of the
land. In twenty minutes it returned, confirming
Randolph's report.
“You have piloted well, and not deceived
me, my man. I have full confidence
in you now. I will take you as my guide
to the villa.”
“I will guide you there,” said Randolph,
after a moment's hesitation.
His situation was now a peculiar one.
He had piloted the schooner to an anchorage
opposite the home from which he was
an exile. The object of the expedition, he
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[figure description] Page 040.[end figure description]
had so far favored, was to plunder it. But
whether he ought to suffer and forward it,
he had not yet determined. He had no
love for his step-mother, that he should prevent
it; nay, he could not help feeling a
momentary triumph, as he reflected, that
he had it in his power to punish her duplicity
and avarice, by depriving her of
those possessions, to bestow which upon
her son she had criminated herself and
ruined his own prospects in life. For
some time he hesitated what to do. Finally
he decided that he would be the guide,
and appear before his step-mother as an
avenger. He thought not of Arthur, for
he felt that Arthur was his greatest enemy,
whether innocently so or not.
“Yes, my mother-in-law shall feel that
I am not utterly insignificant, that she has
not wholly crushed me. She shall suffer,
and justly too! But I must save Olive
from this lawless corsair. It is for her
sake I have attached myself to him, that I
have done what I have. While he thinks
I most serve him, I shall most defeat his
purposes. It is for this I am at his side.”
Two boats were now manned, and left
the schooner with muffled oars. In the
leading one was the corsair captain and
Randolph. The boat landed at the spot
where, that morning, he had embarked, as
he believed, never to tread upon its shores
again.
CHAPTER IX. THE LANDING.
The party, headed by the corsair, and
guided by Randolph, after reaching the
top of the bank, took its way along a path,
through the gardens, that led to the east
front of the house. It was retired and
little frequented.
“You seem to know the way well!”
“Yes, I have-taken fish up to the house
this way,” answered Randolph evasively,
in allusion to the fruits of his own pastime.
“Have you ever met the sons of General
Ledyard?”
“Yes, I have seen them.”
“I am told the younger is remarkable
only for his beauty, and the partiality
shown him by his parents. The elder I
have met!”
“Met!”
“Yes. It was in the night, however,
and we scarcely saw one another's faces.
It was in the lobby passage leading from
the theatre. He was escorting this same
Miss Oglethorpe to her carriage. I had
invited her to the theatre the same evening,
and she refused me. I was enraged
at seeing her with another. I therefore
thrust myself between them, and separated
them, passing my arm around her,
and touching her cheek with my lip in
mere wantonness. Ledyard struck me.
I returned the blow—the crowd pressed
upon us, and so we parted. We have not
met since. I am told he is betrothed to
the maiden. She shall be mine ere she
is his, nevertheless. An half hour here
will be all we shall need, and an hour
more will bring us to the house of Colonel
Oglethorpe!”
It was fortunate that the darkness of
the night concealed the fiery expression
of Randolph's countenance at hearing the
words that had fallen upon his ear. The
man he had most wished to meet for two
years past was within the reach of his
clenched hand. But he restrained himself.
He commanded his vengeance; but
his heart bounded with triumphant joy.
“This man and I ne'er part, both living,”
he said within his soul.—“We are
thrice mortal foes. Let him be my tool
for bringing judgment upon this wicked
woman, and then I hold his destiny in my
hands!”
They approached the dwelling. A single
light burned in the drawing-room.
The corsair bade his men stand in the
shadow of a tree that overhung the steps
of the house, while he followed Randolph
to the door.
“I would have thee ask at the door if
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they would buy fish!” said the pirate.
“This will let us have entrance.”
Randolph knocked, and the door was
opened by a footman in deep mourning.
“Let me first enter!—Wait without and
follow me in when I give the signal,”
said Randolph in a low tone. “I can
prepare the way for you.”
“Be it so. I confide in your cleverness,
my man. I would enter peaceably, if possible;
for I don't wish to raise an alarm,
else I may not be able to pay my visit to
the Colonel's, to which this is only secondary.
I come here to please my men.
I go there to gratify myself!”
Randolph made no reply. He passed
through the hall, having said to the footman
that he had a message for her from
her son. Before the servant could deliver
the message, Randolph had passed
him and stood in the presence of the woman
who had wronged him. She met
him, and seeing, as she supposed, a fisherman
only, she started back with an exclamation
of disappointment.
“I had hoped it was Arthur!”
“He brings news of him, Madam,” said
the footman.
“What of him! Bring you evil news?
He has been gone since before noon!
What of him?”
“He is well. I saw him at Colonel
Oglethorpe's!”
“Thank God! I feared he had fallen a
victim to that fiend his elder brother!”
“Madam, you say what you do not believe!”
cried Randolph in his own voice,
which rung indignantly.
“Who are you? am I mocked? Help!”
“You know me. I am glad you do. I
am your victim. You know, Madam, that
I never harbored thought of evil against
you. You conspired my ruin. Yours is
at the door! Know that your dwelling is
surrounded by a band of freebooters from
the `Schooner of the Mist,' which is anchored
before it!”
“Robber! was I not right?”
