CHAPTER FIRST.
IN WHICH THE HERO IS INTRODUCED TO THE READER AND SOME DESCRIPTION
OF THE “WING OF THE WIND” IS GIVEN.
THE scene of the following tale opens in the month of September,
1827, at that period when the Colombian revolution was
creating no little sensation in the world, and especially in
the United States,—a nation ever foremost to extend its sympathy to
a people struggling for political freedom. As the infant Republic
had few resources, and no navy, of any force, vessels were fitted out
in some of the ports of the States for the purpose of aiding the Colombians
in their efforts to establish their Independence. One or
two of these ships were purchased by the Colombian government
and volunteers for the service were called for, with offers of large
pay and an abundance of prize money.
There were, however, vessels of a different description, fitted out
for this enterprise. They were privateers, so far as a commission
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of letter of marque went, but pirates in fact; for their crews did not
contain one Colombian; being chiefly composed of unprincipled
American seamen, and sailors of all nations. These vessels were
usually commanded by adventurous Sea Captains, who had too
lawless a reputation to get ships in the merchant-service to command,
or by officers who had been degraded from the naval service
for some misdemeanors.
At the time our story opens, there had been a vessel lying for
some days, in the harbor of Boston, preparing for sea. She was a
large top-sail schooner of nearly two hundred tons burden. She
was pierced for twelve guns, and had a very warlike and saucy
appearance. She was one of the handsomest craft that had been
seen afloat in Boston harbor for many years. The spring of her
head, as it swelled from the raking stern, was enough to gladden an
old tar's eye, with its nautical grace, and the air of lightness which
it threw over the whole bow. The view of her trail-boards, navelhoods,
and head-knees, embraced in one sweep of the eye, was very
fine. The bow was very sharp, and flared gently from the bends up
to the covering board, from, whence it assumed a bolder, and more
dashy spring, which it carried upward to the rail.
Her shear was so nicely graduated, that although her sides were
handsomely rounded, one viewing her broadside on would suppose
her almost straight. Her run was clear fore and aft, and the stern
extremely light and graceful. Outside she was painted black, with
a white streak upon the bead beneath the ports, which were lined
with bright scarlet. Forward she had a top-gallant forecastle, the
height of the rail extending aft to the windlass. She carried pole
top-gallant masts, and royal masts fore and aft; but set to carry
skysails rather than royals. Her masts and spars were of the
most beautiful proportions; and her rigging was set with the nicest
nautical precision.
This beautiful schooner had the week before come into port, and
anchored off Central wharf. She showed Colombian colors; and
it was soon understood that she had come in to ship men for the
Colombian service. No one, however, knew whence she came; nor
was her commander known to any person, that any one could find
out.
The schooner had been eight days at her anchorage, quietly
shipping such adventurers as chose to embark on the service for
which she was said to be destined; but her captain had not yet
been seen. On the evening of the eighth day, while it was still
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twilight, a young man wrapped to the eyes in a cloak emerged from
an obscure alley near Ann street, and took his way rapidly, and as
if not desiring to be recognized, towards the harbor. He threaded
the street along the dock until he came to Central wharf, when
taking the rear or upper walk, he pursued his course at a quick
step till he reached the extremity of the pier. It was by this time
night. The stars sparkled in the bosom of the harbor, and dark
shadows enveloped the shipping and distant islands. Here and
there a boat passing from the wharf to some vessel in the stream;
or some belated fisherman coming in from the outer bay in his
light skiff, only broke the quiet of the limpid water. Directly opposite
to him lay the beautiful Colombian schooner, her graceful
proportions still clear and distinct in the waning twilight.
“Boatman,” called the young man, addressing a man who was
seated in the stern of a small boat fastened to the steps of the pier,
and smoking a pipe as if enjoying the luxury of repose after the labors
of the day.
“Yer honor!” responded the man springing to his feet. “Do you
want to go off, sir?”
“Yes. Take me on board the schooner.”
“That I'll do in a jiffy, sir. Plase to step in, sir. The sate is
clane, sir.”
The young man stepped into the little boat, and seating himself in
the stern-sheets, spoke not until the boat came under the schooner's
gangway.
“Boat ahoy!” challenged the sentry at his post.
“A shore boat. I would come on board,” answered the young
man.
“The orders are not to let any boat come alongside after sun-down!”
“I have business with the commander.”
“The captain is not on board,” answered an officer coming to the
side. “What do you wish?”
“Are you in present command of the vessel?”
“Yes.”
“Then, perhaps, my business may be made known to you!”
“Pull alongside, boatman,” ordered the lieutenant. The man
obeyed; and the next moment the person whom he had brought to
the schooner stood upon her deck.
“Can I speak with you, sir?” he asked of the officer.
“Yes, if you words must be private.”
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He then turned and led the way into the cabin, which was an
apartment furnished with elegance and taste.
“Now, sir, we are alone,” remarked the officer, fixing a keen glance
upon the visitor, who still concealed his features by his cap and cloak.
“I am told this is a Colombian vessel, and that she sails in a day
or two for the gulf.”
“Yes, we expect to get away by the day after to morrow,” answered
the lieutenant, bluffly.
“Is it possible to have an interview with her captain?” asked
the young man, dropping the cloak from his face, and pushing back
his cap, as if there was nothing to be feared from recognition while
on board the schooner.
“The captain is on shore. He does not stay on board,” answered
the officer, looking at the features of the stranger with admiration,
combined with curiosity. His visitor was a young man, not more
than five-and-twenty, tall and well formed, with a very handsome,
manly face. He had blue eyes and a clear florid complexion, with
wavy light brown hair. His mouth was very fine, and his whole
face decidedly noble in its aspect; yet it was stamped with an air of
sadness that struck the officer with feelings akin to sympathy. He
at once became interested in him.
The stranger regarded the lieutenant for an instant with a fixed
gaze, as if deliberating whether to confide to him his object in visiting
the schooner. There was an air of nautical frankness in the
officer's countenance that invited confidence; yet he hesitated.
“If you are particularly desirous to see the captain, I think I can
place you in the way of it,” said the lieutenant, who observed his
embarrassment.
“I should be obliged to you.”
“I think I can trust you. The captain, to tell you the truth, don't
care to be seen here in Boston. He, however, may not object to
your seeing him, if you have business that concerns him.”
“It does not so much concern him as myself.”
“Do you know him?”
“I have never seen him!”
“Then you are not his enemy!”
“No!”
“You shall see him!”
As the lieutenant, who had the air of a bold, frank, reckless fellow,
spoke, he wrote a few words upon a slip of paper and handed them
to his guest.
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“Take this to the house named on it, and ask of a man you will
see there, who has but one eye and a scar on his lip, to conduct you
to Captain Lightfoot!”
The young man took the card with many expressions of thanks,
and left the schooner for the shore-boat. He soon reached the pier
from which he had embarked, and took his way up the wharf. As
he went, he took the same precautions as before against being recognised.
After reaching the head of the wharf, he took his way along
India-street, through Merchants' Row to Ann. He entered this close
and winding thoroughfare, and traversed its crowded walks until he
came to a tavern, over the door of which was hung a gilded anchor.
“This is the place—`The Gold Anchor,' ” he said, glancing at his
card.
He made his way through a crowd of sailors and women, who
were congregated about the door smoking, drinking, singing, and
fighting, and found himself in an ill-lighted room, dark with the
clouds of tobacco smoke that floated in it.
“Hulloah, shipmate, in the long togs,” said an old man-of-war's
man to him, as he slightly jostled him, “don't spread so much canvass,
or else mind your helm a little better!”
“What does the blasted land-lubber want in these cruisings?”
growled another. “I say, shore-purser treat us all round, or we'll
take three reefs in your main-sail!”
“Stop that talk there, lads! Can't a gentleman come into my
house but you must pay off your talk-tackle, as if the world shouldn't
have nobody on it but old salts!”
“That's the way it should be, Blinker. If I had the say, I'd have
all sailors and pretty lasses!” answered the tar.
“Well, sir, what can I do for you?” asked the landlord, civilly, of
the stranger, whose entrance into his tap-room had drawn upon him
the notice of his regular customers.
“I want to see the person whose name is on this paper.”
The host took the paper from him, and placing it close to the light,
began closely, with his one eye, to examine the writing. Finding he
could not make it out by legitimate reading, he proceeded to spell
letter by letter, when the bearer interrupted him.
“It is Captain Lightfoot I wish to see.”
“Oh, yes, I see it is! So you want to see the captain?” he demanded,
bending a sharp glance upon him. “Who did this paper
come from?”
“His lieutenant on board the schooner.”
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“Oh, aye, Westwood. Confound him, he can't write a hand a
christian can make head or tail of. He must have been tipsy when
he wrote this, for the writing looks as drunk as a fiddler!”
The young gentleman smiled, for to his eyes the writing was very
fair and legible, indeed rather an unusually good specimen of penmanship.
But Blinker, doubtless, had forgotten his schooling.
“Can I see the captain?”
“I will go and ask him. What name?”
“That is of no consequence!”
“Well, I will let him know you are here, and what your signals
are!”
With this, he called to an old man-o'-war's man to mind the “tap,”
and then quitted the room by a door that led to a flight of stairs. He
had been absent about three minutes, when he returned and made a
gesture for the young man to follow him.
They passed through the door and up the stairs into a sort of hall
or lumber room, through which they went into an entry, at the extremity
of which was another flight of stairs which descended.
Taking these, they came to a door at the foot, which was ajar, and
from which came the sounds of mirth, of song, and the uproar of
loud voices.
“Go in through this and the door beyond, and you will find him,”
said the host. “I must now return to the tap.”
With these words he departed, taking the light with him, and leaving
the young man in darkness, save a glimmer from the distant door
to which Blinker had directed his attention, and from which came
the sound of revelry.
He stood where he was for a few seconds irresolute. He was
uncertain whether he ought to advance or retire, for he by no means
liked the position in which he found himself placed. He was, however,
not deficient in courage. But the character of the place in
which he had been directed to find the captain of the schooner, the
mysterious manner in which he had been directed to it, and the
sounds of riotous indulgence that now assailed his ears, as he stood
alone in the darkness of the strange place, naturally awakened suspicion
and called for wariness.
“Is it possible this captain is revelling with his crew,” he said to
himself, as the words of a popular seaman's song reached him, accompanied
with an uproarious chorus. “If I find him in yonder
scene, the chief spirit of it, I shall find in him some rough and brutal
officer, to whom I shall not care to commit my destiny. Yet I will
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not shrink! To advance is my only alternative. Infamy, death are
behind me. I have no safety—no shelter from the laws or from my
self, but this which is now held out to me!”
As he spoke he advanced with a firm step towards the door.
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CHAPTER SECOND.
OUR HERO IS INTRODUCED INTO A STRANGE SCENE—HE IS AT A LOSS
WHAT TO MAKE OF ITS CHIEF PERSONAGE. AT LENGTH HE FINDS THE
CAPTAIN, WHO IS DESCRIBED.
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The confusion of voices subsided somewhat, as he approached
the entrance to the apartment which contained the revellers.
A rough, yet not unmusical voice now struck up a sentimental
song in answer to a loud call for such a production. The stranger
paused at the door and listened to the following stanzas:
“Oh, lady come to my bark with me,
And reign the queen of the sunny sea;
My bark's a palace, my deck's a throne,
And thou, there, love, shall reign alone,
Then lady share my bark with me,
And reign the queen of the sunny sea.
“A gallant ship, and a boundless sea,
A piping breeze and a foe on our lee,
My pennon streaming so gay from the mast,
My cannon booming loud and fast;
Then lady share my bark with me,
And reign the queen of the sunny sea
“Thy raven locks are worth Java's Isle,
Can the spices of India buy thy smile?
The glories of sea and the splendor of land,
They all shall be thine for the wave of thy hand;
Then lady share my bark with me,
And reign the queen of the sunny sea!”
“A pleasant song; my lad, a right rare ditty for such a rough knot,”
said a rich manly voice, in a clear bold manner. “Give him applause,
boys, for he merits it!”
The response was uproarious, and amid the noise the young man
pushed open the door a little way, and looked in upon the party
The room was a low ceiled apartment, about forty feet in length, and
fourteen wide, and was partly subterranean, receiving light by day
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only from little windows placed in the wall just under the ceiling,
level with the ground above. It was the dance hall of the “Golden
Anchor,” and had witnessed many a wilder and more lawless scene
than that which the young man gazed in upon. The hall was now
converted into a sort of supper room. In the centre extended a long
table, covered with the broken fragments of a feast, and thickly set
with bottles and tumblers. Around it were seated full eight-and-forty
men, some with glasses in their hands, some smoking, others singing
snatches of songs. At the head of the board, so far as he was visible
through the clouds of tobacco smoke, which nearly extinguished the
candles that hung around the dirty walls, was seated a man, small in
stature, but built with great compactness of bone and muscle, and yet
with a figure of the most finished symmetry. He had a very high
broad brow, beneath which sparkled a pair of fine grey eyes. His
lips were thin and very flexible, expressing faithfully every emotion
of a nature that was impulsive and fiery. He was dressed in an ordinary
seaman's blue jacket, with a loose cravat, and his collar turned
back. He looked like a young man of great decision of character,
and one also thoroughly imbued with vice. His air was that of an
unprincipled and reckless adventurer.
“Ho, who stands at the door?” he suddenly called out as his quick
eye caught the shadowy outline of the stranger's figure in the door.
Every eye was turned towards the entrance, and the intruder advanced
into the room with a bold step, and an air at once fearless and
imposing.
“I seek the captain of the Colombian schooner?” he said aloud.
“I am told by the landlord, I shall find him here!”
“Then you have been told the truth. My lads drink to Blinker's
health, for you see he has once in his life told the truth! Come, sir,
will you join us: walk this way?”
“With pleasure,” answered the young man, as he took the glass
which the leader of the revels placed in his hand.
“Here, we drink to Blinker, boys, all! The next time he tells the
truth, he shall treat the whole ship's crew!”
The toast was drank with loud repetitions, and many a rough oath
sworn in mirthfulness, and clenched by a thump upon the board that
made every thing ring again.
“Now, silence, boys. Let us see what this strange sail wants.
Sir, you look like a good man, and true, though you sail under broadcloth.
To what are we indebted for the honor of your visit?” This
was spoken with a courtesy that at once stamped the speaker, in
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spite of all the low and rude associations connected with, and around
him, as a gentleman, at least by birth and education.
“I desire to speak with Captain Lightfoot, if, as I understand, you
are that person?”
“Oh, that is another matter,” he answered, assuming his former
light and reckless tone. “I thought you said you wished to see the
Captain of the schooner!”
“Is it not the same person?”
“Oh, no. You see I am only captain of these boys here. I am
called—what is it I am called, my lads?”
“Mild Segar,” answered twenty voices, laughing.
“Yes, I am `The Mild Segar!' That is my name: I have no
other, I believe, lads!”
“None!” was the response of every tongue that was not too tipsy
to articulate.
“You see, sir, that I am not Captain Lightfoot, but `The Mild
Segar!' ”
The young man did not know whether to be angry, or to laugh
outright. He had, however, too much at stake to show feeling where
he had his own deep interest to look after.
“Then, if you are not Captain Lightfoot, merry sir, will you be so
kind as to inform me where I can find him?”
“Well, these are a part of his crew. Ask them if they have yet
seen any other captain than I?”
“No; we know no other than `Mild Segar,' this is as true as if
Blinker spoke it,” pertly answered a lad near the head of the board,
who had a segar in his lips, and a tumbler of grog in his hand.
“That is the only captain we know of,” responded a grey-headed,
old salt; “and I wouldn't care to sail under a better!”
“Then, where is your Captain Lightfoot?” demanded the stranger,
something impatiently.
“Keep cool, my good master,” said the young man who rejoiced
in the appellation of “The Mild Segar.” “Is your business of moment
with Captain Lightfoot?”
“Yes. Will you inform me where I can see him?”
“I will lead you to him. My lads, you will excuse me for awhile.
I shall expect you to keep order and behave yourselves while I am
gone. I will be back in good time. Now, Sir Stranger in the long
cloak, if you will come with me, I will bring you to speech with this
Captain Lightfoot!”