“No, Madam! I am no robber. Accident
gave me knowledge of their inten
tion. I have accompanied them, and am
party to what I could not help, to protect
you from their violence, though God knows
I owe you no love or favor. If you would
be spared captivity betray no knowledge
of me. Nay, no imprecations! you merit
all! Besides, what they take is mine, not
thine! I give my consent freely, so you
are punished for your avarice. Give me
those keys at your girdle!
“Will you suffer me to be slain?”
cried the wretched woman in terror, with
which was mingled hatred against him.
“No. Be passive and I will protect
you. I can delay the event no longer.”
He advanced into the hall and called
to the captain of the schooner to advance.
“The lady is informed, captain, of your
intentions. She will be passive. Here
are the keys which I have obtained from
her. Come with me and I will show you
what they open. This is the side-board.
This a safe where plate is kept. This
unlocks a chest of silver. This gives access
to bags of gold.”
“Bring in only such men as are wanted
to take out the treasures,” said the corsair
to his lieutenant, “and let the rest see
that the servants do not escape to give
the alarm in the town. You know the
premises well, fisherman!”
“Yes, I have lived here in the house!”
“Oh, ah! I see how your knowledge
comes. That is the lady in mourning
who is wringing her hands there?”
“Yes!”
“I wonder where the young men are?”
“I told you they were away!”
“Ah, true! I shouldn't care to have
Mr. Randolph, (that is his name, I believe,)
at home; for I should like to cross blades
with him. I hate every man who once
crosses me in my love!”
Randolph made no reply. He bit his
lip almost through to control his feelings.
“I will leave you now to secure your
booty,” said Randolph: “I must take care
for myself!”
“Be on hand when we are ready to depart.
You are an intelligent and good
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fellow, and I can't spare you. We want
you at the Colonel's too.”
“Be sure I shall not fail you there,” answered
Randolph, in a marked tone as he
left the room where the corsair and his men
were at work removing the plate and money
from the place where they were deposited
into sacks.
“That fisherman, Ellis, is a useful fellow.
He seems above his degree in intelligence!”
“At any rate, he seems quite at home
here. He and the old lady are quarreling.”
“I dare say he is asking her for her
finger rings,” said Ellis, laughing.
“Let him have the spoil for his services
then. We are reaping a sufficient harvest
here!”
The second interview between Randolph
and his step-mother, which they
alluded to and overheard, was a mutually
recriminating one. He boldly charged
her with her crimes, and she in return accused
him of bringing upon her the crew
of the schooner. He disdained to reply to
this charge, and turning the key upon her,
as she was accusing him of the murder
of Arthur, he hastened to the room in
which the servants were guarded by four
of the band. He approached one of
them, and in a low voice desired him to
follow him. The man tremblingly obeyed.
When they had got outside of the door,
where they were alone together, Randolph
said to him in his natural tone,—
“Parker, you are the only one of the
household that was ever friendly to me!”
“Is this Mr. Randolph?”
“Hist. Not a word. I am here to do
good, not evil. The captain of this band
knows me only as a fisherman. By accident
I got knowledge of their coming here,
and joined them to prevent more mischief.
You are the coachman, and know the
fleetest horse, and also how to ride fast.
Saddle one, and gallop with all haste to
the point of land below Elizabethtown.
You can reach it in less than two hours.
You will find at anchor there the Revenue
Cutter `Sea Gull,' at least she was there
yesterday. Board her, and tell the captain
that the pirate schooner, the `Cruiser of
the Mist,' is anchored off Amboy, where I
will see that she is delayed until morning.
Tell him to make sail at once, with as
many volunteers as he can get to increase
his crew, and there is a chance that the
schooner may fall into his hands, with
what aid we can give him here. Now
mount and spur!”
The man immediately hurried to the
stables, and in five minutes was on the
road.
Arthur Ledyard had been overtaken in
his ride up the island by a servant despatched
after him by Olive, as soon as she
could sufficiently reflect after Randolph's
abrupt departure from her. Arthur returned
on the wings of fraternal affection
to find his brother gone, and Olive under
strong excitement. She related to him all
that had passed, repeating Randolph's
words. He was surprised and grieved.
“My poor, poor brother!”
“Nay, your mad brother! He is not
worthy a thought. I am deeply angry
with him. He treated me with insult the
most bitter. I can never forgive him!”
“But, Olive, consider what Randolph
has undergone! how—”
“Not a word in his defence. He never
loved me truly. I have been deceived in
supposing I loved him. I will forget him.
This affair has brought out his real character.
How could I have deluded my
heart. He flattered me, and I was proud
of his praise. But I feel that I never have
entertained towards him the tenderness,
dear Arthur, with which you have inspired
me. I thought I only loved you as a sister
loves a fond brother. But your brother has
unwittingly taught me where the needle
of my heart points. You have my heart,
Arthur! Henceforward let the unworthy
and fiery Randolph be forgotten!”
“Nay, my brother loves you, Olive. He
was overwhelmed with his heart's bitterness
when he last saw you. The cloud
upon his spirits cast a shadow over all
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things around him. He loves you, and in
his happier hour—”
“I will not listen!” answered the impetuous
girl. “I have cast him from my
heart. You alone, dear Arthur, shall
reign there!”
“Never, dearest Olive, as the usurper
of my brother. I have supplanted him in
his birth-right. I cannot do so in his affections
also!”
“What I give is not his—never was
his. Arthur, do not you also make me
wretched! Shall I sue to you for your
love?”
“No—no! What am I to do! I do
most fondly love you, Olive! but so long
as my brother held a claim upon your
heart's treasures, I was sweetly content
only to worship you afar off. I should
wound the deepest feelings of my nature,
I should falsify my being, if I said I loved
you not. Were my brother freely to surrender
thee—”
“Nay—nay, Arthur! Has he not flung
me aside as an idle plaything? If he
loved me, he would not have doubted me
on so slight a cause. He has no claim
upon my hand or heart! Both are
yours!”
She extended her hand towards him as
she spoke. He caught it, and pressed it
to his lips with passionate fervor. Her
words had revealed to him the fervor and
character of his own regard for her—a
regard that only fraternal affection and
reverence had kept hitherto in its bud.
“Good Arthur!”
“Nay, dear as this moment is to me,
Olive, I would rather that Randolph's name
fell thus from thy lips in place of mine—
that this happiness were his!”
She was about to make a reproachful
reply to this noble sentiment, when the
footsteps of a servant advancing checked
her words.
“Here is the keeper of the light-house,
who would see Mr. Ledyard.”
At the same instant the keeper, who
was close behind the footman, presented
himself at the door of the parlor.
“What would you with me?” asked
Arthur, advancing a step, with thoughts
of news, perhaps, from Randolph.
“Here is a line for you, sir. It was
given me by a young man who saved my
life to-day. I have rowed hard to bring it
here, for I promised him that I would!”
Arthur took the card from him, and
hastily read:
“Dear Arthur,—
“The pirate schooner known as
`The Cruiser of the Mist,' is at this moment
off Sandy Hook laying to! Ride to
the head of the island with all haste, and
take a boat to the sloop-of-war Franklin.
Tell the captain, if he gets underweigh at
once, he may capture her! Delay not a
moment, if you love your country or your
brother,
Randolph.”
“This is exciting news! Will you
order me a fresh horse from your stables,
Olive?”
“What is the news? What must take
you away?”
He handed her the card.
“Who gave you this?” she quickly
asked the keeper.
“A noble young man, to whom I owe
my life.”
“How?”
“He was in a boat—saw me strugglin
in the water when mine had sunk beneath
me, and saved me!”
“Is he at Sandy Hook?” asked Arthur.
“I left him going to board the schooner!”
“What, the Cruiser?”
“Yes. He would go!”
“It is strange. But I dare say he had
a purpose in it. I will obey his request,
Olive. The capture of this schooner has
been long desired. Shall I have a horse?”
“When will you return?”
“Within six or seven hours.”
“The stable is at your command. I
would my father were at home! He promised
to be here by noon.”
“It is not long past. He is probably
detained at Brunswick.”
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“The horse is at the door, sir,” said the
footman.
“Then farewell, Olive. By nine o'clock
I shall be here again.”
“Do not linger.”
“Your love will give me wings!”
With these words the handsome youth
sprung into his saddle, and once more
turned his horse's head towards the north
end of the island. On reaching Richmond,
it occurred to him that the shortest
process would be to cross to the Telegraph
Fort on the east of the island, and have
his news telegraphed to the sloop-of-war.
This he saw would save at least an hour
and a half's time.
On reaching the telegraph station, he
threw himself from his horse and made
known to the director his wish. The intelligence
was rapidly conveyed to the
ship-of-war; and waiting there until,
through the spy-glass, he saw the Franklin
get underweigh, Arthur remounted his
horse and hastened back the road he had
come. It was near sunset when he left
the station, and late when he once more
regained the mansion of Colonel Oglethorpe,
happy that he had so successfully
executed his brother's wish.
The messenger, whom Randolph despatched
from the villa for the Cutter,
reached that vessel about eleven at night,
after having followed her to a place three
miles further up from her former anchorage.
The captain received the intelligence
he brought with an exclamation of
joy. Although his vessel was less than
ninety tons burden, and carried but four
“twelves,” with a crew of less than thirty
men, he resolved to get underweigh without
delay. Several sloops were anchored
near, from which, as soon as the news
was sent on board of them, came in all
forty brave men, burning to take part in
the capture of the vessel that had defied
so long a sloop-of-war and a large gun-brig.
The wind being fair, but light, the
Cutter in less than an hour after the news
reached her, was standing through the
Raritan Strait in the direction of the
enemy.
“You say, sir, that you have no participation
in this robbery of my house?” said
Madam Ledyard, when Randolph once
more entered her presence.
“I do repeat it, madam. You look
troubled about the loss of so much plate
and money. I enjoy your distress. Look
upon these honest pirates as God's messengers,
sent to administer retributive justice
to you. You sinned for gold, and
they take your gold from you! I am
happy, madam!”
“Do you not heed the loss of so much
money that might be your own, but which
now never can be?”