“Gladly,” answered the visiter.
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The “Mild Segar” then rose from the table and opening a door
behind his chair motioned to his guest to pass through it. He then
went after him, up a winding stair-case, old and broken, which led
them into an ante-room, the walls of which were rough boards and
timber—a rude chamber, wholly destitute of furniture. At its extremity
was a window, half-way open. Through this window he
passed by a light bound. The stranger followed him, and found himself
upon a sort of gallery which run along the side of the building.
They traversed it for the distance of thirty feet, when the seaman
took a key from his pocket and unlocked a door, admitting him into
a room brightly lighted and very handsomely furnished. The transition
was so surprising that the stranger gazed around him with astonishment.
The rich furniture, the gorgeous carpet, the beautiful
curtains, costly books strewn around, a guitar and a flute upon a
marble table, were objects that filled him with surprise.
“Remain here a few moments and I will inform Captain Lightfoot
of your presence,” said “the Mild Segar,” smiling slightly at his surprise.
Before the other could make any reply the sailor had disappeared
into an adjoining apartment. He had full time to make his
observations upon what he beheld around him. The apartment was
evidently that of a man of taste and luxury. The walls were hung
with fine paintings, and upon the table were two miniatures in lockets.
He took up one of them. It was the portrait of a beautiful girl. He
started when he looked upon it, and the quick color came to his
cheeks.
“Is it possible? yet it cannot be. How should he have her likeness?
But, if it is not hers, whose can it be? Who can so perfectly
resemble Alice Ashley? I am confounded. The same brow and
chestnut hair, the same hazel eyes and superb figure! It must be she!
I will ask him how he came by it. I will look at the other!”
It was the miniature of a strikingly handsome young man in naval
uniform. He gazed upon it for a few moments with the air of one
studying a resemblance.
“I have somewhere seen a face like this, where I cannot tell. It
seems familiar, and yet it is not. The likeness puzzles me. Who
can I have seen that it looks like. Perhaps no one. But the more I
gaze upon it, the more satisfied I am that the expression of that eye I
have met before. How singular that I should have lighted upon two
such miniatures here! Who can this Captain Lightfoot be! This is
certainly the living image of the beautiful girl, who has had more
influence over my destinies than any man living. It looks as I saw
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her last fourteen months ago. I am all curiosity to know who this
Colombian captain can be!”
“You have your wish, sir,” said a voice near him.
He turned quickly, and beheld before him the very counterpart and
original of the miniature; save that instead of the uniform of the
United States navy, he wore the richly laced coat of the Colombian
service. He was a man not above six and twenty, with a symmetrical
elegance of figure that at once arrested the eye. He was not
more than five feet seven inches in height; but his air of haughty
superiority gave him a tone more imposing than mere height could
have conferred. His complexion was fair, with light locks on either
cheek, and playing upon his glittering collar. The expression of his
face was singularly daring and resolute. There was something in it
to fear as well as to admire. He wore a chapeau, heavy with lace,
that became him much, while it gave a martial tone to his shapely
features. By his side was suspended a jewel-hilted sword, in a silver
chased scabbard; and upon each of his shoulders was a massive
epaulette. His laced coat was open in front sufficiently to display a
ruffled bosom of the deepest lace, in the folds of which sparkled a
diamond. Upon the little finger of his right hand was a large seal
cornelian ring, the scarlet hue of the stone contrasting finely with the
whiteness of his small hand.
The stranger noticed all these points at a glance, and then rested
upon his face a look of close scrutiny. He thought he had seen him
before; but a moment's reflection convinced him that it was his resemblance
to the miniature only that he recognized.
“You desire to see Captain Lightfoot,” he said in a quiet tone.
“Yes.”
“Then be seated, sir. I am that person. Whom have I the honor
of receiving?”
“If you please, I will for the present withhold my name,” answered
the young man with a look of embarrassment.
“Just as you please. I will hear your business with me,”
“You command the Colombian schooner?”
“Yes.”
“You wish to engage volunteers?”
“It is for this I put into Boston harbor. I have now completed my
compliment of men. They are now making merry to-night here before
going on board. It is their last frolic ashore. Perhaps you
heard them as you came this way.”
“Yes. I went in among them expecting to find you. I met,
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however, with a young man who styled himself `The Mild Segar;'
who seemed to be an odd compound of folly and good sense. It was
through him I found you at last.”
“Yes, he is a sort of agent of mine in enlisting the crew. Every
man that enlists passes under his eye. He probes them; weighs
them; guages and tries their calibre. If they answer his purpose he
knows they answer mine. He is my right hand, sir. He prevents
the necessity of my appearing in the business, as I don't care to be
seen by my men till I am at sea. There is nothing like a little mystery
sometimes.”
“You seem to like it, sir, from the manner in which you live and
act.”
“Did you come hither to see how that was?” demanded the captain
in a slight tone of suspicion. “I may have other reasons for
wishing to keep secret. You are here and see me. You may be a
spy or a friend. But it is not material. You can do me no injury,
inasmuch as you are altogether, while here, in my power. Why have
you sought this interview? You do not look like a man whose for
tunes are so despairing that you would like to take up with a birth in
my schooner; yet you have seen the sea.”
“Yes, I have. If you will hear me I will briefly explain why I
have sought you; for I find that you are the man I expected to find
you.”
“I am glad you are pleased. Let me hear what you have to say.'
Thus speaking the Colombian Captain threw himself at his ease
upon a lounge, and prepared to listen.
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CHAPTER THIRD.
OUR HERO HEARS THE STORY OF THE COLOMBIAN CAPTAIN, AND THEN RELATES
HIS OWN HISTORY IN RETURN.
[figure description] Page 016.[end figure description]
The stranger, after remaining a few moments silent, as if undecided
whether to make the captain the confidant of his communication,
at length begun thus:
“My object in visiting you, sir, is to offer myself as a volunteer in
the Colombian service. You look surprised; but it is my wish to
enter on board your schooner, and sail with you on the expedition
which is before you!”
“I am surprised, for your appearance is not that of a mere adventurer!”
“Yet I am an adventurer. Circumstances have recently transpired
that render it necessary I should fly my country!”
“Ah!” ejaculated the captain, with the air of one who had received
intelligence of a pleasing kind. “But do you suppose, sir,” he added,
with well feigned displeasure, “that the Colombian service is one
which is so desperate that it must take outlaws into it?”
“I am not ignorant, captain, either of the nature of the service or
of your own position in it!”
“What! How am I to understand you? Is this an insult?” cried
the Colombian officer, starting up, his eyes flashing fire.
“No, not by any means,” responded the other, calmly. “In a
word, sir, I have information that the Colombian navy is composed
of reckless adventurers. I have understood that the captain of `The
Wing of the Wind,' which is now lying in this harbor, was once an
officer in the navy, and was broken for some offence of a grave
nature!”
“You know me then. I demand who you are?”
“No, sir. I do not know you. But if you will be calm, I will be
frank with you in all things. I will tell you my history and my
wishes. You will find that I am not unfitted for your companionship,
and I trust that we shall be friends when we better know each
other!”
“You are a bold speaker!”
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“I never yet feared any man, sir, that I am aware of. What I
utter with my lips, I am ever ready to maintain with my hands!”
“I like you for that speech! Give me your hand! There, this
grasp makes us friends. Now let me know something about you.
But first, how did you hear that the captain of the schooner had once
been in the navy? I was not aware that any one suspected me
here!”
“I had been in search of you several hours before I went on board
your vessel; for when I first tried to find you, I was told, by one of
your men I met on the wharf, that you were not on board, but lodging
at some house in town, he could not tell me which. I went to
several places in search of you. At one, a tavern on the same street
with this, I overheard two persons talking together. They were
men-of-war's men; one, I think, a boatswain, the other a master's
mate. I overheard your name—”
“What name?” quickly demanded the captain.
“Lightfoot. The sound of the person's name for whom I was
looking drew my attention. I listened:
“ `They do say that her skipper is a young 'un,' said the boatswain,
`and I believe it, if the man I had pointed out to me to-day
by Blinker is he!'
“ `Oh, that was on'y his sub—a chap that ships his men for him,'
answered the other. `But I'll tell you what, Jack, I've seen him
myself!'
“ `That's more than any o' his men can say,' responded the boatswain.
“ `Well, that is as it may be. I was stan'in' on the stoop close by
the Neptune, when I saw a young gentleman come out o' Blinker's
in a blue frock-coat and white beaver. Ah, says I to my eye,
I've seen your figur'head afore! So I looks sharp at him, and remembers
him a luff on board the 'Pendence, when I sailed in her. I
know'd him at onct.'
“ `Well, who was he, Jack?' inquired the other.
“ `Why, you see, it was a luff what had a love for more money
than came to him in a regular way through the purser's fingers.
There wasn't an officer aboard after we left Callao, where all hands
was paid in gold, what didn't lose some of it afore we got to Rio. It
was plain there was a thief aboard. At least two thousand dollars
in gold pieces had been stole from one or the other of the officers.
So they made a fired muss about it, and after we dropped anchor in
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[figure description] Page 019.[end figure description]
Rio, a general search was made. The bird was found. The same
man I saw coming out of Blinker's was the chap!'
“ `What did they do with him?' asked the other.
“ `Why, for the credit o' the sarvice, after he had giv' it all up,
they let him just quietly resign, coz it didn't look well to have an
American officer court-martialed for stealing money. Well, he quit
the service at Rio as dead as a herrin'. We left him there, and I
han't seen him since, till to-day.'
“ `And how do you know he is captain of the schooner?' demanded
his friend.
“ `Why, I shouldn't ha' known, but just as I was looking after him,
wonderin' whose gold he found to line his pockets with now, I seed
a man with the Colombian button, who was passing, touch him on
the shoulder, and the two together walked back into Blinker's. Says
I, I'll see what this is to come to, for I had nothing to do but look
about me and get what fun was going. I went in ater 'em. They
goes in back of the tap, and I, bold like, goes up to Blinker, and says
I to One-eye, “That's the captain o' the schooner with the button,
ant it?” “No,” says he, “not he with the button, he's on'y a luff.”
“Then the other's the captain,” says I. “Oh, no, not he,” he stammered.
“Well, if you have any interest in the Colombian service,”
says I, “just tell that officer with the button to have nothing to do
with the white hat!” At this Blinker laughed and winked his one
eye, and I then could have sworn he meant by it that he was the
captain himself. So I put it hard to him, and at last, when he found
I stuck to it, he made me swear to be silent, and then told me he
was! So you see the Colombian service has much honor, Jack!' ”
“You report conversations with great accuracy, sir,” said Captain
Lightfoot, with a slight tone of irony. “Did you hear any more in
my praise?”
“I heard nothing of moment, as they finished their glasses and
rose to leave. But what I heard gave me sufficient knowledge of
your true position, and led me to make a confidant of you, and unite
my destiny with your's. You will pardon my speaking so plainly as
I have done just now, but it is best we should understand one another.
I am, as I said, an outlaw. I am flying from the laws of my native
land. At this moment the officers of justice are in full cry in
pursuit of me. I wish to join your vessel in the character of an
officer. I have been two voyages to sea as a supercargo, during
which I made myself a seaman and complete master of navigation.
Will you accept of me and my services?”
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“I do not know whether to trust you or not. I suspect you are a
spy, to treat you plainly. I believe you have some motive deeper than
meets my eye in coming to me. You do not look like a reckless adventurer.
I am in want of another faithful lieutenant. The person I
hoped to engage as my first officer has declined to-day. But I cannot
engage with you, unless I know who you are, and why you seek
this service. With reference to myself you have heard the truth. I
was a gambler, and losses tempted me to take the gold of my fellow
officers. I intended to restore it ere it should be missed. The idea
of theft was degrading to my mind even in thought; for I have possessed
high and honorable feelings. But gaming, like the poisonous
Upas, tainted the whole moral atmosphere of my soul. It dulled the
nice sense of honor which is the helm to every man's bosom. It
caused me to be blind to the heinousness of my own act. I stole, and
was detected, and became infamous. I could have destroyed myself,
but love of life held my hand. I found myself on shore at Rio, a
stranger, moneyless, friendless, degraded. Every man knew my
story, and everywhere the finger of scorn was pointed at me. I was
glad to take refuge on board the first vessel that offered. I shipped
as a common sailor in a Brazillian brig, bound to Pernambuco.
After various adventures I found myself in Colombia. The Revolution
was just commencing. The enemy had the day before my arrival,
taken possession of their only frigate and anchored her outside of
the bar a league from the town. I conceived the idea of getting possession
of her. I asked of the Commandant a boat and thirty-five
volunteers. I obtained them. Fortune favored me. I boarded the
frigate, cut her cables, made sail on her, and took her back into port
and safely anchored her under the guns of the fortress. For this act
I was made a Captain in the Colombian navy, and the charge of the
frigate given to me; being in one day promoted from a mere adventurer,
a common sailor, to rank, consideration and influence. I was
successful in several subsequent engagements, till my pilot lost my
frigate, by grounding her upon a ledge. To prevent the enemy from
getting possession of her, I set fire to her and burned her to the water's
edge.
“I was then commissioned to visit the United States, and purchase
four vessels for the service. Three of them have already gone out,
and the fourth lies now in the harbor. She was built at Bath, on the
Kennebec, where the finest ships in the world are now constructed.
I have shipped all my men, and to-morrow night, or the next day, I
shall weigh, and put to sea. Now you know all about me. You
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see why I do not care to appear in public. In Colombia I am a
man of honor, here I am infamous! Now what have you to unfold
touching yourself. It is best, if we sail together, that we know one
another!”
“I am gratified to find that you are not altogether the reckless and
unprincipled person, that the conversation which I overheard, led me
to suspect. Nevertheless, I was not and am not in a situation to
choose. Were you anything less than a pirate, I must have the refuge
and security your vessel can give me!”
“And suppose I were a pirate?” asked the other with a smile.
“Our interview would of course end here!” responded the young
man promptly, “I am ready to enter the Colombian service, but I am
not a buccanier!”
“Nor am I; I did but venture the question.”
“It was an unnecessary one.”
“You say you have fled from justice to me!”
“Yes, but I am not a criminal in my own eyes. What I have done
was an act of irresistible necessity. I do not feel myself guilty or degraded.
I grieve at it, but my soul is free from stain!”
“Then why do you fly? Nay, why do you call yourself an outlaw?
You seem to use words without meaning!”
“Hear my story, and then judge,” said the young man, bitterly.
“I am an only son. My father was a merchant in this city, of wealth
and consideration. I loved him with the strongest filial affection.
From my youth he indulged me in every wish of my heart. When I
became of sufficient age, he took me into his counting-room, after having
by a thorough mercantile education, fitted me for its duties. Here
I soon became familiar with all his business, and was his chief confidant
in his financial operations. My father was a very proud and sensitive
man. He feared the whispers of the world more than the voice
of God. To him all human honor lay in commercial integrity. To
fail to meet a note was in his mind irreparable dishonor. A breath
against his credit would have destroyed his peace and driven him to
madness.
“He was rich, and prosperous. He owned ships and houses.
Wealth and honors crowded thick upon him. But when the sun
gains the meridian he begins to go downward. So it is with men.
So it was with my father. His freighted ships came into port no
more. Fires laid waste his houses in the city. Stocks fell and became
worthless. Yet, withal, to my surprise, my father's business
remained firm. His notes were duly met, his engagements all
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[figure description] Page 022.[end figure description]
punctually fulfilled. How this was done I knew not at the time. He
withdrew his confidence from me. He never smiled. He was much
alone. He seemed wretched, yet tried to conceal his feelings from
me. He sent ships to sea again, he built houses, he purchased stocks.
I was amazed, but at length the truth was revealed. My father had
sustained himself, saved his `honor' as a merchant, by blasting his
honor as a man. He had committed enormous forgeries to save his
house from `failing,' a word more terrible to a merchant's ears
than death!”
“How did you learn this fact?” asked the Colombian Captain, who
had listened with deep interest to the impassioned, rapid narrative
which his visiter gave of his father's acts.
“From his own lips. The crisis was reached beyond which there
could be no further advance. The accumulated forgeries he had
committed hung over him like a full-charged cloud, ready to pour
their fury upon his head. He told me all that he had done. He told
that twelve hours would place him in the eyes of the world a criminal.