“Not a bit, madam. I never expected
to possess it before these good plunderers
came. I therefore am no loser. You are
the loser, both in soul and silver! Hark!
how the coin rings as they pour it out!
I dare say each sound pierces your heart
like a dagger. I hope it does! You
seem to feel. I am glad of it. I should
lose half my revenge were you indifferent!”
Fiend! would you add taunts to robbery?”
“Nay, I do but enjoy your rage and
grief, no more!”
“You are a pirate! You brought them
here! You will share the gold!”
“No, not a stiver of it! I let them
steal so that they may be caught in the
act, and with the booty in possession. I
am their foe! I am planning their destruction.
And that I may be more certain
their condemnation, I let them rob!
You do not believe me. You will see, tomorrow,
if I speak truth or not!”
“And shall I have all back if they are
taken?” she cried, with avaricious thirst.
“Nay, not a penny or pound's weight.
It was never thine! I shall keep it myself,
methinks!”
“Would you rob your brother Arthur
of his just means?”
“My brother Arthur has robbed me,”
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[figure description] Page 045.[end figure description]
responded Randolph, bitterly, “but I forgive
him!”
“Of what has he robbed you?”
“A golden heart! But no matter!
He has robbed me of a treasure I valued
more than all thine ill-begotten hoards
these men are taking away! I said it
was a golden heart! Nay, it was a diamond!
Nay, adamant! Perhaps, so
pure and cold it was, 'twas only a heart
of ice after all!”
“You talk like a madman!”
“And if I am not a madman, it is not
your fault, madam!”
“He, fisherman! we wait you!”
“I am called, you see! Adieu! No
more covet gold that is so easily taken
from thee! Repent, madam, and get treasures
where thieves will not break through
nor steal! Farewell!”
Thus speaking, Randolph left the room.
He heard a shriek from her, and a heavy
fall, as he went out after the corsair; but
his heart was hardened towards her, and
bidding the liberated servants see to their
mistress, he passed out and quitted the
house.
CHAPTER X. THE MAIDEN AND THE BROTHERS.
The freebooting party reached the
schooner in safety, though with some delay,
as it was difficult, in the darkness
and fog, to find her position. The booty
which had been obtained was disposed of
in the cabins, and the corsair then gave
orders to man his gig.
“Don't you weigh anchor and stand up
opposite the house of Colonel Oglethorpe,
sir?” asked Randolph.
“No, I think I will pull there in my
boat, leaving my vessel here.”
“It is a long pull, sir,” said Randolph,
who was desirous of getting the schooner
as far up the narrow strait, between the
island and the main, as possible, thus less
ening her chance of getting fairly to sea
again before the arrival of the vessels to
which he had sent information. And
having no intelligence yet, that either of
his messages had been delivered, or that
the vessels were at the places to which he
sent, he felt the necessity of bringing the
schooner as far from sea as he could, in
order that, if the whole enterprise of her
capture should at last fall upon him individually,
he might effect it with more facility.
“The distance, you say, is about a mile
and a half?”
“Yes. The current too is strong,
while with this wind you could lay your
course!”
“But I should have to drop anchor and
weigh a second time. No. I will go in
my gig!”
“Be it so, then. You will be no less
in my power,” said Randolph to himself.
“You will accompany me, fisherman!
Your services I can't do without!”
“I will go, and do what I can, sir.”
“You shall not go unrewarded. If I
succeed to-night in what I go upon, you
shall to-morrow be made rich enough to
buy you a fishing craft.”
“Thank you, sir!”
The boat soon after put off from the
schooner, and Randolph took the coxswain's
place at the helm. A small lantern
cast its rays upon a pocket compass,
by which he steered direct for the house
of the Colonel. The night was not only
obscured by fog, but dark with overhanging
clouds. Nothing was visible but the
boat and themselves. During the row
Randolph was silent. His breast glowed
with the most intense hostility towards
the corsair. He despised him not only
for his lawless profession, but for daring
to lift his thoughts to the woman whom
he himself loved; for Randolph still loved,
and madly loved, the beautiful, dark-eyed
girl, whom he had, in his bitterness, so
haughtily treated. Resolutions of vengeance
against him for the past, and for what
he was now meditating against her, filled
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[figure description] Page 046.[end figure description]
his soul. But he waited his time for action.
He desired the destiny of the man
to be fully matured. He wished to show
the world, her, his brother—even his step-mother—
that he was honorable and true
as a man and a citizen, notwithstanding
the wrongs which had almost driven him
to despair and recklessness.
The boat at length touched the shore,
and Randolph sprung to land. He was
followed by the corsair, who ordered six
men to take their pistols and attend him.
“The men might accidentally discharge
one of them, and this would give the
alarm,” said Randolph. “There are but
two men-servants in the house. They
will need no weapons!”
“You are right. Leave your pistols in
the boat. I don't want any fighting or
blood-shed. An alarm would be fatal to
us; for, in the darkness and fog, we could
not stir the schooner from where she is.”
The men laid their pistols down and
prepared to move on. Randolph glided
back to the boat, under cover of the impenetrable
darkness, and hastily securing
a brace of the pistols, rejoined them.
“Ho, fisherman!” said the corsair. “I
feared we had lost you in the dark! How
shall we be able to move? I can't see
path nor tree! Who has the lantern?”
“I have the lantern,” answered Randolph,
opening it and going on ahead.
The mansion of Colonel Oglethorpe
stood upon an elevated table of land about
three hundred yards from the water. It
was embosomed in oaks and larches, and
approached from the shore by a gravelled
walk bordered by evergreens. Up this
avenue the party took their noiseless way.
The hour was a little before eleven, yet a
light, as they approached the house, was
faintly visible through the mist.
“There is the house,” said Randolph,
stopping suddenly. “What is your purpose,
captain, in coming here?”
“Why, you are a free, frank fellow, and
seem to know the world, fisherman as you
are,” said the corsair, laughing, “so I will
tell you. I mean to surprise the maiden,
and carry her on board the schooner. The
first port we come to after, I shall make
her my bride!”
“This is quite a new way of getting a
wife!”
“Yes, somewhat. But I have both
love and revenge to gratify. I love her,
and would wed her, will she nill she!
She hates me, and I would wed her to
punish her contumacy. So, let us on!
Which is the best way of getting into the
house?”
“Follow me, and I will guide you,” answered
Randolph, in a low tone.
The house stood upon a raised basement
of stone, in which were the underground
apartments of the mansion. They
were massive stone rooms, with heavy
arches supporting the floors above, and
used as store houses, ice-house, and receptacles
for coal. There was a door beneath
the portico, which led into these
subterranean chambers, and another at
their extremity, which communicated with
the house above.
“Remain here for a moment, and I will
effect an entrance which shall not disturb
any one,” said Randolph, stopping by the
steps of the portico. “If we apply to the
front door, the servants, seeing you, may
escape, and a musket fired by one of them
would give the alarm. Do not move till
I come back.”
“There is little likelihood that we will,
for the darkness can be cut,” answered
the corsair, as Randolph passed round the
house with the lantern.
He hastened to the rear, and lifting one
of the windows opening into the library,
he entered. All was still within the
house. Perfectly familiar with the localities,
he crossed the room, and opened the
door leading into the hall. He traversed
it in the direction of the drawing-room,
from which the light had gleamed through
the fog. The door was ajar, and a light
streamed through the opening. He heard
voices. Noiseless he advanced. He looked
in, and beheld Olive Oglethorpe seated
upon an ottoman. Her harp had fallen
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[figure description] Page 047.[end figure description]
forgotten by her side. At her feet knelt
Arthur, her hand clasped in his, and gazing
up into her face with the most passionate
fervor. The joy and worship of
love shone in his eyes and glowed upon
his cheek. She was bending her eyes
upon him, with a sweet tenderness of affection
in them that the heart only can
give expression to.
Words passed between them, low and
burning, and thrilling with passionate devotion.
Randolph saw and heard, and all
the bitterness of his soul came back upon
him like a storm-cloud that returns upon
the changing wind. He saw all his suspicions
confirmed, and his soul was on
fire. His first impulse was to bound forward,
strike his brother to the earth, and
charge her with her treachery to him.
But he restrained his feelings. Haughty
scorn took their place. He felt suddenly
like overwhelming both, not with the
vengeance of a fiery hand, but of noble
deeds.
“Be it so! Let him love her! He has
my birth-right, let him have my bride also.
I will not slay him! I will not harm
him! I will take a higher revenge!
What I have now discovered shall not
change my first purpose. They are in
my power. All I have to do is to retire
from the scenes and let this corsair and
his party come forward and act out my
vengeance. But I will save her! They
shall know I am noble still!”
Thus speaking, Randolph retired noiselessly
from the door, and after traversing
quickly three or four rooms, he came to a
door, which he threw open. The cold
rush of damp air that came up, told that
it let into the arched chambers beneath
the villa. He descended and traversed
the chilly, paved passage that led to the
outlet underneath the portico. It was
barred heavily on the inside, and locked
with a huge padlock. The key hung up
by the side of it. He unlocked it and removed
the iron bar, and threw open the
door.
The corsair and his party started back
at seeing him suddenly show himself with
the lantern.
“I have been in the house and the way
is open by passing through this passage,”
said Randolph.
“Come, men, enter after me, but make
no noise,” said the captain of the schooner,
in a suppressed tone. “Why, what a
prison-like hole! These look like dungeons
on each side!”
“The house was erected in old times,
when men built for centuries,” answered
Randolph, as he closed the strong oaken
door, and replaced the heavy bars across
it.
“Do you lock it? we want a way to
retreat!”
“You will go out by the upper way!”
answered Randolph, as he locked the bar
and thrust the key of the padlock into his
pocket. “Now follow me, captain, and I
will show you the lady. Let your men
remain here until you call to them. The
noise they will make in going through the
house will alarm her. I have seen her.
She is in the drawing-room.”
“Bravo, fisherman! I will go with you
alone first. Remain here, lads, and when
you hear me call, be at my side; though
I fancy we shall have no fighting to
night!”