He then said he had not the courage to live and meet the stroke he
had levelled at him-self, and should take his life that night by his
own hands!”
Here the young man paused, overcome by the intensity of his emotions.
The Colombian officer, in the meanwhile, rose and lighting a
segar at a lamp upon the mantel, resumed his seat and calmly waited
for his guest to proceed in his narrative.
-- 023 --
CHAPTER FOURTH.
IN WHICH THE HERO CONTINUES HIS NARRATIVE, AND UNFOLDS TO THE
CAPTAIN THE WHOLE OF THE HISTORY OF HIS CRIME.
[figure description] Page 023.[end figure description]
THE young man, after a short interval of silence, then resumed
his history:
“The communication, made me by my father, at first overwhelmed
me. I felt, however, the necessity of firmness and self-possession.
As calmly as I could, I inquired of him a detail of the facts. I
learned from him that the forgeries amounted to no less than sixty-four
thousand dollars, and that they were all uttered in the name of one
gentleman, a very rich merchant, who had three years before retired
from business, and who was my father's personal friend. It was my
father's intimacy with him, indeed, that afforded him the facilities of
which he had so madly availed himself.
“Having heard all that he had to say, I deliberated as to the course
to be pursued; not only for the preservation of my father's good
name before the world, on which mine also hung suspended, but for
the safety of his life; for he was firmly bent on self-destruction;
talking of it with desperate calmness. At length I made up my mind.
I entreated my father to give me six hours to attempt to save him.
He promised it to me. I left him, and hastened to the residence of the
gentleman whose name my misguided parent had made such criminal
use of. It was about ten o'clock at night. I was admitted after
sending in my name. I found him in his dressing gown and slippers
just about retiring to bed. He received me kindly; for I had always
been a favorite with him, but with a look of surprise and inquiry.
After a few moments conversation upon indifferent subjects, during
which I was torturing my mind for some mode to break the painful
subject to him, so as not in the outset to alarm his fears and rouse his
anger. Every thing, I felt, depended on getting at his kindlier feellings
in the outset.
“ `You seem to have something on your mind,' he said, kindly.
`Speak freely.'
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[figure description] Page 024.[end figure description]
“I then began to unfold to him my father's acts. I spoke of him
first as a merchant of probity and honor. I alluded to his prosperity
and influence. I then reverted to his losses and his disappointments.
I then boldly told him how that, tempted in an evil hour, he had used
a name fraudulently, and how that, from once using it, he had taken
it many times; and that, on the faith and probity of that name, he had
the last two years sustained himself in business, and maintained outwardly
unimpeached his mercantile honor. I concluded by saying
that a crisis had arrived when exposure must follow, and that my
father had resolved to take his own life rather than endure the scorn
and infamy that awaited him.
“ `And now, sir,' I added, `I have come here to throw myself and
my poor father upon your mercy. You alone can save him!'
“ `I! How? What can I do?' he cried, after his first emotions of
surprise had passed.
“ `You only can do it. It is your name, sir, he has forged;' I answered
as firmly as I could articulate.
“ `My name!' he exclaimed, turning as pale as ashes; and then
instantly becoming the hue of crimson, while his eyes flashed fire.
“ `Yes, sir,' I answered. `I repeat it with grief and shame. There
is no alternative but your mercy. To-morrow, as the bank, where
you deposit, winds up its concerns, and you, of course, transfer your
funds to another, the discovery of the large deficiency must of necessity
be made known to you. Sir,' I cried, `you can save my father's
honor and his life. Spare his grey hairs! Spare me the ignominy that
I must inherit from him if he is exposed.'
“ `Silence, young man,' he commanded sternly. `You plead to me
in vain in your guilty father's behalf. He has done what can never
be forgiven. He has taken advantage of my friendship and confidence
to rob me. He has wormed out of me the knowledge of all my
money affairs to avail himself of it in uttering forged paper with my
name. I dare say my credit and good name has suffered through this
public use of it. It has been hawked in the streets for sale I have no
doubt. You are as guilty as he is. You must have known of it all;
and now, when judgment knocks at the door, you fly to me for protection
from the punishment due to your crimes. Not a word. Your
father has placed himself beyond the pale of my pity or mercy.'
“As he spoke he became so excited that he rose and paced the room
violently. All at once he seized the bell-handle; I divined his purpose,
and springing forward arrested his hand.
“ `Sir, do not, I implore you, take the step you meditate! Do not
-- 025 --
[figure description] Page 025.[end figure description]
deliver my father up into the hands of the law, or what is worse,
drive him to self-murder.'
“ `Do you dare to prevent me from ringing my own bell in my own
house?' he demanded. `Let go my hand, sirrah!'
“ `Not until you promise that you will spare my father,' I cried, in
desperate grief. `I assure you he is penitent. If you will spare him,
I will devote my life to restoring to the bank that he has taken! You
lose it not, sir! The bank is the sufferer; why should you seek revenge?
'
“ `I am the sufferer in this free use of my name—a name that never
yet had a stain upon it. No, sir, your father must drink the cup he
has mixed; and if you are like guilty with him, you must drink it
also! Stand aside.'
“ `What would you do?' I asked, pale and trembling with resentment.
“ `I would call my servants, first to detain you as a partner in guilt
with your base father, and then to despatch officers to secure him,
ere he escapes earthly justice by suicide!'
“ `Then,' cried I fiercely, (for grief, despair, and a hundred tumultous
feelings had almost maddened me,) `then you shall not have
your revengeful desire! My father shall not perish, in honor, in body
and in soul, to gratify your resentment!'
“As I spoke, I took a knife from my pocket, and severing the bellcord
high above his reach, cast it at his feet. I then stood before
him with an air of haughty defiance. He gazed upon me for a moment,
as if he could not believe his own senses; and then springing
upon me, grasped me by the throat. He was a strong, athletic man,
though upwards of fifty-five. His attack was so sudden, that I was
hurled to the ground before I could present any resistance. He was
placing his knee upon my breast, when by a powerful effort, I cast
him off, and leaped to my feet. He rose with me. A desperate
struggle took place, he endeavoring to secure my arms, I making
every exertion to release myself, and baffle his intentions. A second
time he grasped my throat. It was the grasp of a vice. I grew
dizzy, I felt my powers failing. My knife was still open in my hand.
“ `Release me,' I gasped, `or I will kill you!'
“He replied by pressing my throat more closely with his clenched
hand. I struck the knife into his bosom, and with a cry of pain and
terror, he let go his hold, staggered back, and would have fallen headlong
to the floor, but for my arm. I caught him and arrested his fall.
The sight of the flowing blood filled me with horror and agony
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[figure description] Page 026.[end figure description]
inconceivable only to the murderer, who beholds his victim dying beneath
his hand. I placed him upon a sofa, and would have staunched the
blood, forgetful of my own danger; for voices were at the door, and
it was shaken by heavy blows. The noise of the struggle had brought
the household to the scene. But the door was locked. I had turned
the key as soon as I had cut the bell-rope, to prevent him from opening
and giving the alarm. The loud appeals and knocks for admission,
recalled me to a lively sense of my own danger. I laid my
hand upon the heart. It seemed to be still. I removed it to the
brow. It was cold and clammy. I felt I could do no more—that
death had affixed upon the mortal clay his seal! A window was
near me. I threw it up, and sprung forth heedless where I alighted.
I reached the street, and my father's house. I found him walking his
chamber, awaiting my return. I must have presented before his eyes
a fearful spectacle with my wild eye, pale face, and disordered, bloodstained
garb, for he shrieked when I entered, and fled from me! I
addressed him in a voice that did not sound to my ears like my own.
I told him what I had done! all I had done. I then laughed loud and
merrily, and said to him that he might now live and be happy, for his
accuser was no more.
“My father regarded me when I had done speaking, with a look that
will never be forgotten by me while life lasts. It was a look of stony
despair, of horror, guilt and remorse. He spoke not, he moved
neither muscle nor eye-lid. The color of the life blood went out
from his countenance as sunlight flies before a shadow. He gazed
and gazed on, and I stood transfixed, returning his look with freezing
veins. As I looked the eye became more and more stony, and the
cheek and forehead more and more livid, the whole frame of the man
more and more rigid and immoveable. I stood beholding him with
dread and fear creeping upon my soul, as if I were gazing upon one
up-risen from among buried dead. At length I could endure the
sight no longer. I approached him and took his hand in mine. It
fell from my grasp powerless, nerveless. It was cold as a hand of
marble. It was a dead man's hand! My father had died there where
he stood! Oh, what a fearful spectacle for mortal eyes, and the eyes of
a son! I—but I will not dwell upon it! I did not approach him again,
I dared not! I fled from the room, leaving the horrible statue standing
there! I locked the door behind me, and fled from the house.
Whither I went, I have no distinct recollection. I have some faint
idea that I haunted the outside of the house of the murdered merchant,
like a restless ghost; I remember being upon the Common,
-- 027 --
[figure description] Page 027.[end figure description]
and gazing upon the open skies and far off stars with a feeling of despair,
that the quiet of the heavens always deepens in the bosoms of
the wretched. At dawn I retraced my steps to my father's house. I
entered, and passing to my room, threw myself upon my bed and
slept. I awoke at noon. A noise at the street door awaked me. I
looked out of the window, and saw the officers of justice! I knew
they had come to apprehend me for the murder, for I remembered
that I had left my hat in the room where I had struggled with the
merchant. My first impulse was to deliver myself up. My next
was a desire of self-preservation! I felt I was not a murderer in my
heart. I felt I was not so guilty as the world would make me! I
shrunk from being arraigned as a criminal. I threw on my cloak
and cap—I took gold from my desk, and then by a private way escaped
from the house. I sought an obscure retreat. Here I had
time to deliberate and decide upon some course of action for the
future—though dark, full dark seemed all the future to me, and
scarcely worth the trouble of making any resolutions about. I at
length recollected your vessel, and that as it would sail soon, it would
afford me an asylum; and I reflected that I might in another land
find life, which I now so loathed, endurable. I therefore sought you
out; and as night set in, I visited your schooner under a disguise
that sufficiently protected me. I have found you here! You now
know why I have sought you. It remains now for you to say
whether you will give me a position in your vessel or not!”
“This is certainly a very extraordinary story,” said the Colombian
officer, who had listened throughout with the most absorbed attention.
“You are in truth to be commiserated. I am your friend in your
present strait, and will give you the berth you desire. I should,
however, recommend you to keep very close. Your cloak and cap
are not sufficient safe-guard. They may hide your features, but the
very fact of hiding them will expose you to suspicion in the minds of
the vigilant police. If men could wear veils like the other sex, then
you might walk the streets at all hours in perfect security; but as
this fashion is, unfortunately for us, not in vogue, you had best either
remain here until I sail, or else on board the schooner!”
“I will remain here, as the schooner may be searched.”
“That is likely, as our Colombian vessels are not much in credit
here. These rooms are at your service. Keep them closely. Tomorrow
I shall have my furniture removed again on board ship, and
take you on board at the same time. What you see here is a part
of my cabin furnishing, which I had brought on shore to make my
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[figure description] Page 028.[end figure description]
quarters feel home-like! You see I am somewhat addicted to luxurious
comfort. I will get you to-morrow the uniform the officer
whose place you take was to have. I will also pick up what news
I hear that may interest yourself, touching this unfortunate affair.
Now, if you will give me your name, my dear friend?”
“Field Faulcon! It is in every man's mouth ere now as that of a
murderer,” added the young man, bitterly.
“You did the act fairly in self-defence. Let that comfort you.
Now take a segar. It is a universal soother! We will smoke and
talk of pleasanter things.”
Thus speaking, he handed Faulcon a segar, but instead of lighting
it he took up the miniature and began to regard it closely.
-- 029 --
CHAPTER FIFTH.
CONTAINING SOME ACCOUNT OF THE TWO HEROES IN THEIR MORE SOCIAL RELATION;
WITH SOME HINTS AT A RIVALRY.—THE WING OF THE WIND
TAKES HER DEPARTURE SOMEWHAT ABRUPTLY.
[figure description] Page 029.[end figure description]
“THAT miniature seems to fix your attention, Mr. Faulcon!
Have you seen any one that it resembles?” asked Lightfoot,
after surveying him for a few moments in silence.
“I was about to ask you for whom it was taken?” asked Faulcon,
earnestly looking up.
“A fair girl whom I once loved, but who has cast me off when the
rest of the world did!”
“It cannot be that you have ever known and loved Alice Ashley?”
said Field, with a slight tremor of the lip, and a darkening expression
in his eyes.
Lightfoot made no reply. He did not change a muscle of his
well-schooled features. He saw at a glance that Faulcon had known
and he suspected had loved the original. His policy dictated to him
secrecy; for if his suspicions were true, his new officer and himself
would on the instant be foes instead of friends. He wished also to
draw his secret from him. At length he said in a light way:
“Who is Alice Ashley? Do you know a person of that name that
this resembles?”
“She is a fair maiden whom I have long felt a strong attachment
to. This miniature is a wondrous likeness of her. Yet it may be
mere accident—nay, it must be!”
“The faces of the beautiful have more or less similitude to one
another. The picture is a little pastime of my leisure hours, and
taken from memory. You will excuse me if I withhold the name!”
“I have no curiosity,” answered Field, not a little relieved at the
removal of his suspicions.
“Who is Miss Ashley? It seems to me I have heard the name!”
“She is the daughter of an eminent lawyer and judge, who now
resides not far from New Haven in a very elegant villa which he
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[figure description] Page 030.[end figure description]
has recently erected there. He formerly resided in Boston, where
he acquired his fortune and honors. It was here I met with her,
and formed for her a very strong attachment. But some freak of
the heart, I know not from what cause, if any, she all at once grew
cold towards me. In vain I asked her the reason of her altered
manner—in vain I solicited her forgiveness if I had given her offence.
Her only reply was that I had not offended her. Her manner chilled
me, and I at length ceased to seek her presence, in which I only
found myself wretched from her cold indifference. Thus we gradually
grew estranged, and then she removed to her father's new abode
on the Sound, and I have not since beheld her. This miniature is a
striking resemblance to her; and when I first took it up, I was not a
little moved, for I suspected I had discovered the secret of her
estrangement to me!”
“I should like very much to see one who is so like this picture,”
answered Lightfoot, carelessly. “But you will now excuse me. I
have to see about getting my men aboard. Why do you regard me
so closely? Do you see any likeness in me to any of your friends?”
inquired the captain, with a smile.
“I at first thought, when you entered, that it was to the miniature
of yourself I had been looking at I discovered the familiar look which
puzzled me; but now I am satisfied that it is to the young seaman,
he who styled himself so facetiously `The Mild Segar!' Your air,
voice and manner are his!”
“They ought to be, for I and `The Mild Segar' are one and the
same person!”
“Then the riddle is solved. I recognise it to be so now very
clearly; but your different costume deceived me, as well as your
superior tone of address. This is an odd conceit!”
“I have assumed the character in which you first beheld me to be
enabled to choose and pick my own crew. I wished to ship them
myself, and I could not effect my object in my known rank as captain;
and besides I did not care to be known openly, for I have too
much pride to meet men who have known me as an officer, and see
and feel their looks of contempt!”
“Then none of your crew are aware that `Mild Segar' is their
captain?”
“Not one of them. They only look upon me as a merry, reckless
rogue, hail-fellow with them, and in full confidence with `the captain.'
When I get on board and off soundings, they will then know who I
am!”
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[figure description] Page 031.[end figure description]
“Won't the discovery weaken your authority?”
“On the contrary it will strengthen it. To a sailor no officer is
more feared and respected than the one with whom they may have
been placed, by accident, for a time on a free and familiar footing.
Besides I know all their characters and peccadilloes, which they
have freely shown me, and they will feel that I know them—that I
possess a knowledge which is power! I must now go and see the
lads I left at their revels, and have them packed away to-night ready
for being sent on board in the morning. Blinker will see that they
are safely cared for. He is my confidant, and an invaluable aid he
is to me in getting my crew. He was once a man-o'-war's man,
and I did him a service, in saving his back from the cat, that he has
never forgotten. He is a great villain, but is to me as faithful as a
hound. Now, good night, for a time. Here is a sofa, if you care to
seek forgetfulness of the exciting events of the day in sleep!”
With these words he left the room, and shortly reappearing in his
costume of a sailor, returned to the subterranean hall he had left an
hour before. Faulcon cast himself upon the sofa, but not to sleep.
His mind was active. His thoughts were painful and deeply agitated.
His memory run over rapidly the events of the day. He beheld
again the murdered merchant lying at his feet, whom he tried
to convince himself he had slain in self-defence; and again the horrible
form of his ghostly father stood before his appalled gaze. He
found himself all at once—by a sudden stroke—the son of a forger—
and a murderer! All his prospects in life were blasted as if by
lightning. In one day he had become an outlaw—a felon hunted by
the officers of justice! He groaned in despair. Death seemed to
him a relief from his condition of anguish. He sprung to his feet
with a cry of despair and wild grief. He paced the room in distress
of mind inconceivable by any one less wretched than he was. At
length, wearied with this intense mental excitement, he once more
threw his feverish frame upon the sofa, and by-and-bye slept.
He was awaked in the morning by the hand of the captain laid
with a light touch upon his arm.
“Come, my friend, it is time we were abroad ship. I have ordered
a coach, in which you will reach the pier in security. I have had
news this morning, which determines me to get under-weigh with
the first tide, which will be by twelve o'clock. My men are all on
board, and, as you see, all my furniture, save the sofa you lie on, which
I shall leave behind!”
Faulcon rose to his feet. The day was far advanced. He stood
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a few seconds inert and lost. But a moment's reflection brought
back to his wretched mind all the scenes of the day before, and reminded
him that he was an outlaw. He shuddered at the recollection,
and became pale.
“You are too sensitive, man. Take this tumbler of brandy. You
need it to quiet your nerves! What! you never drink strong waters!
Then so much the better. I wish I had never learned; but now I
can't do without them!”
“I shall be calmer soon. Is the coach ready?”
“Yes!”
“Then I am!” He passed his hand two or three times across his
brow, as if under strong mental suffering, and then staggered towards
the door. He felt his weakness, and making an effort to control his
feelings, succeeded in doing so. He walked to the coach with a firm
step.
“Keep your face hid, Faulcon!” said the captain, warningly.
“Yes, I quite forgot the necessity of disguising myself,” answered
the wretched young man; wretched not only because he had, as believed,
slain a fellow being, but from having lost name and character,
both of which had been so dear to him.
They entered the carriage together, and drove to the dock. Here
they alighted. Lightfoot was dressed as a citizen, in a blue coat and
white west; while Faulcon was wrapped in his cloak with his cloth
cap drawn down over his eyes. The cutter from the schooner was
in waiting, with a coxswain and four men at their oars. As Faulcon
stepped into the boat, and Lightfoot prepared to follow, with the
words “shove off,” upon his lips, a man touched his arm. He turned
to see who it was, and beheld a stout person in a thick box coat, and
carrying a large heavy cane.
“Who is the gentleman in the boat?” asked the man with a certain
bold, inquisitive air.
“He is my friend—an invalid!”
“I should like to see his face!”
“You would, hey?” answered Lightfoot, giving the boat a strong
push with his foot, and leaping into it. “Let fall, and give way,
men! Lively, lively?” he called.
The oarsmen bent to their oars with a good will, and impelled the
cutter many fathoms from the stairs. The man whom he had eluded,
and who was an officer of the police, immediately shouted for a boat
to pursue, at the same time calling on the persons around to embark
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with him, and aid in the capture of a murderer; for he said that the
man in the cloak must be Faulcon, and no one else.
The officer was delayed full five minutes before he could obtain
and man a boat, when he put off with three other police officers, who
had come to his aid. Lightfoot, when within hailing distance of the
schooner, stood up in the stern of the boat, and gave orders to his
lieutenant on board, to loose the topsails and jib, and slip the cable
without delay. When he reached the gangway, part of the men
were already aloft, casting the sails loose from the yards, and others
had manned the jib-halyards. Lightfoot sprung upon deck, and with
his voice, cheered the men to active exertions. The police-boat in
the meanwhile, pulled steadily for the schooner, and coming near,
hailed.
“What do you desire?” answered Lightfoot, looking over the
quarter railing.
“The surrender of the man in the cloak, who is a murderer!”
“Come and take him; but I caution you beforehand, for my men
are about to throw cold shot over the side, and if any of them should
stave the bottom of your boat through, you must not blame me!”
“You are no better than a pirate,” answered the police officer with
terrible anger. “If I can't get my man, I know who can! In less
than half an hour you shall have a brig-of-war after you!”
“Give my compliments to her commander,” responded Lightfoot,
gaily, “and tell him I should like to have him come and dine with me—
if he can catch me!”
The police officer, after replying by a round volley of oaths, gave
orders to his men to pull in the direction of the Charlestown Navy
Yard, where rode at anchor the gun-brig Boxer, all ready for sea.
“This fellow will give us trouble, after all. You see now, Mr.
Faulcon, I am your friend. I could have given you up. I must lose
my cable and anchor to save you now. I may have to risk a battle
also, for the Boxer is a fast sailer as the wind now is, NN. W. But
you need not apprehend being taken. My beautiful Wing of the
Wind will out-sail any thing that floats. There, we are in motion.
See the top-sails begin to feel the wind, and swell like balloons! Hear
the singing about her bows, and the gurgle under her counter. We
have steerage way on her now, and can laugh at the Boxer!”
The police-boat pulled swiftly towards the gun-brig. Her course
was watched with interest by the Colombian captain and Faulcon.
They saw her reach the vessel and board her. In a few seconds afterwards,
the shrill piping of the boatswain's whistle broke upon their
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ears across the water. The top-sails in a few moments opened to
the breeze, and in ten minutes the brig-of-war was standing on after
the schooner with top-gallantsails set.
The Wing of the Wind had, however, got down as far as the Castle,
when the Boxer got under-weigh, and had full two miles the advantage
of her. The schooner passed the Castle under full sail, with
the Colombian flag flying, and in half an hour after slipping her cable,
was below the islands, and lightly dancing to the undulations of the
ocean billows. The brig cracked on after her with royals aloft, and
and studden-sails abeam, before a seven-knot nor-wester, and when
last visible, outside “the Lower Light,” seemed to be fast gaining on
the chase.
-- 035 --
PART SECOND. AT SEA.
[figure description] Page 035.[end figure description]
“Once more upon the sea,
Our stately vessel bounds away.”
CHAPTER SIXTH.
IT TAKES UP THE NARRATIVE AFTER A YEAR'S ELAPSE IN OTHER SEAS, AND
SHOWS WHAT EVENTS HAVE TRANSPIRED, WITH THEIR BEARING UPON THE
PROGRESS OF THE STORY.
A YEAR has passed away, checquered with varied and exciting
scenes, since the events transpired which are recorded in the
preceding chapters of this tale. The schooner had effectually
baffled the pursuing gun-brig by her superior sailing, and before night
had left her so far astern as to show only her topsails above the
horizon. The ensuing morning, the “Wing of the Wind” had before
her and around her only the wide blue ocean and the arching skies.
She steered a southerly course for many days, and after a quick
passage reached her destination. Here the captain once more
mingled in the strife of battle, and gained many signal victories.
Faulcon, who soon became a skilful sailor, was with him in all his
battles as his first lieutenant, and contributed not a little, by his
prowess, in achieving the brilliant successes that distinguished the
cruises of “The Wing of the Wind.”
At length the war ended, and the navy was ordered to be laid up.
On the day this command was issued, Lightfoot returned to port with
a valuable prize. The authorities went on board to take possession,
when he demanded to be paid for his services and those of his crew
during the war.
“Gentlemen,” said he, “I have long and faithfully served you in
your struggle for independence. You have achieved it. I have
asked you for none of the pay due me. You owe me more than
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twenty thousand dollars. Pay me and I will surrender my prize.
Refuse, and I shall appropriate its specie to my own use!”
The agents of the constitutional government, surprised at this bold
position assumed by the American adventurer, returned to the shore
and made their report. It was received by the authorities with
indignation, and a message was at once despatched to the rebellious
captain, at once to surrender his prize and the command of his
schooner, and appear before them on shore, or he should be fired
into from the batteries, within point blank shot of which the schooner
and her prize lay.
Lightfoot smiled scornfully at this summons, and ordering the
messenger to be put in irons, commanded his men to proceed and
convey the specie, of which there were twenty-one kegs in silver
Spanish pesos, from the prize into the schooner. While this was
doing, he gave orders to have everything in readiness to slip to sea
at a moment's notice.
The detention of their messenger led the authorities to suspect
some foul play, and taking a position upon the battlements of the
fortress, where they could see down into the vessels, they were
enabled, by the aid of spy-glasses, to comprehend all that was going
forward.
“They seem to be watching us closely, Faulcon,” said Lightfoot,
after regarding them a few moments. “Their guns will soon begin
to bark!”
“You are playing a bold part, Lightfoot,” answered Faulcon,
gravely. “I am not desirous of bringing their fire upon us, or engaging
in a quarrel with the government. We shall lose all our
laurels and honors acquired the past year. I am inclined to pacific
measures. The government will pay you in good time. Let us at
once yield, and place affairs on their former amicable footing!”
“I am in no humor to be insulted and dictated to by these proud
and vain Colombian patriots. They make us their tools, and then
cast us off when the war has ended. If I surrender the prize, I shall
next have to surrender the schooner. I shall be turned ashore without
vessel or money, and have my way to make up again into the
world. No, Faulcon, while we have a deck beneath our feet let us
hold it. It is my intention, as soon as the last keg of dollars is placed
in the schooner, to set the crew of prisoners ashore in their own
boats, then weigh anchor and run away with the schooner, as a part
of the debt due to me!”
“You will at once place yourself in the position of a pirate! The
government will proclaim you such to the world!”
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“Let it! What is in a name. It will not make me a pirate unless
I choose to capture under the flag!”
“I am not satisfied with this course you contemplate. If you are
going to leave the harbor, I will resign my rank and quit the
schooner!”
“I will not accept it, my dear fellow. You are too sensitive in
little points. But hear that! We have no time to discuss the matter
now. Wait till we get into blue water!”
As he spoke, a shot, the flash of which had been seen by Lightfoot,
who had been all the while closely watching the battery, whizzed
above their heads, and buried itself in the main-mast of the Spanish
ship, that lay alongside of the Wing of the Wind. As the anchor
was already hove short, it was soon free from the bottom, while as
if by magic, the schooner was enveloped in a cloud of canvass. The
lashings which confined her to her prize, were at the same instant
severed, and gracefully doubling her bows, she flung a flowing sheet
broad to the wind, and glided out from the harbor. The fire of the
batteries was tremendous. The shot flew thickly around her, and
passed through her sails, but she held steadily on her course without
firing a gun.
“They are poor marksmen, and have bad powder, these Colombians,”
said Lightfoot, laughing: “well, they can't say but they have
done their best to stop me. That last shot fell short a hundred
fathom; they can't do any thing more. We have fairly escaped
them. I fear that slow match, Westwood,” he added, turning to his
second lieutenant, “must have gone out. Are you sure you left it
alight?”
“Yes,” answered the officer, “and laid the train with my own
hand!”
“Yes, there rises the smoke through her hatches. See the flame
leap up after it. Now, my good friends ashore, you have not only
lost your beautiful Wing of the Wind, your Ala del Viento, but the
Spanish prize-ship!”
While he was speaking, the prize from which they were about a
mile distant, became enveloped in smoke and flames. Red tongues
of fire climbed the rigging, and entwined themselves about the yards,
and gaining the main-royal mast-head, leaped fiercely into the sky
like serpents. Several boats which had put off from the shore on
the first appearance of the smoke issuing from the hold, now lay at a
distance, the occupants appalled and gazing upon the work of ruin
they could no longer hope to arrest.
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Suddenly the flames were put out by dense volumes of black smoke
that rolled upward from the deck, like clouds from the crater of a
volcano. It was followed by a loud report like the explosion of a
thunder-bolt, and flaming spars and fiery fragments in hosts, mingled
with showers of spars and burning cinders, were discharged hundreds
of feet into the air. The sound of the falling missiles fell upon
the ears of those on board the schooner like the rushing noise of a
hurricane sweeping along the sea. Then all was still. A huge murkey
wreath of brown smoke floating slowly away from the scene,
casting beneath upon the water a shadow like night, alone remained as a
memento of that work of destruction. Where the ship had a few moments
before rode proudly in all the bravery of her towering masts, was only
the waveless surface of the harbor dotted here and there by a charred
fragment of the wreck of fire.
The faces of all on board the schooner were made grave by the sublimity
of the scene they had witnessed. Lightfoot was silent and thoughtful
for several moments afterwards; for the spectacle of a noble structure
falling into ruin, fills the soul of the most inconsiderate with sadness—it
so startling and eloquently points human nature to its own end.
“That was a brave and yet melancholy sight,” said Lightfoot, at length
speaking and addressing his lieutenant.
“Yes, and I think the Colombians should thank you for getting up for
them such a grand exhibition of fire-works,” answered Westwood.
“They would have been better satisfied, doubtless, if it had been in the
night,” answered Lightfoot in a gay tone. “But let it pass. We are
once more upon the open sea, and this time in a vessel of our own, that
owes no allegiance to any flag!”
“Do you douse the Colombian?”
“I have hardly decided whether to keep it flying where it is, or take
some fancy flag of my own.”
“But what is to be done with Mr. Faulcon, sir?” inquired Westwood
in an under tone. “He never will consent to sail with you under a free
flag!”
“I will look after him. I command my own vessel. I shall talk with
him by-and-by, after he gets a little calmed down. No, as you say, he is
rather too particular, especially since he heard not long ago, that the merchant
whom he believed he had murdered, was not dead, but had recovered
from his wounds. This news at once made a new man of him!”
“Yes, I saw it did plainly. He is as cheerful now as he was before
gloomy! Well, it is natural a man should feel better when he finds he
is not a murderer after all!”
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“Yes, and this knowledge has made Faulcon too virtuous for me!”
“You had better have let him gone ashore when he wished to!”
“It was because he wished to, that I would not let him. It vexed me
to see him show a feather so much higher than mine. Besides, I think I
can prevail on him to remain with me. He is a good officer, and has the
bravery of a lion. He is too valuable a person for me to part with
easily!”
“Well, you may succeed, but I doubt it. What are you to do
with this Spanish gentleman and his beautiful daughter in the
cabin?”
“I hardly know. But that does not concern you. I shall look
after my prisoners!”
“It is likely the old man would ransom himself at a round price!”
“I shall see to him, Lieutenant Westwood. Attend to the duties
of the ship!”
The lieutenant went forward with the careless air of a good-natured
bluff rogue, who cared no more for sharp words than for a sharp nor-wester,
while Lightfoot, after looking around and taking a glance at
the compass, and giving an order or two, descended into the cabin.
He opened the door of a state-room on the starboard side, in which
sat Faulcon upon a chest, and heavily ironed.
Before explaining this circumstance, we will return again to the
moment when the schooner was getting underweigh to run from the
harbor, and when Faulcon refused to remain on board and share in
her piratical departure. Having tendered his resignation, which
Lightfoot refused to accept, Faulcon was about to reply and repeat
his resolution not to stay on board, when the firing from the battery
called Lightfoot's attention. Faulcon, without a word to him, sprung
into the stern boat, and began to let it down at one end, while a man
whom he called to sprung to the other fall. The creaking of the
davit-blocks caught the ear of the captain, who immediately discovered
the attempted flight of his first officer. With an eye that
literally blazed with anger, he sprung aft to the taffrail, and leveling
a pistol at the head of the seaman at the bow fall, he ordered him on
peril of his life to hoist again. At the same moment he directed
three or four men who were near to spring into the boat and arrest
Faulcon.
The boat had by this time descended within reach of the water,
and as Faulcon stood in the stern, letting the rope glide through his
hands, he saw suddenly appear at the cabin windows, which he was
so near that he could both touch them and look into them, a young
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[figure description] Page 040.[end figure description]
and wondrously beautiful maiden, who had been taken prisoner in
the Spanish ship, and whom, with her father, Lightfoot had placed,
after the capture, in his own cabin. Her face expressed alarm and
eager solicitude. It spoke what she wished of him more eloquently
than these few words which she uttered in a low thrilling tone:
“Oh, sir, if you are going to the land, leave me not! You only
have been kind to me. Save me and my father!”