Randolph went forward, closely followed
by the corsair. They reached the upper
floor, and Randolph then led the way
to the hall.
“Now, if you will promise, captain, not
to disturb her yet, but merely look in upon
her, it is all I ask for showing you up!”
“I promise for five minutes, provided
I can gaze on her unseen for that time.”
“Softly! now look in.”
“What a heavenly face! I never thought
her the half so fair! I could hug you, my
man, for getting me this blessing! But
what Adonis is this? Here is fighting
to do!”
Randolph made no reply. Leaving him
gazing upon her, he hastened back to the
door which led into the subterranean
rooms, and, softly closing it, he turned the
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key. Then, for better security, he placed
against it a heavy book-case, and other
articles of furniture. Having thoroughly
barricaded it he returned, saying,
“Remain there, my men! at least you
are safe! Now I will take care of my
friend in a manner worthy of himself!”
“Are the five minutes out, fisherman?”
asked the corsair as he came back.
“Yes. Enter and tell her what you
came for, but touch her not, for I can't
see a woman rudely treated!”
“The deuce you can't. I think I shall
follow the bent of my humor, good fellow.
Don't try to command me, because I
have given you some license of familiar
speech.”
As he spoke, he entered the drawing-room.
Randolph, with flashing eyes, entered
with him. On beholding this sudden
entrance, Olive rose, and uttered an
exclamation of surprise and alarm. Arthur
sprung to his feet, and fixed upon the
corsair a look of haughty inquiry.
“What means this intrusion? Who
are ye?”
“Ask the lady, who trembles as she recognises
me,” answered the corsair.
Arthur turned to Olive who had recognised
him, and nearly fainted with terror;
for well she knew that he had come to
visit her for no good. Rumor had said
that he had taken to lawless deeds since
she last saw him, and her fears partook
of the most painful character.
“Do you know this person, Olive?”
asked Arthur.
“Nay, I do not wish to know him.
What do you here, sir?” she demanded
with sudden energy, which displeasure
and fear combined, inspired.
“I come, fair maiden, to ask you, with
all due courtesy, to become the bride of
“The corsair of the Mist!”
“The pirate captain!” cried Arthur.
“Yes, if so please you, handsome sir.
I am captain of a schooner that sails under
any flag that suits the hour. I have come
to ask this lady to be my companion on
the bright blue wave. Once I sued to her
and was scorned. Now I come as a conqueror,
not a slave!”
“Protect me, Arthur!”
“With my life!” cried the youth, clasping
her in the embrace of one arm, while,
with his weaponless hand outstretched, he
stood between her and the corsair.
“So! I see I must use weapons here,”
he cried, drawing his dirk. “Stand back,
my fine young fellow!”
“Hold!” cried Randolph, striking the
weapon from his hand and levelling a
pistol at his breast.
“What is this? treachery? am I betrayed,
villain?”
“God be praised, we have a friend
here!” exclaimed Olive.
“It is Randolph's voice; nay, it is he!”
cried Arthur in amazement.
“Yes, you are betrayed, and by the
man you have most reason to fear!” answered
Randolph, in his natural voice
and manner. “I am no fisherman! I
am Randolph Ledyard! I have assumed
this disguise to betray you. I have stuck
by you closely that I might save her whom
you would have destroyed! I am her avenger
and my own!”
“Ho! my men, ho! to the rescue!”
shouted the infuriated corsair.
“You need not call! your men are secured
below as safely as in the dungeons
of the Bastile. You are in my power. If
you love life you will yield without further
resistance.”
“Never—to thee!” cried the corsair, suddenly
springing forward and striking the
pistol from his hand. The next instant he
was flying through the hall. Randolph
pursued, and came up with him as he was
endeavoring to open the front door. He
presented the muzzle of a pistol before
his eyes.
“Surrender on the instant or you die!”
The corsair glared upon him with savage
vindictiveness, and with an execration
that would have well become the lips
of a fiend, he flung his dagger to the floor
and folded his arms upon his chest in
fierce and haughty token of submission.
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[figure description] Page 049.[end figure description]
“Arthur, bind him, while I stand sentry
over him till you secure him,” said Randolph.
The young man cut down the bell-cord,
and with it firmly bound his arms behind
him, and Randolph, taking the end, passed
it through an iron ring of the door, and
strongly secured him. He then re-entered
the drawing-room. Olive sat, pale and
trembling, upon a sofa. Arthur approached
her and assured her that the danger
was passed. Randolph stood near and
silently gazed on both. They both were
confused by the intensity of his looks.
“Olive,” he said in a sad tone, “I trust
you will not think me, after this, so bad as
you believed me! I loved you—I thought
you loved me!—You did, perhaps, till I became
poor, and was banished my father's
house! I then sought you, and the sight
of me caused you to shriek and recoil as
if a serpent had crossed your path. I
knew then you loved me no more. So
I gave you back your troth, and left you—
left you to love my brother! Nay,
speak not! do not add falsehood to what
has been! I know your heart is his, and
that he loves you as I did—nay, as I still
would, did I feel that you were worthy.
I have witnessed your interview to-night.
I saw him at your feet, I heard your words
of love! Nay, not a word, Arthur. Fate
has given all mine to thee! I came hither
to save you, Olive, as you heard me say
to the corsair. I have shown you both
that, though wronged, I have the nobleness
of soul to forgive. In serving you,
I am avenged upon you!”
“Randolph! I do confess my injustice
to you!” cried Arthur, throwing himself
at his feet.
“Not a word! Rise, Arthur! Love
her and bless her! I will love my country
henceforward only! But this is no
time for words. Action is demanded. I
leave in your charge and trust this pirate
chief. There are six of his men below.
They are secure. But you had best send
the servants for some of your neighbors
to arm and come over to the villa. I have
other duties. Did you receive my message?”
“Yes, and bore it to the telegraph station.
I waited and saw the Franklin get
under weigh.”
“Then the schooner cannot escape.
Olive, farewell! I give thee to my brother,
for without thee he would not fulfil
his destiny, which builds him up on the
ruin of my own!”
With these words he turned from her
and passed into the hall. The maiden
would have spoken, but her voice failed
her. She extended her hands towards
him, and half rose, but they fell by her
side, and she sunk back again like one
lifeless.
“What mean you to do with me, traitor?”
demanded the corsair, as Randolph
passed him.
“Hold you prisoner till your vessel is
also in my hands, and then take you
prisoner in her to town! I wish to borrow
the ring on your hand! Nay, not a word.
I will have it. I hold your life cheap, and
do not tempt me too far.”
The prisoner suffered him to remove
from his finger a ring set with a cornelian.
Randolph then quitted the house, after
leaving his pistol with Arthur to stand
guard over the bound corsair.
CONCLUSION.
The lieutenant of the schooner, Ellis,
was impatiently walking the deck. The
captain and his party had been gone two
hours and a half. At length the dash of
oars reached his ear, and a voice hailed,
“Ho, the schooner—where away?”
“It is the fisherman!” he cried. “Pull
this way!”
“Aye, aye!”
The next moment he saw a boat approaching,
the fog having lighted a little,
as it often does, towards midnight.
“Well, what success? Where is the
captain?”
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[figure description] Page 050.[end figure description]
“He is on shore. He wants you to
man both boats, take command of them,
and pull towards the south side of the
island, where there is a house filled with
rich booty. He crosses over by the land,
and will join you there! Here is his ring
in token that he sent me!”
“More booty, lads!” cried Ellis. “This
is a rich night for us! Man the boats.
How many men?”
“He told you to take all but ten, as
there may be resistance!”
“So much the better. How far is the
place?”
“Three miles to the east. You will
pull straight in for the island, and then
keeping the shores in sight, row round
until you discover a light which the captain
will hold out!”
“And you?”
“I am to remain here, to pilot the
schooner, when the tide rises, round to the
place!”
“Then we shall not have to pull back?”
“The schooner will be off there to take
you on board!”
“So much the better!”
In less than fifteen minutes the two
boats left the schooner, and were soon lost
to the eyes of Randolph in the mist and
darkness.
“Thus far is my plan successful,” he
said, as the last dip of their oars fell upon
his ear. “I have now not a dozen of the
pirates on board, and these are the least
resolute of the men. The schooner is all
but in my hands! But I must act with
discretion and coolness. The fog is not
so dense as it was, and I shall be able to
steer out of this strait into the bay. I will
try it! The wind is in the west, and
favorable. I may fall in with the Franklin
down the bay, or the gun-brig, and
then the schooner's fate is as fixed as her
captain's!”
Two mornings afterwards, the following
paragraph appeared in one of the city
papers:—
“We congratulate the public upon the
capture, at last, of the pirate schooner
`Sea-Wing,' better known as `The Cruiser
of the Mist.' After a long time defying
the efforts of a sloop-of-war and a gun-brig,
that have been cruising after her, she
was captured yesterday morning in a most
singular manner, and last evening brought
up and anchored off the battery, under the
guns of the corvette Franklin.
“It appears that she had the boldness,
on the night of the seventh, to run into
Raritan Bay, as usual under cover of a
fog, and land a party to plunder the villas
belonging to the late General Ledyard
and Colonel Oglethorpe. A son of General
Ledyard, who was out fishing in the
garb of a fisherman, having seen the
schooner, was hailed and brought on
board. He at once suspected her character,
and preserved his incognito. He pretended
to be a friend to her, and promised
to pilot her up the bay. The pirate, supposing
him to be a fisherman, gave his
schooner in charge to him. Young Ledyard
did pilot her to a position near his
father's house, and then landed with them.
He immediately privately despatched a
messenger on horseback to the Revenue
Cutter, then lying near Elizabethtown
point, and another to give information to
the Franklin. From this villa he went
also to Colonel Oglethorpe's, acting as
guide; and by a masterly stratagem
secured, in the cellar of the house, the
party of six men whom the pirate had
taken with him. He then made their
captain prisoner, and bound him with the
assistance of his brother, who chanced to
be there. Thence he returned on board
with the captain's signet, and showing it
to the lieutenant in command, he directed
him, as from the pirate himself, to proceed
with both boats, and all the men but
enough to manage the schooner, to a point
round Staten Island, where he was to
await him, and direct them to other
booty.