“I will not leave you! I will remain for your protection,” answered
Faulcon, in the same under tone. “I thank you, lady, for
reminding me of my duty!”
“Thanks, noble sir! I overheard your words on deck, and I
trembled for my fate, and for my father, should you depart!”
“Be courageous, and trust in me,” he answered, firmly. Then
raising his voice, he answered Lightfoot, as the men were reluctantly
(for Faulcon was a favorite with the men) descending the fall to
obey his order,
“Do not take the trouble to come down after me, my lads. I find
I cannot escape, and I surrender myself prisoner!”
“Hoist away the boat with him!” cried Lightfoot to the men, as
they alighted in the bottom. “Well, sir, you did not succeed, and
by-and-bye you will thank me that you did not,” he said to Faulcon,
as he stepped from the boat on deck; “but I cannot trust you till we
get in blue water. You are of too much value to me, my dear
Faulcon, to let you get off in this way. So you must pardon me if I
take care that you are kept secure until we get off too far for you to
think of swimming to the land. Bring irons this way, Westwood,
and let Mr. Faulcon try the bracelets for a few hours!”
All this was said in a tone of ironical pleasantry, underneath which
lay bitter feelings of hostility.
The young officer quietly suffered himself to be ironed, and then
being conducted below, was secured in his state-room. This treatment
drew from him no other emotion than contempt for its author,
and a certain feeling of satisfaction that by remaining he had it in his
power to become the protector of a lovely girl, who had appealed to
him with looks and words too eloquent for him to resist. In the
capture of the Spanish ship he had saved her from the rude and free
license of such a scene of lawless excitement by his own personal
influence, and during the three days she and her father had been in
the schooner, his protection had been her safeguard. He felt deeply
interested in her, though not with that deep feeling which has its
origin in the heart. But now that she had thrown herself upon his
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protection, as the only arm upon which she could lean, now that she
was in the power of a man who had cast off allegiance to all government,
he felt awakened towards her in his bosom an emotion kindred
to love.
“I will save her or die with her,” was his internal resolve, while
he was gazing upon her beautiful face, as she tearfully implored him
not to leave her.
-- 042 --
CHAPTER SEVENTH.
HOW THE WING OF THE WIND SAILS FOR CUBA, WITH OTHER MATTERS CONNECTED
WITH THE STORY.—THE HEROINE.
[figure description] Page 042.[end figure description]
As the captain of the schooner opened the door of the state-room,
Faulcon raised his eye to his, and slightly moved his lip with an
expression of defiance.
“My dear Field,” said Lightfoot, assuming a frank, friendly tone, “I
am sorry to have been compelled to resort to this course to keep you on
board. Come, let us be friends. Let me remove your irons myself. There
is no need of a quarrel between us!”
“I submit to greater power than any I command,” answered Faulcon
“I am willing to remain on board until you reach some port. I shall
then expect you to let me quit your vessel. You can have no motive in
having me on board, so long as I positively refuse to act with you!”
“What objection have you?” asked Lightfoot, with a slight frown, as
he cast the manacles he had removed upon the floor of the cabin; “what
is your objection to remaining with me? I still sail under the same flag
which has for a twelve-month floated above your head!”
“I do not object to sailing under the Colombian flag, when honorably
used. You have severed your allegiance to the government, and have attached
yourself to no other. You will be pronounced against as a pirate.”
“But I am not a pirate!”
“I am ignorant of your intended course. Will you explain your plans
to me?”
“Cheerfully, if by that means I can bring you to duty. I shall first
sail for the Havanna, where Don Diego Valido has told me he has funds!”
“You will not dare enter the Havanna, with all your daring, under
the Colombian flag!”
“Why not? The war has ended! But still as the Navy is disbanded,
I think, under all circumstances, that I will hoist the stars and stripes!”
“You will then be declared a pirate by the United States. You are
playing too reckless a game for me, Captain Lightfoot!”
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“I play the game to suit myself. The schooner is my own. But I
won't be angry with you. We ought to be friends. You owe me gratitude
for protecting you in Boston. But let that pass. If you think yourself
more virtuous than I am, why you may go on shore at the Havanna!”
“I shall avail myself of this permission, be assured. Do you intend to
land the two prisoners there also?”
“Yes; if the Don planks down the ransom I mean to demand!”
“And if he refuses?”
“I shall then make up my mind what course to take with them!”
This was spoken with a reckless air, and in a tone somewhat imperative,
as well as impatient. Faulcon made no reply, though his indignant
feelings rose to his lips. He felt that discretion was the part he should
choose; and that for the present he ought to feign what he did not feel,
that he might the more successfully effect not only his own departure from
the schooner, but the escape of the lovely Castillian girl, for whom he
feared a fate was in store, which he dared not contemplate.
“My dear captain,” he said with a light laugh, “as I can't do any better,
I will return to my duty as first officer of the schooner, until we reach
Havanna, that is, provided you engage in no enterprize of a free character,
such as bringing defenceless vessels to! As we are no longer a Colombian
cruiser, this vocation is at an end!”
“I have no intention of molesting any one. You mistake me. I shall
by-and-bye sell my schooner—perhaps take her to New York or Boston
for the purpose, after leaving the Havanna. I have not, I confess, any great
compunctions about cruising a few weeks first on my own account, and I
confess it is a great temptation, with so fine a vessel, and such a picked
crew. Do you know that I shipped these men myself, with an eye one
day to hoisting a free flag. I had not, you see, much faith in the Colombian
revolution; and believing it would, ere long, end in smoke, I chose
my crew for my own purposes after. There is not a man on board that
would not hail a free flag hoisted to the peak with three cheers. But don't
fear! While I have such a moral gentleman on board as yourself, I shall
do nothing naughty! Will you come on deck with me, and let my men
see we are friends again!”
“Yes. Until you reach Havanna, I will remain in my station as an
officer of the schooner. There we part,” added Faulcon, firmly.
“Just as you please. Come, shall we go up?”
They ascended to the deck together, and Faulcon, taking his spy-glass
from the beckets, began to survey the receding port, as if nothing had
happened. Lightfoot felt that he had gained him over to his interests, and
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had no doubt but that he would be willing to remain in the vessel even
after they reached Havanna.
The passage was longer than usual on account of light winds and
strong head-currents. During the voyage, Faulcon carried himself with
such caution, that Lightfoot did not once suspect his sincerity. His confidence
in him was once more fully established; and the day before the
schooner made Cape St. Antonio, on the western extremity of Cuba, he
did not hesitate to believe that he would be ready to enter into a scheme
that he had planned for acquiring riches, for the prominent trait in the
character of the recreant Colombian captain, was avarice—the accumulation
of gold upon gold. His plan will be unfolded in the conversation he
held with Westwood the evening of the day on which they made the
Island, and while Faulcon had gone below after his watch was over.
“There is no question now, but that we have our man,” said Lightfoot
to his lieutenant. “I have had several talks with him, and he seems to
yield a point every time!”
“I don't think he will back out when the time comes for action. Have
you told him what you have decided to do!”
“No. I merely hinted that I might hoist the free flag after we had
landed the old man, and got his ransom money! He took the information
very coolly!”
“Has he said any thing more about leaving the schooner at Havanna?”
“Not a word. I told him yesterday, if he would give up this foolish
idea, that I would give him one thousand dollars, and that he should share
one third of my share in whatever prizes we took!”
“He is a good officer, and would be useful in a fight to lead on the
men, who are all somehow confoundedly attached to him. I thought,
when he was arrested, we should have had a mutiny off hand; and
I believe it was only the hot firing from the battery that diverted the
minds of the men from it! It seems to me that if I was in your
place I should prefer that he went ashore at Havanna. If he was
disposed, he might create a party in the schooner, and do you mischief!”
“I do not fear him. He has no idea of such a thing. I see you
are fishing for his berth, Westwood!”
“Not I! I am content with mine. What said he when you
spoke of landing the old Don? Didn't he ask if the daughter was to
go also?”
“Yes, and with no little earnestness. But I quietly replied that I
thought as ladies' society was very refining, I had half a mind to
detain her on board!”
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“Did he make any remark?”
“Not a word. But why do you ask? You seem to question me
something closely, as if you had an under meaning to your words!”
“Have you suspected nothing?”
“I don't quite understand you!”
“Lieutenant Faulcon is in love with the beautiful Senorita Adelaida!”
“Are you sure of this?”
“I know it. I have heard them conversing together, not only in
the cabin but when on deck. Last evening they were leaning, just
here, over the quarter railing, talking love by the half hour!”
“If I thought he was attached to her, I should love him less than
I do. It must be so, and this is the secret of her aversion to me.
Do you know, I can't get a civil word from her. She seems to avoid
me as if I was some hideous, one-eyed monster. So, so, Faulcon is
the man then! I now can account for his so readily consenting to
remain in the schooner and go to Havanna. But, by St. Paul, he
shall be disappointed if he expects that she will land there with him
or with her father. I had half made up my mind to keep her on
board before you told me of this, and now I have resolved to do it.
Neither he nor she shall leave the schooner. I will keep him on
board to witness my triumph to his own confusion!”
“And won't you land the Don? You won't lose the ransom
money? He will refuse to give you an order on his banker there,
unless it includes his daughter also!”
“That is true,” said Lightfoot, musingly. “I can't lose the money,
nor can I give up the lovely Spaniard. I love both the gold and the
lady equally. Well, I am glad you have told me what you have. I
shall act accordingly. Faulcon shall be defeated!”
“Can't you manage to send off the old Don after the money, when
you get to Havanna, and say that in the boat in which he forwards it
to the schooner his daughter shall return?”
“This artifice may do. I will try it. But then I fear it will fail.
He won't be likely to trust me. I will manage differently, for it is
now quite time I took off the mask. I will not go into Havanna, but
lay off the coast, and send a boat with the Don's order for the money.
This order I will compel him to give at the mouth of the pistol.
When the money comes (you, my trusty Westwood, shall be my
messenger) I will handsomely thank the Don, then hoist the free flag
and hey for the boundless sea!”
“That is the only life, after all,” answered Westwood, with
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sparkling eyes. “I am glad that course is settled. But what will you do
with master Faulcon?”
“I shall take care of him!”
“There will be trouble, unless he is quietly put overboard!”
“That wouldn't suit me. I want to triumph over him in the regards
of the fair Spaniard!”
“What port do you intend to make?”
“I think I shall run into New York first, and there refit and supply
my magazine, and get all ready for being a twelvemonth at sea. I
shall leave Faulcon and the Don there!”
“Well, I consent to your plans on condition you give me a fourth
share of all prizes we take, and that if you ship another lieutenant he
shall be second and I first!”
“I agree to this! How does she stand now, helmsman?”
“East by North, sir—half North.”
“That is well. We are not many hours sail now from Havana.
By midnight we shall be off the port!”
The schooner was now sailing steadily along, with the Cuban
coast on the starboard hand, and about five miles distant. The wind
was light from the south-west, and nearly aft. The night was clear
and starry, and the waves scarcely lifted the vessel on their gently
rolling undulations.
At the windows of the cabin, while the conversation just narrated
was passing on deck, sat the lovely Spanish prisoner leaning upon
her hand, and pensively gazing upon the phosphorescent waters as
they fretted about the moving rudder, and rippled and danced away
in a hundred circling wreaths far astern.
A footstep arrested her ear. She turned with a heightened glow
upon her cheek, and met, with a smile, the tender and impassioned
gaze of the eyes of the young man who had given her his heart.
“You seem unusually sad, fair Adelaida,” he said, taking her hand
from her cheek and pressing it in his, while he sat by her side.
“I have much reason to be sad, senor,” she answered, in a rich
low voice, just tremulous enough with emotion to be touching. “I
have less and less confidence in the pledges of the captain of this
vessel. You are my only bulwark from the dangers with which I
am environed!”
“Have you any new reason for these apprehensions?” he asked
quickly, anxiously.
“He has been here pressing upon me his hateful suit! He—but
-- 047 --
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it is painful to speak of this. In you only I can trust for protection!
I fear his fiery temper and his power!”
“Do not fear. He shall not harm you! He shall die by my hand
if it be needful for your safety and happiness. Take courage. Tomorrow
we shall be at Havanna. You will then be free!”
“I hope so. But how is he to be trusted? My father has money
in the city, and will send an order for it; but how do we know that
when he receives it he will fulfil his promise to send us ashore?”
“He dare not refuse! He refuses it at the peril of his life!”
“Do not speak so loudly, senor! I would not have him suspect
your interest in me, lest you should fall a victim. Return, for I fear
he may discover us together!”
Field pressed her hand to his lips and entered his state-room, firm
in his purpose that Lightfoot should answer with his life for her
safety, and the fulfilment of his promises to himself and her.
-- 048 --
CHAPTER EIGHTH.
SHOWING HOW OUR CHARACTERS BEGIN TO DEVELOPE THEMSELVES, AND ALSO
BRINGETH MATTERS TO A MORE DECISIVE POSITION.
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The middle watch that night was drawing towards its expiration, and
the helmsman was impatiently inspecting from minute to minute,
the little time piece in the binnacle, to know when to shout the
cheering cry of “eight bells,” when the light of the Moro Castle became
visible. It cast its long train of light far along the intermediate waters,
and pointed them to their port. Faulcon was on deck, although it was
not his watch. His anxiety for the fate of the lovely captive prevented
him from seeking repose. He had been walking the quarter-deck for
nearly two hours in silence. Occasionally Westwood, who had the deck,
would address him a question or two, but as he was but briefly answered,
he left him to his own thoughts.
The more Faulcon reflected upon what the Spanish maiden had told
him, the more thoroughly was he convinced that Lightfoot meditated
treachery both towards the old man and his daughter. He therefore resolved
to be active in watching him, and anticipating any evil that might
be meditated against them. In the fair prisoner he had become interested
with the strongest feelings of his nature. He loved her passionately. He
knew that his affection was reciprocated; and this sweet consciousness
made her doubly dear to his heart. He felt for her, therefore, as any man
would feel for one he loved, whom he found placed in the power of a lawless
and bold adventurer, whose impulses and passions were the laws of
his conduct. He was as lively in his watchfulness and fears as if he had
been captured with her, and was equally Lightfoot's prisoner. He planned
ways and means to effect her escape as well as his own, should
treachery contrive her detention. Yet withal, he hoped for the best. He
trusted that Lightfoot's cupidity would conquer his wayward love for the
fair captive; for that the Colombian captain loved her, he was well convinced,
though with a love as free and impetuous as his own spirit.
As he saw the light of Havanna streaming across the dippled wave, his
heart throbbed quicker. He felt that the test was at hand, whether Lightfoot
would prove true to his pledge.
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“Eight bells!” called out the helmsman in a lively tone, as if glad that
his two hours “trick” at the wheel had terminated.
“Eight bells,” repeated the boatswain's mate forward; and at the same
time began to toll the double strokes of the by-gone “watch” upon the
schooner's bell.
For a few moments all was bustle in the changing the watch, one coming
up, and the other going down to turn in. Lightfoot himself also
made his appearance on deck. The schooner was now rapidly nearing
the light, which grew larger and larger, till at length the dark outline of
the tower from which it shone, became distinctly visible, with the towering
walls of the fortresses, and the black masses of the shore.
“You will run in at once, without coming to,” remarked Faulcon, turning
to the captain.
“No, I think I will lay off on till daylight! Indeed, I don't know
as I shall run in at all!”
“What do you intend to do? Send your passengers in a boat?”
“I shall first send Westwood to the city with the Don's order for
the ransom. He says he will pay me ten thousand dollars for himself
and the senora!”
“And when Westwood returns with the money you send them
ashore?”
“Of course!”
“I shall go in the same boat!”
“As you please. You have made up your mind, I suppose, not to
remain with me?”
“Yes. I am satisfied your future course is to be one I cannot join
you in. Hitherto I have done nothing dishonorable, for, thank God,
I am not a murderer! In the Colombian service I have faithfully
done my duty, and won a fait name for courage as a patriot, and
skill as a seaman. I shall not now forfeit it by following your lawless
fortunes under a free flag, which I am satisfied it is your intention
to hoist as soon as you leave the Havanna!”
“You are plain-spoken,” answered Lightfoot, sarcastically.
“It is best I should be so, that we may understand one another.
I do not wish you should entertain the thought for an instant that I
am as unprincipled as you are! I love my native country, and I
hope one day to be restored to its bosom with honor. I respect myself
as a man. I would scorn to commit a deed unworthy a good
citizen or an honest man! I should feel happy if I possessed sufficient
influence with you to prevail upon you to give up your lawless
-- 050 --
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idea, sell your schooner, if you won't return her to Colombia, and
give your life to purposes more worthy of your talents!”
“I am exceedingly obliged to you for your advice, and will by-and-bye
take it into grave consideration, Mr. Faulcon. At present
I have to look after other matters. This is your watch, I believe.
You will heave the schooner to under her fore-topsail and foresail.
We will lay off the port till sunrise, and then I shall send in a boat!”
Thus speaking, Lightfoot turned abruptly on his heel, and walked
forward to light a cigar at the caboose, where the steward was
making him a cup of coffee, which he always had at the close of the
middle-watch. The words he had heard from Faulcon's lips had
vexed him, and confirmed him in his determination to pursue his
original intention already communicated by him to Westwood, the
basis of which was a rival's vengeance, as well as an evil man's
hatred of one more honorable in principle than himself.
Faulcon brought the vessel to, and in a little while after she became
stationary, Lightfoot went below. Faulcon observed that he
went to his own state-room and closed the door. He knew that he
had turned in, and as Westwood had also gone below, he had the
deck to himself. For some minutes he paced it fore and aft in deep
thought. At length he extended his walk forward among the men,
who were either standing about the forecastle, or seated on the gun
carriages, or taking exercise in a short cat-walk athwart ships in the
clear space left just abaft the windlass.
He passed round the bows of the launch at a slow step, looking
carefully in the faces of the men. At length he stopped before one
of them, and said in an under tone:
“Mosley, I want you to walk aft to the capstan after I leave you.
I have something to say to you!”
“Yes, sir,” responded the person he addressed, a large, stout man,
wrapped to the chin in a monkey jacket, in the pockets of which both
hands were thrust, while he himself leaned against a gun.
Faulcon then passed aft, and in a moment or two Mosley came as
far as the capstan.
“Mosley,” said Faulcon, approaching him, and speaking in a
whisper, “I know you are a faithful friend to me!”
“I hope you don't doubt it, sir!”
“No. I am about to avail myself of your friendship, and place in
you the greatest confidence one man can place in another!”
“I hope I shall prove myself worthy of it, sir.”
“I know you will. I know your character, and that you are not
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corrupted by the lawless atmosphere that prevails on board the
schooner. What I have to say to you is this. You need not be
reminded of the circumstances under which Captain Lightfoot has
quitted the Colombian service; nor need a man of your knowledge
and judgment of things be told that he is at this moment neither more
nor less than a pirate!”
“That is what I have myself been thinking of for the last four
days, and talking about it to some of the best men in my watch!”
“And did they seem to think with you?” asked Faulcon, quickly.
“Yes, sir.”
“And what opinions did they express?”
“Some of them said they didn't care how soon they left the
schooner then, for though they were willing to serve in the Colombian
service, they were not willing to turn pirates after, to suit a
whim of their captain. Others said that they had rather sail under
the free flag, and share a plenty of prize-money, than under that of
Colombia, and get no pay!”
“Did you note the men who made the first reply?”
“Yes.”
“Could you name them?”
“All of them, sir;” and Mosley began to repeat the names of several
of the best men in the schooner.
“I believed that these were good men, and true. Now, Mosley, I
will say what further I have to communicate. It is Captain Lightfoot's
intention, without doubt, to hoist the free flag after he gets the
ransom money at Havanna for the Don and his daughter. But I
have my suspicious that he intends to deceive them, and after receiving
the money, refuse to let them depart. Morcover, I believe that
he will try to send me ashore, that I may not cross his purposes.
Now, I have no alternative but to prepare to meet whatever emergency
may occur. I am resolved never to quit the schooner without
the Spanish maiden. If Lightfoot keeps her on board, he keeps me
also. In a word, I am strongly attached to her, and mean to protect
her with my life. Now, I wish you to sound as many of the rest of
the crew as you can. Begin by suggesting that the schooner must
be in some sort a pirate, having left the Colombian colors, and not
taken up those of any other nation. Invite the discussion of it among
the men, and observe carefully their sentiments, and mark the men
who indignantly express themselves opposed to anything like piracy.
Get the opinion of every man, and then report to me. It is my intention,
if Lightfoot proves false and treacherous in this matter of
-- 052 --
[figure description] Page 052.[end figure description]
ransoming his prisoners, to make an attempt to seize upon the
schooner!”
“I am glad to hear that, sir. You can do it, I know! Half the
men would be willing to join you!”
“You must first feel their pulse, and know how that of each man
beats in reference to such an enterprize. It will be attended with
danger and bloodshed; for Lightfoot will resist so long as he can
wield a cutlass, and those men who will fight on his right will be the
most desperate portion of the crew.”
“Yes, sir, I know that. Only the real desperadoes will stick to
him. I hope, almost, that he will be false, and keep the prisoners,
for I want to see you in command!”
“If I succeed I shall take her back to Colombia, and restore her to
the government!”
“This will make you at once, sir! It will tell them that we are
not all pirates, and so prevent those on board, who are inclined to be
honest, from being forever after branded as bucaniers. I am sure,
sir, you will get full thirty out of the sixty-eight men on board to
side with you. But I will go forward and talk with 'em. It is the
best word I have heard for many a day, that you are going to try to
take the schooner, sir. I have respectable relatives in New England,
and though I have been a little wild in my day, I am no bucanier,
and that Captain Lightfoot shall know if he sets out to hoist the
black bunting, should you and the prisoners be set ashore!”
“Be discreet, and not too earnest with the men!”
“I understand, Mr. Faulcon. I will not let the worst of them
suspect anything, while I will get at his opinions like a lawyer!”
Thus saying, Mosley went forward again, while Faulcon with a
more cheerful spirit, and in the confidence of yet being able to afford
full protection to the beautiful maiden whose image was mirrored
in his heart as the evening star in the depths of a still fountain.
At length morning dawned. The east blushed with roseate glory,
like a young bride awaking on her first nuptial morn. Gorgeous clouds
of purple, golden and saffron dyes, like fragments of the rent curtain of
day, which at first hung upon the opal skies, parted slowly, and from
the midst the rising sun leaped to his car and flung his blazing banner
over the world. The towers of the Moro first caught his glittering
beams. Upon the battlements rose the magnificent ensign of Spain
to welcome him, while from the embrasures thundered deep-mouthed
cannon. To the mast-heads of the fleet anchored beneath in the
port, fluttered, like birds of paradise mounting to their morning perch,
-- 053 --
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the gay flags of a hundred nations, while from numerous vessels of
war the echoing artillery announced and re-announced that another
day had been created.
The schooner lay in full view of the harbor, and of the city embracing
its curving shores. From the towers of the cathedral and
churches tolled, in rich and solemn cadence, the numerous matin
bells, the sound swelling and lessening upon the breeze that bore it
from the green land towards them. Everywhere around the
schooner upon the sunny sea were vessels and craft of all sizes,
some under sail, others at anchor, and two or three like themselves
lying to. The scene, altogether, was one of great beauty, and for a
few moments after he came on deck, Lightfoot stood silently contemplating
it; for nature speaks to every human soul, and it listens
irresistibly to her voice.
-- 054 --
CHAPTER NINTH.
THE CAPTAIN OF THE WING OF THE WIND SHOWS HIMSELF LESS WISE THAN
HIS LIEUTENANT.
[figure description] Page 054.[end figure description]
The Captain of the “Wing of the Wind,” after a few moments
spent in looking around him, approached Faulcon with an air
of seeming frankness, and said with a smile:
“Well, my moral friend, we are now off the Havanna. What is
your decision, to go on shore, or remain and try your fortunes on the
sea with me. You are by no means rich, yet, and are not so likely
to be so any where as by sticking to the schooner!”
“I have already given you my answer, Captain Lightfoot,” replied
Faulcon firmly. “What is your intention touching your passengers?”
“I keep my own counsel. As I no longer consider you an officer
of the ship, I shall not deem it my duty to consult with you. It will
depend, however, on the Don himself. I have just sent word to him
in his state-room, by my steward, that I wish to converse with him
in the cabin. I will go down and see what he will say!”
Lightfoot then left him and descended into the cabin. Faulcon
felt a strong impulse to follow him, and be present at the interview;
but feared bringing on a crisis prematurely that might defeat his ultimate
success. He, however, recollecting that the sky-light was open,
sauntered aft, and took a position near it, so that he could look down
into the centre of the cabin, and where he might catch something of
what should transpire. The great events at stake, he felt, justified
him in thus listening.
When Lightfoot entered the cabin, Don Diego Valido was already
there. He was a tall, thin, intellectual looking man, with a dark olive
complexion, black hair, half sown with the silver dust of fifty years.
He was seated in an arm chair, but when the captain entered, he rose
and bowed with dignity. His face was pale, and the expression at
once anxious and keenly inquiring.
“We are off Havanna, senor,” said Lightfoot, throwing himself
upon a sofa, and motioning to his captive to be seated.
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“Yes, I have seen the Moro from the cabin windows! I trust now
you are ready to fulfil your promise, to ransom me and my daughter,”
added Don Diego, firmly regarding his countenance.
“That will be as circumstances turn up, Don Diego,” answered
Lightfoot with a careless air.
“It can depend on no contingency, senor captain,” replied the
Spaniard, with a look of surprise and displeasure. “I am not ignorant
of your present position as an outlaw from all flags; but yet, as
we were captured in open and fair warfare by you, under the Colombian
colors, it is but justice that we should be liberated freely, now
that hostilities have ceased!”
“I am no longer bound by what occurred under the Colombian
flag, senor!”
“Yet you are bound by the laws of humanity and honor!”
“I am the judge of this, not you!”
“You should at once set me and my child on shore. Instead of
that, you demand an enormous ransom. From an honorable officer
in the service of a republic, you are all at once a pirate, demanding
gold for the liberty of your captives!”
“You are rich, I am poor, Don Diego. If you love your money
more than liberty, be it so. I will set sail northward, and still give
you free passage with me wherever I cruise!”
“No—you shall have the money!”
“I am then content. What authority will you give me to obtain it?”
“My check on my banker!”
“Fill it out at once. I cannot delay long off the port, lest I draw
the attention of the authorities, and they send out a cutter to learn
who I am!”
“If I give you an order for ten thousand dollars, you will”—
“Twenty thousand, Don Diego,” said Lightfoot coolly.
“Twenty thousand! senor captain,” repeated the Spanish gentleman
with indignant surprise.
“Yes, not a peso less!”
“You said ten thousand, yesterday!”
“Ten thousand be it then, for your own ransom, if you leave your
lovely daughter on board! Ten thousand, otherwise, for her!”
Don Diego looked as if he would vent his fierce anger and contempt
in speech; but trembling for the safety of his beloved child, he
drew forth his pocket-book, and taking from it a stamped paper, filled
it for the whole amount. Lightfoot watched him with a smile of peculiar
triumph.
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“But before I place this in your hands, senor, what security have
I that you will, when you receive the money, liberate me and the
Don Adelaida?”
“My word!”
“It is not enough!”
“You must abide by it, for I can give you no other, Don Diego!”
“It is no security, senor. You will not abide by it unless you
please. I cannot trust you!”
“Very well,” answered Lightfoot, rising and speaking in a tone of
well-feigned indifference; “all then that remains, is for me to make
sail and leave Havanna behind!”
The Spaniard was for a few moments silent. He seemed undecided
how to act.
“Come, senor, time pressed!”
“I refuse to send for the money,” he answered in a tone very positive
and firm.
“Then let the consequences that may follow to you, aye, and to
your daughter, rest upon your own head!”
At this moment the beauteous Senorita Valido entered hurriedly
from her state-room. She threw herself, all tears, and trembling with
fears that could not otherwise than fill her with the deepest alarm
for herself, left longer in the power of a man like Lightfoot.
“Do what he asks, dearest father? Make no resistance to his demand.
Trust to his word, and I feel assured he will honorably fulfil
it!”
Lightfoot gazed upon the charming girl with admiration, as she
hung upon her father, looking with beautiful earnestness up into his
face, for the signs of his compliance with her entreaty. He thought
he had never beheld so lovely a creature. Her tall and graceful
figure voluptuously pliant at the waist, and bending like a willow with
every motion; her dark, lustrous eyes, rich with the full depths of
feeling; the enchanting contour of her superb head and faultless profile,
altogether with the bewildering power that dwells ever in beauty
in tears, thrilled him to the soul, and enchained his senses. He had
not before fully felt the fascinating spell of her presence.
“Her faith in my honor, so prettily spoken, had well nigh made me
resolve to keep faith to her father,” he said mentally; “but I shall no
longer keep it. Her beauty has sealed her own fate! Sooner would
I lose my schooner than so fair a treasure! But I must conceal my
feelings. Don Diego,” he added aloud, “I give you my word that I
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will, on receiving the money on board, at once land you in my boat
at Havanna!”
“Father, consent! There is no alternative!” exclaimed Adelaida.
“Be it so! I will trust him! Here, senor, is the order for the
ransom for myself and my daughter. I hope you will use despatch.
The address of the banker is written at the foot of the draft.”
“This will be paid without inquiry?”
“Yes. It is but four weeks since we left Havanna, near which, as
I have said, I reside, in the Spanish ship you captured, to visit Vera
Cruz, where I had business!”
“I will say then that the draft came from Vera Cruz. Date it
at that place. Thanks, senor! This will make it surer! I hope
within three or four hours you will once more tread the green shores
of your native isle, fair lady,” said Lightfoot, as he left the cabin for
the deck.
On reaching it, he called Westwood to his side.
“I have the order for the Don's ransom here. I got it without resorting
to violence, through the intercession of his charming daughter;
I entrust it to you. You will find the banking-house in El Calle Militar.
Present it with confidence, saying that it came from Vera Cruz,
where the Don, after a little hesitation, dated it. The money will be
paid you in gold and silver, which you will at once get exchanged
into a draft on New York, whither I intend to sail after leaving this
island. Use all despatch. Take with you my gig with four oars. I
have selected the men. I have ordered them to keep close in the
boat, and hold communication with no one. They, however, can be
trusted. Now let there be no delay. Leave the schooner at once!”
“You are sending off a boat, sir,” said Faulcon, as the gig came under
the lee gangway for Westwood to get into it.
“Yes, Westwood goes for the ransom money.”
“I will go on shore with him then!”
“No, you had best wait until the Don goes,” answered Lightfoot, with
a look as if he suspected that Faulcon wished to betray the character of his
vessel to some one of the men-of-war in port; and this was, indeed, the
motive which led Faulcon to ask to go there. No other would have
tempted him to quit the schooner, leaving Adelaida on board; but while
the cutter was getting ready, the idea suddenly flashed upon his mind, that
if he could get intelligence to the sloop of war Lexington, which he
saw lying at anchor in the harbor, she might send out her boats and capture
her, as the wind was too light to suffer her to escape. He felt vexed
at the refusal to let him go; but with that self-confidence and courage
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which characterised him in scenes of peril, he resolved to abide the
issue.
It was about eight in the morning when the lieutenant of the schooner
quitted it for the city. Six bells had just struck, when Faulcon, who had
been nearly the whole of the three hours pacing the deck and anxiously
watching the shore, discerned the cutter returning from her mission.
At length, as it came near, it was apparent to all that Lieutenant Westwood
was not on board. This discovery had evidently been made much
sooner by Lightfoot, who had been watching her through his glass, and
who seemed very greatly annoyed, without Faulcon's suspecting the cause,
until the nearer progress of the boat gave him the explanation. He feared
the worst—possibly that the money had been refused to him and that
he had sent off for instructions. The boat at length reached the side with
the four oarsmen.