“The lieutenant obeyed, and left the
schooner with the men, leaving young
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[figure description] Page 051.[end figure description]
Ledyard on board, who had represented to
him that when the tide rose he was to
pilot the vessel round and wait for
them.
“After the departure of these boats,
leaving only ten men on board, Ledyard
gave orders to weigh anchor. The fog,
which prevails at this season, was still
dense, but being familiar with the depth
of water, he kept a man in the chains
heaving the lead. In this manner, this
resolute young man piloted the schooner,
not only out of the strait, but down the
bay until the light at Sandy Hook was
visible looming through the mist. Here
he took the bearings, by compass, of the
channel up New York Bay, and began to
steer in the direction of the town. As
the wind favored, and there was little need
of altering tack or sheet, he sent six of
the men below, saying they might sleep
until the schooner came to the point where
the captain and boats were. After they
had gone below, he sent the other four,
an old man and three boys, aft, and unperceived
by them secured the hatches,
and imprisoned the men below. He now
boldly made known to the rest his purpose
to take possession of the schooner, and
told them if they aided him they should be
pardoned for their crimes, but if they resisted
he should shoot them upon the spot.
His intrepidity had the desired effect.
They promised submission, and cheerfully
obeyed his orders.
“The morning now broke, and this bold
young man found himself still twelve
miles from town. The wind now died
away, and the tide set seaward. The
men below began loudly to demand their
release, and it required the most perfect
coolness and courage on his part to maintain
his perilous position. He was slowly
drifting down the bay with the ebb, and
the mist all around him, when the wind
again breezing up, he discovered all at
once the Franklin's royals overtopping
the fog. The sloop did not see him, and
was moving majestically by, when he
hailed, and being under steerage way,
bore towards her.
“The surprise and confusion on board
the corvette is represented to have been
intense, on discovering all at once, as if
rising from the sea, the pirate vessel close
aboard of them. All hands were called
to quarters, and preparations made for
sinking her, when the schooner lay up
alongside, and Ledyard leaped on board,
armed to the teeth. His first words, `The
schooner is your prize,' suspended the uplifted
cutlasses that were drawn to receive
him. In a few brief words he made
known what he had achieved; and the
sight of the empty deck of the schooner,
with the roars of the men confined forward,
confirmed his statement.
“The schooner was immediately taken
possession of, with all her booty taken
from General Ledyard's, and young Ledyard
volunteering to guide a party to the
point where the pirate-boats were, these
barges were captured after short resistance.
The captain and the men taken at
the villa were then brought on board the
Franklin, and the two vessels, followed by
the gun-brig `Chaser,' and the cutter
`Preble,' which were too late in at the
`death,' made sail for town.
“It is understood that Mr. Ledyard will
have a lieutenant's commission presented
him in the navy, and a present of a sword
from the Board of Commerce. His daring
and skill, and presence of mind, have rarely
been equalled in any enterprise on
record, and he deserves all the honor his
country can bestow.”
All we have to add is, that Randolph
did receive both a commission and a
sword, and took service in the navy, in
which he arrived to the highest distinction.
Arthur never wedded Olive Oglethorpe.
Reverence for his brother's love
for her made her sacred in his heart; nor
did he share the patrimony. Olive Oglethorpe
died a few years since in the convent
at Georgetown.
Thus end we our romance, which, if
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[figure description] Page 052.[end figure description]
not “over true,” is not the fault of the
romancer; for, if these things foregoing
never were, they might have been. Fic
tion is the register of the probable and
possible, as history is of the positive and
actual.
THE END.
Back matter
-- --
Acknowledgment
[figure description] Notice.[end figure description]
SPENSER, PRIOR, DICKENS, BROWNING,
BEN JONSON, RICHARDSON, THACKERAY, COOPER,
SHAKESPEARE, STERNE, ELIOT, IRVING,
BUNYAN, SWIFT, READE, HAWTHORNE,
DE FOE, COWPER, BLACK, BRET HARTE,
POPE, COLERIDGE, KINGSLEY, LONGFELLOW,
ADDISON, WHITTIER.
TERMS OF PUBLICATION.
The work, “Character Sketches of Romance, Fiction, and the Drama,” will be published in sixty-eight
parts, at twenty-five cents each; it will be printed on paper made expressly for it; each part
will contain five full-page engravings, making a total of three hundred and forty in the entire work,
of which thirty-four will be etchings and photogravures by Messrs. Goupil & Co., of Paris, and other,
eminent makers. There will be twenty-four pages of letterpress in each part.
No subscriber's name is received for less than the entire set, and no order can be canceled after
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The parts are payable only as delivered, the carrier not being permitted to receive money in advance,
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Subscribers who remove, or who are not regularly supplied, will please address the Publisher by
mail.
SELMAR HESS, Publisher, 557 & 559 Broadway, New-York.
-- --
[figure description] Blank Page.[end figure description]
Ingraham, J. H. (Joseph Holt), 1809-1860 [1845], The cruiser of the mist (Burgess, Stringer & Co., New York) [word count] [eaf192].
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