“Where is Mr. Westwood?” demanded Lightfoot, as calmly as he
could speak, for he began to suspect that his lieutenant had proved treacherous.
“Here is a note from him, sir,” answered the bow-oarsman as he stepped
across the gangway.
“Oh, then all is right, I dare say,” answered Lightfoot.
He did not, however, open the note on deck, but descended into the
cabin, for his suspicions were still alive, and he did not care to betray to
Faulcon's keen observation any of his emotions.
Alone, he tore the seal. The missle read as follows:—
“Havanna, Calle Militar.
“My Dear Captain:
From a child I have prayed as hard as I knew how, never
to be led into temptation; but then I never expected I should be tempted with such
a round lump as twenty thousand bright silver dollars! To tell you frankly, the
temptation is irresistible. I have beat against it, but it has fairly got to the windward
of me. I have weighed the whole matter and feel that I shall not again have
such an opportunity to make my fortune; and so I tender you my resignation. It
is better to have twenty thousand in hand, than run the chance of picking it up at
sea from prizes, and then by-and-bye swing at the yard-arm of a man-of-war. I am
content with the cool “XX”. I do but follow your example with the Colombians.
I take this with better conscience, inasmuch as it does no injury either to the Don or
his daughter; for had the money got on board they would never have come off. So,
taking this moral view of the case, I shall decline going on board again. I shall
take this note to the cutter and despatch it to you. I wish you a pleasant cruise,
plenty of prize money, and plenty of slack to the rope that will one day be gently
bent about your neck with a running noose.
Yours ever,
Bailey Westwood.
To the Captain of “The Wing of the Wind,” Outer Road.
P. S.—I will not betray you and your vessel to the authorities, so do not fear. I
am so perfectly content with the twenty thousand pesos that I bear you no malice.
I trust that you will be able to supply my place with as good an officer, but never
trust him with twenty thousand Ferdinandos.
Ever yours,
B. W.”
-- 059 --
CHAPTER TENTH.
A CONSULTATION TAKES PLACE BETWEEN THE CHIEF PERSONAGES OF THE TALE,
DURING WHICH DUPLICITY TAKES THE CHAIR, AND DIAMOND CUTS DIAMOND.
[figure description] Page 059.[end figure description]
When Lightfoot had finished the perusal of the note which Westwood
had thus so cavalierly despatched to him, he remained standing
a few moments gazing upon the signature with flashing eyes, and
a face as colorless as marble. He felt that he had been exceeded in duplicity
by his under officer. His bosom swelled with unutterable rage
Disappointment and fierce anger nearly overwhelmed him. He pressed
his lips together till a drop of blood spotted their ashy hue.
“May the vengeance of Satan have him,” he at length muttered as he
crushed the letter in his grasp. “I will yet be avenged upon him for this!
Let him not think I will let this gross outrage pass. I will not forget him
while I breathe God's breath! But I must be calm. It will not do to
expose this treachery either to Faulcon or my crew. They might triumph,
and it might work against me. I will turn it to my own purposes. The
fate of the Spanish girl is sealed from this moment. Telley,” he called
to his steward.
“Sir,” answered the mulatto, appearing from the steerage.
“Go on deck and send Don Diego into the cabin. Also tell Mr. Faulcon
I wish to see him. Now to appear unmoved. They must not suspect
my disappointment. To lose twenty thousand dollars and have a
valuable officer turn traitor all at one stroke, will require some firmness to
bear without betraying emotion. Ah, Don Diego, take a seat. Mr. Faulcon,
I sent for you.”
“What news have you from the town?” asked Faulcon earnestly.
“No more than what I expected. Westwood writes me that on presenting
the draft he was so closely questioned that his hesitation betrayed
him; and they have detained him until he can bring evidence of its genuineness.
He has, therefore, sent off to me to know what to do.”
“This is unfortunate,” exclaimed Faulcon, who believed the falsehood.
“I will go on shore myself, senor,” said Don Diego. “I will obtain
the money and bring it off to you!”
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“I dare not trust you. The arrest of Westwood will already have placed
me in a perilous position. I have done my part. I have faithfully
fulfilled my pledge. It has not been my fault that the money has not been
sent off. I have nothing further to perform.”
“What do you intend then to do?” demanded Faulcon in a steady
tone.
“To go on deck and make sail, leaving Westwood to his fate. As I
shall want a lieutenant, I shall detain you; and you have the choice either
of doing your duty or being put into irons and confined in the steerage.
No dark looks, gentlemen, both! I am master of my own ship, and can
enforce my own decisions. You are in my power and must comply with
my dictates. A word from me and you are both ironed and chained to a
bolt between decks!”
The countenance of Faulcon became almost livid with anger. Don
Diego looked the very image of surprise and horror, but the expression
of his face suddenly altered to one of desperate determination. He seemed
about to spring upon the captain, and, upon the spot, take the life of the
man so lost to all principle—so destitute of all humanity. Faulcon caught
his eye and checked him with a significant look.
“Captain Lightfoot,” he said as if wholly unmoved, “what you say
is true. You have done your part, and it is not your fault that the money
has not been sent. If you refuse to take further steps you cannot be blamed.
I have no wish to lay in irons when I can have the free use of the
deck. This freedom I am willing to purchase by continuing to act as your
officer, provided you will inform me where you intend to cruise.”
“I intend to run down the gulf and perhaps touch at Baltimore and
New York.”
“What do you purpose to do with Don Diego Valido and his
daughter?”
“Let them remain on board until I have ransom for them. If the Don
is so rich as he represents, he can manage to get me the money at New-York
as well as here. I shall therefore sail for that port.”
“Under what flag?”
“I shall at present retain the Colombian.”
“Well, I will remain with you and act as your officer. There is my
hand upon it.”
Lightfoot looked surprised at this frank and sudden alteration in him;
but suspecting that his motive was to be near Dona Adelaida, he concealed a
secret smile of triumphant malice, and answered in a cordial way, pressing
his hand.
“You have then been playing the smooth puritan, hey, all along! I
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never believed you were very sincere. So now the matter is settled. I
am sorry to lose Westwood, but I will supply his place by some one
from among the men.”
“You can easily find some one who can act as second lieutenant.”
“Yes, I have thought of Crummel and of Mosley.”
“Crummel is a good seaman and can enforce authority,” answered
Faulcon. He liked not the man, and knew that he was one of Lightfoot's
most faithful fellows. He, however, praised him, that Lightfoot
might not suspect his preference of Mosley, believing that when he saw
that he spoke favorably of him, he would decide to take the man he wished.
His knowledge of Lightfoot's character proved to be correct.
“You think that Crummel would do, eh?”
“Yes, he is a thorough seaman.”
“So is Mosley. Do you object to him?”
“No, not particularly, but” —
“I think Mosley is the best of the two; I think, on the whole, I will
appoint him. Now, I will to the deck and arrange the matter, and give
orders for getting sail once more on the schooner.”
With these words he went on deck just as Adelaida was coming down
into the cabin. He merely glanced at her and passed up the stairs.
During the conversation between Faulcon and the captain, Don Diego
sat bewildered and agitated by the most painful suspicions. He understood
from it that his only friend had sided with his enemy, and that himself
and child were left to their combined evil power. When, therefore,
Lightfoot left them, he turned his eyes upon Faulcon with looks of anger
and severe reproach, and was about to speak his feelings, when Faulcon
said:
“Don Diego, do not judge me from what you have just heard; I am
still your friend and the friend of Dona Adelaida. I can only serve you by
deceiving him. We are equally in his power. I must profess to comply
with his views that I may overthrow him.”
“Forgive me, senor,” cried Don Diego, extending his hand.
“It was natural you should suspect me. I am gratified to know that I
played my part so well as to deceive you. I feel that I have also deceived
him.”
“What has occurred? Has the ransom been refused?” asked the
trembling girl, looking from one to the other with lively apprehension.
“The captain informs us that his lieutenant wrote that the bankers detained
him until they could have evidence of the genuineness of the
draft.”
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“That I question. They could not have suspected. They would have
paid it at once,” said Don Diego.
“I myself doubt whether it was presented, or else a plan has been entered
into between Lightfoot and his lieutenant that he should remain on
shore, with the money, so that he could have an excuse for detaining you
on board, and demanding additional ransom at New York.”
Dona Adelaida, who was looking down with tearful eyes, and filled with
painful forebodings of evil, from the course events were taking, suddenly
rose and caught up a crumpled note that lay upon the floor in one corner
of the cabin.
“It is to Captain Lightfoot,” she said.
“And in Westwood's handwriting. It must be the note he just received.
He has crumpled it up and thrown it down in a moment of passion,
and left, forgetting it. Watch the companion-way closely, Don Diego,
while I read it.”
He then read rapidly and distinctly the whole of the letter which Lightfoot
had cast at his feet in his fury, and neglected to recover before going
on deck.
“Now we have light,” said Faulcon as he crushed the note again and
cast it back into the corner, so that Lightfoot might not suspect that it had
been read. “The money was obtained, and Westwood has outwitted his
master.”
“Then, Captain Lightfoot cannot be so much blamed, dreadful as our
situation has now become,” said Dona Adelaida.
“Thanks, sweet lady, for that gentle speech,” cried Lightfoot from the
head of the companion-way. “I know not what has changed your mind
in my favor, but that expression of good will has reached my ears, and
bid me hope I shall yet find favor in your eyes. Faulcon, I came to call
you on deck.”
“Would to heaven I had never uttered it!” she exclaimed, clasping
her hands. “It will give him license to intrude his hateful presence
more upon me!”
“Fear not, lady! Captain Lightfoot's authority in this vessel shall
end before another sun rises!” said Faulcon, in a low tone, and with
a firm air. “There is a cloud hanging above his head he little suspects.
We can have no belief in his intentions to restore you to
liberty after reading that note. Westwood implies that it was his
purpose to keep both the money and you! The man's destiny is
fixed. His power ends with this day's light!”
“God bless you! senor Faulcon,” cried the lovely Spaniard. “I
will pray for your success!”
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“And I will give my arm to aid it,” answered Don Diego, firmly.
“It is yet vigorous, and can deal justice to a wicked oppressor! I
fear you alone can do little to aid us, noble sir! He has great
power at command!”
“So have I. Thirty-four of the men on board have been sounded,
and I know them to be ready to co-operate with me in taking the
vessel from the hands of this lawless man. To-night the attempt
will be made! Be full of hope, for his power ends in a few hours!”
“You forget, Mr. Faulcon, that you are not a passenger, but an
officer,” said Lightfoot, coming down, with an angry brow. “This
is no time to be dallying with beauty, sir! Your duties call you to
the deck. The schooner is once more underweigh, and leaving the
port astern. I leave the command of the deck to you, and will take
your place here awhile!”
All the time he was speaking, Faulcon observed that he was
sharply looking about upon the cabin floor, as if in search of something,
with a troubled aspect. As he left the cabin to go on deck,
he beheld him hastily advance to the corner where his letter lay,
pick it up, and after inspecting its appearance an instant, thrust it
into his pocket with a look of much relief; at the same time he sent
a searching glance around upon their faces, to see if he could detect
in them the knowledge of the contents of the letter. When Faulcon
took the deck, he found the schooner moving steadily from the land
with all her sails drawing. Her progress was about three knots
through the water, though the wind was scarcely strong enough to
move a merchant-ship, that was about a cable's length abeam of
them, more than a knot and a half an hour; but the Wing of the
Wind would gilde over the surface of the sea, fanned by zephyrs, so
swift and wing-like was her motion.
As he walked the deck, now glancing at the fading shores and
receding towers and battlements of the Moro Castle, and now scanning
the spreading canvass of his vessel, and watching her progress
through the water, he was closely thinking over his project for
getting possession of her. Upon it depended the safety of the beautiful
Castillian, the happiness of Don Diego, and his own; for now
that he so tenderly loved the fair foreigner, his happiness was involved
in her destiny. Moreover, he wished to recapture the vessel
and take her back to Colombia, not only to surrender Lightfoot to
the authorities, but to show the republic and the world that he had
no part in the piratical act by which they had been robbed of her.
He knew that the lawless deed had already gone forth to the world,
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and that all connected with it had been published and branded with
infamy. No longer looking upon himself in the condemning light of
a murderer, and proudly conscious of not having been guilty of any
act of a dishonorable nature, he felt a just ambition in desiring to
wipe from his name the reproach that he felt must attach to it from
his connection with Lightfoot in his present course, and to win by
the act he now contemplated a fair fame, that would dissipate the
shadows that were now darkening his name. Thus love and honor
and justice were combined, as the motives that inspired his soul to
the daring achievement before him.
With a look of satisfaction he let his eye range along the decks
frowning with their batteries of guns, and singled out here and there
from among the crew that were grouped about them, the men on
whom he felt he could rely when the decisive moment should arrive
for action. That moment he resolved not to defer beyond that
night, as every hour was charged with peril to the safety of Dona
Adelaida, towards whom he felt Lightfoot would take a bold and
decided course when he should once get into blue water.
-- 065 --
PART THIRD. THE SCHOONER.
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“Revenge, which still we find,
The basest frailty of a baser mind.”
CHAPTER ELEVENTH.
A BRIEF RECAPITULATION OF EVENTS BY-GONE, THAT PROVE TO HAVE AN
INTIMATE CONNECTION WITH THOSE PRESENT AND FUTURE.
The wind, as the schooner gained a broader offing from the
island, and approached the verge of the gulf-stream, began to
strengthen and haul from the north-west to the northward.
Lightfoot laid his course close-hauled, steering east-north-east, so as
to hug the edge of the gulf, and avail himself of its current, which
aided him fully three knots. After running eastward, up with the
longitude of Matanzas, he tacked ship to stretch diagonally across
the gulf for the Florida coast, along which it was his intention to run
up his latitudes to Baltimore or New York; for he was undecided
whether to stop at the former port. His object in desiring to visit
New York was two-fold. He knew that the information of the disbanding
of the Colombian navy had not yet reached there, as he
would probably be the first vessel from Colombia sailing since that
event. He was aware, therefore, that he could enter the port in
security under Colombian colors, and take in such stores and armament
as he would require in the year's piratical cruise which he had
in contemplation. At present his vessel was illy supplied with shot
-- 066 --
[figure description] Page 066.[end figure description]
and powder, and was deficient in cutlasses, boarding-pistols, and
other weapons of naval warfare. He also wanted to add to his
guns a forty-four pounder, pivot-mounted, to enable him to disable
vessels at a distance. This was one motive in leading him to steer
for New York, and with it was now combined the hope of getting a
new draft from Don Diego to enable him to purchase these munitions
and pay his men.
Another motive was based on vanity and revenge. While he was
in the navy he had met with Alice Ashley at a naval ball given at
Charlestown. He was enamored with her at first sight, and having
learned that her father was wealthy, he systematically resolved to
propose for her hand. He visited her frequently, and, possessing,
when he chose to use it, a fascination of address that was pleasing,
he succeeded in winning an interest in her feelings. As his character
was then fair, the sky of love seemed propitious. But on his voyage
to the Pacific he lost name and character, and with it her regard.
He had bestowed upon her several little gifts, which he found on his
return to the United States had been forwarded to his address many
months. They were accompanied by a note of the most cutting
scorn, which aroused all his vindictiveness against her; and he internally
resolved that whenever it was in his power he would be
avenged upon her. To keep her ever in mind, and with a sort of
spirit of bravado, he painted her miniature, for he was a finished
amateur in painting, and also his own, which he always kept side by
side in a case he had made for them. This was in itself a species of
triumph and power gratifying to him, for his depraved soul naturally
stooped to low revenges.
The residence of Judge Ashley near the waters of the Sound, had
suggested to his mind more than once the feasibility of landing near
and calling upon her, only for the purpose of showing before her his
scorn and defiance. Repeatedly, while in the Colombian service, he
had been tempted to sail northward and enter the Sound to make
this visit; but circumstances had changed his determination, or only
deferred it.
When, now, he found himself in command of a fast sailing, armed
vessel, uncontrolled by any will but his own, accountable to no
authority but his own pleasure, his first desire was to visit upon Alice
Ashley the retribution he had long been harboring in his bosom
against her. To carry out this object was the second motive for
inducing him to steer to the northward after leaving Cuba. Precisely
what he intended to do, should be succeed in obtaining an
-- 067 --
[figure description] Page 067.[end figure description]
interview with her, he did not himself know. He resolved first to
see her, and then be governed by the circumstances of the moment.
A sort of vague idea of making her a captive by force and taking
her on board his vessel, passed at times through his mind; but as
yet he had formed no definite purpose of conduct. Perhaps it will
not be out of place in this paragraph to mention that Lightfoot was
aware, when addressing Alice Ashley, that she had a preference for
a certain young man called Field Faulcon. He had never seen him,
but it was enough that he was his rival. He therefore resolved to
destroy him in her esteem, and succeeded by an ingenious series of
anonymous letters, reflecting upon the moral character of Faulcon,
and stating that in his cups he had talked openly of his passion for
her, and its return by her. This statement, anonymous though it
was, produced a certain effect, and led to that coldness of manner
which had ultimately banished Field wholly from her presence. He
was ignorant, of course, of the secret enemy that had been at work
to ruin him in her estimation; but when he mentioned his name long
after this to Lightfoot, in the chamber at the Golden Anchor, the
latter instantly recognised his rival, but, with characteristic presence
of mind, did not suffer any movement of lip or eye to betray him.
Thus singularly was Faulcon's destiny involved with his, of whom
of all men he had reason to be the foe.
It was now evening. The shores of Cuba had faded in the
distance towards the close of the day, so that when the sun went
down only the twin breasts of “the Pan of Matanzas” were visible
above the horizon. To the northward a single ship was painted
against the sky, but too far remote to distinguish whether she was
a ship-of-war or merchantman; and in towards the island, a lugger
was creeping slowly along, under her sharp latteen sails, folded together
like the wings of a swallow.
The shades of evening veiled all these objects, and only the
shadowy ocean and the deep blue sky, with its host of stars, met the
mariner's eye. Lightfoot walked the quarter deck of his vessel in a
thoughtful and restless mood. Everything that had transpired that
day, had gone at odds with his impatient spirit. He had sought the
society of Adelaida, who, instead of remaining in the cabin as he
came down, had retired to her state-room. Faulcon was silent, and
seemed to shun intercourse with him, though he attended faithfully to
his duties on deck. Don Diego conversed with him with reluctance,
and with an air of one who both feared and despised him. He
brooded over also his loss both in money and a useful officer, whom
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he now missed to confide with. Altogether his spirit was unusually
impatient, and his worst feelings were uppermost.
“This state of uncertainty and cowardly hesitation shall not last,”
he muttered, as he paused in his walk and bent over the quarter, as if
watching to catch a view of the ship he had seen before sunset, and
which he supposed to be standing for him. “I am master here! and
what boots it if I am, and I fear to exercise my authority. Do I fear
Faulcon? I will do so no longer. He has resumed his duty, but I
cannot trust him. I will bring matters to a crisis at once. The ship
that is ahead is directly in our track, steering south and westwardly.
We shall soon meet. If she is a merchant, I will prepare to take her!
If Faulcon refuses, I will put him in irons, and keep him there. Don
Diego I will send on board the prize after I have rifled her, and his
fair daughter, who so disdains me, shall remain and become my bride,
priest or no priest. I will keep Faulcon in chains to grace the nuptials.
It will be a triumph! I will then, by-and-bye, tell him how
that he owes to me his banishment from the heart of Miss Ashley.
This will be the consummation of revenge altogether. Something
whispers in my heart that it is hellish. Be it so. What have I to do
with any thing heavenly! I am an evil man, and never expect to be
otherwise than what I am. What should withhold me from carrying
out my will! I will follow freely its bent. I have cast off national
allegiance, what have I to do with clinging to minor considerations.
If Faulcon must die by my hand by-and-bye, he must die. If Dona
Adelaida is weary of me, the deep sea is a quiet resting place. This
night I or Faulcon shall be master, both of the schooner and her. I
will balance, and swing no longer between hesitation and decision.
Ha! there looms up a sail, a point off the weather bow. It is the
ship on the opposite tack.”
“Sail ho!” shouted the lookout forward.
“Aye, aye! It has already been made out aft. Mr. Mosley,” he
called to the seaman who had been promoted to Westwood's berth,
“have the larboard bow gun all ready to fire! I want to speak this
ship—if she is a merchantman.”
“And what if she is an armed vessel, Captain Lightfoot?”
“I shall not trouble her. Go and see that my orders are obeyed.
Now,” he added to himself, “will I put this Faulcon to the test. If
he falters, he shall be arrested and ironed on the spot.”
“What sail is in sight, sir?” asked Faulcon, coming on deck at this
moment.
“The ship that we saw at sun-down in the northern board!”
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“Yes, I can make her out plainly,” said Faulcon looking at her
through his glass. “She seems a very large vessel, and has either
real ports or quakers!”
“She looks surprisingly like a sloop-of-war. Keep away a point,
helmsman. There, let her be as she is. All ready there, Mr. Mosley,
to bring the schooner to, if we should speak her—also have the gun
clear!”
“What do you intend to do?” asked Faulcon quickly, and in a tone
of surprise.
“It is my intention merely to speak her, if she should prove a merchantman,
otherwise to pass quietly on my way, for I have no desire
to play at billiards with a twenty gun-ship!”
“Why have you ordered a gun to be got ready?”
“I don't know that I am called upon to explain my actions. This
is my watch, and I have the deck, as well, I believe, as the command
of the schooner. But, if it will relieve your curiosity, I will say that
I ordered the gun to be cleared to fire across her fore-foot, to bring
her to, in case she should prove refractory. These large packet-ships
sometimes treat schooners with contempt.”
Thus saying, Lightfoot abruptly turned from him, and went below.
Faulcon walked forward, where Mosley stood by the gun.
“My brave friend, the time approaches for us to act!”
“I see that, sir. I believe it is his intention to board the ship, if she
should turn out to be unarmed.”
“That is my belief. Are all the men you have spoken with, and
whose names you gave me, to be relied on?”
“To a man, sir! They have all said that if it comes to any thing
like piracy, they will join you in taking the schooner!”
“Have you removed all the weapons from the racks and chests, save
just the number you need to arm our thirty-four men?”
“Yes, I have done it in all my watch. The cutlasses and pistols for
our use are all hid in the hammock nettings, just abaft the starboard
fore rigging. The true men know where they are, and can lay their
hands on them in the dark.”
“You have done your part well. Be quiet, and obey all orders from
Captain Lightfoot, till you hear me give the signal.”
“What is the word, sir?”
“Colombia!”
“It is a good one, sir.”
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“You will make as many prisoners as you can, cutting down only
those who resist!”
“It would be best to kill them, every mother's son of them!”
“No; we can secure them on board, and I should rather carry them
into Colombia, prisoners. But here comes Lightfoot. I will go aft,
and soon learn his purposes.”
When Faulcon reached the quarter-deck, he saw that Lightfoot
was armed with a cutlass, and a brace of pistols in his belt. He made
no remark, but after taking a look at the ship, which was now about
half a mile off, he went into the cabin. Here he also armed himself
with his own pistols, but drew on over his weapons his watch-coat.
Don Diego and Adelaida, hearing him call to them, came forth from
their state-rooms in alarm, for the cry of a sail ahead, and the subsequent
bustle of preparation on deck, led them to suppose some important
event at hand.
“My brave Adelaida, you have now to fortify yourself for a scene
of strife. A ship is in sight, and Lightfoot intends to board her, doubtless
to make a prize of her, as he has gone on deck armed. I shall refuse
to take a part in the act. This will bring on a crisis between us.
I shall call on my men to seize the schooner, and it will not be many
minutes before it will be in our hands. Do not doubt! Do not tremble,
my dearest senora! Justice and right are with us. But farewell.
I must to the deck. You will not see me again, dear Adelaida, till
you see me a victor!”
He hurriedly embraced her, and hastened to the deck. Don Diego
would have led her to her state-room, but as she firmly refused to go
from the cabin, he took his sword beneath his cloak, and leaving her,
ascended to the deck.
-- 071 --
CHAPTER TWELFTH.
THE TRUE INTENTIONS OF LIGHTFOOT BECOMING MANIFEST, FAULCON TAKES
A POSITION THAT BRINGS ON A CRISIS.
[figure description] Page 071.[end figure description]
WHEN Faulcon regained the deck he found Lightfoot near the
companion-way with his spy-glass bent upon the ship, which
was now within a quarter of a mile to leeward, for though
to windward at first, Lightfoot, by bracing sharp, had worked to
windward of her.
“She is a merchant-man with all her warlike display of ports,” he
said, addressing Faulcon. “Her yards are not square enough for a
man-of-war, and her masts stoop too much. Boatswain, pipe all hands
to quarters.”
“You don't mean to fire into her?”
“Not if she yields gracefully. But I have no time to discuss
points with you, Mr. Faulcon. Attend to your duty, and command
the battery.”
As he spoke he seized a trumpet and swinging himself into the
main rigging by the peak-halyards, prepared to hall the ship which
was now within pistol shot of the schooner, and steering in a direction
opposite to, but parallel with her course. She was a large vessel,
and displayed distinctly a checkered rauge of ports. She rose and
sel, fell with majestic motion upon the billows, and moved proudly on,
as if disdaining the little vessel that was dancing towards her.
“Ship ahoy!” shouted Lightfoot, suddenly through his trumpet.
“Ho! the schooner!”
“What ship is that?”
“The Washington, from New-York bound to New-Orleans.”
“Back your fore-topsails and send a boat on board of me.”
“What schooner is that?”
“The Colombian schooner of war, Ala del Viento.”
“You have no authority to board an American ship,” responded
a firm voice from the quarter-deck of the Washington. “So I shall
keep on my course unless you are in distress,” and the stately ship
moved proudly on her way.
-- 072 --
[figure description] Page 072.[end figure description]
“Stand by with the gun, forward.”
“All ready, sir!”
“Fire a shot into her.”
Mosley, however, pointed the gun far forward of the ship and fired
it, for Faulcon had directed him to obey orders. The next moment
the fore-yard of the ship swung aback to the mast, and the ship became
stationary.
“Back the fore-topsail,” cried Lightfoot to Mosley, and the
schooner also ceased her onward motion and stood still abeam of
the ship.
“What is your purpose of stopping this vessel upon the high
seas?” asked Faulcon of Lightfoot, as he heard the order given on
board the ship to lower away a boat.
“To get out of her what specie she may have on board as freight,
and lighten the trunks of the passengers of their doubloons.”
“In a word, you are a pirate, and mean to plunder her.”
“You have hit it, Mr. Faulcon; and as I command the schooner,
I shall expect you to co-operate with me.”
“You mistake your man, freebooter,” responded Faulcon, sternly.
“What? do you say you will refuse to obey my orders, Mr.
Faulcon?”
“I do, sir, most positively.”
“Ho! Crummel, bring those irons here that you have ready. You
are once more my prisoner, sir.”
As Lightfoot spoke, he drew a pistol from his belt and levelled it
at the heart of Faulcon. The latter struck it from his grasp into the
air, drew his cutlass, and at the same time shouted the watch-word,
“Colombia!”
In an instant, the deck of the schooner, fore and aft, presented an
extraordinary scene. The partisans of Faulcon being dispersed in
all quarters, mingled with the adherents of Lightfoot, rushed to their
deposit of arms, and attacked them. The piratical part of the
crew being unarmed, and wholly unsuspicious of the revolt, were
taken by surprise. Some of them seized hand-spikes and resisted,
but were either shot or cut down. Some escaped into the rigging,
others fled below to get weapons which were not to be obtained, and
two or three leaped into the water. The deck, amidships and forward,
was, for a few moments, a scene of strife and carnage. Mosley
was everywhere leading and encouraging his party, and having got
possession of all the deck forward of the capstan, came aft. Here
Crummel and three other men attacked him with pikes and fragments
-- 073 --
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of spars, but several of his band coming to his aid, the three men
were taken prisoners, while Crummel, refusing to yield, fell by a bullet
from Mosley's pistol.
In the meanwhile Faulcon and Lightfoot were closely engaged in
a spirited combat with cutlasses. The latter had received one pistol
shot and two severe sabre blows in the arm and temples, which only
increased his ferocity. He attacked Faulcon like an enraged tiger,
at every other blow venting upon him the most fearful imprecations.
“You had best yield, Lightfoot,” cried Faulcon. “Your schooner,
you see, is in my hands. Your reign is at end. Yield, and your life
shall be spared.”
“Never to thee, traitor!” answered the Captain, springing forward
to try a grapple with him.
“Then I will set my men to disarm you, for I have no wish to kill
you. You shall live to suffer the penalty due to your crimes.”
“You, craven, shall never live to witness it,” cried Lightfoot,
throwing himself with his whole weight upon him, and shortening
his cutlass so as to press it against his heart. Faulcon's life was for
a moment in no little peril. He felt the point of the blade forced
against his breast, when Don Diego, seeing his imminent danger, flew
to his aid, and with a thrust of his sword, pierced his arm and paralyzed
its power. With a deep curse the pirate drew back, and at the
same instant, was seized by Mosley and two or three men, and
thrown to the deck. The irons which he had prepared for Faulcon
were placed upon his own wrists, and he was led by Faulcon's command
into the steerage and chained to a bolt in the deck.
“He will bleed to death, sir,” said Mosley as he returned to Faulcon.
“He refases to have the blood staunched.”
“Then let him have his own pleasure,” answered Faulcon, sternly.
“I would rather he should live; for I should like to have the satisfaction
of surrendering him a prisoner to the Colombians. Are his wounds
deep?”
“I think not, sir.”
“Mervin,” said Faulcon to a young man who had once been a student
of surgery, and who at times acted in the capacity of surgeon to
the men, “go into the steerage, and examine his wounds, and see if you
can prevail upon him to have them cared for! Now, Mosley, I believe
the schooner is in our hands!”
“Yes, Mr. Faulcon, after a bloody contest too!”
“How many were killed?”
-- 074 --
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“At least nine of them, sir, and some dozen wounded!”
“And the rest are forward, prisoners?”
“Yes, sir. Every man under the guard of one of our own people!”
“Have them all ironed and secured below; and then restore the
schooner to its former order!”
“What is to be done about the ship, sir? There she lays, and her
boat stops half way between the vessels, where the beginning of the
fray caused those in her to cease rowing.”
“I will go on board of her. Man the cutter!”
The ship was still remaining in the position where she had been
hove to. The sudden noise of the contest—the report of pistols—the
clashing of cutlasses—the cries of the combatants reaching them over
the water, filled them with surprise.
“There is a mutiny or the devil to pay on board there,” exclaimed
the captain of the packet, as he sprung into the mizzen rigging of his
vessel, to see what was going on. “The fellow is a pirate, there is
no doubt, and they have come to loggerheads about us. I hope they
will kill each other to a man. They fight like wolves. It is no boy's
play there. Hear the plunges into the sea!”
At intervals the flashes of the discharged pistols gave them a momentary,
but full view of the deadly struggle fore and aft upon the
schooner's deck; and the contest was witnessed by them all, captain,
passengers and crew, with the most intense surprise and curiosity.
They felt a personal interest in the issue, for they believed that their
fate was in some way involved in it.
“The more there are killed, the better our chance will be,” cried
the captain of the ship, as the noise of the battle grew louder.
At length the sounds of the combat ceased. The clash of cutlasses,
the ringing of pistols was at an end; and a cloud of smoke hung over
the schooner, so lately the scene of such a terrific struggle between man
and his fellow. The captain of the packet now watched the further progress
of events with the most intense anxiety. He had called to his boat,
which had began to pull towards the schooner, to lay on its oars, and it
now remained rocking upon the billows, about half a cable's length from
both vessels. He would have made sail and endeavored now to escape,
but feared that the attempt might bring upon him a broadside
from the schooner, which he saw by the glare of the pistols fired off in
the fight, carried ten guns. He, however, armed his crew and passengers,
numbering in all, nearly sixty men, by breaking open several
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cases of muskets that he carried as freight; and resolved to resist any
attempt to carry his ship by boarding. Several cutlasses and pikes
were also distributed among the party, who were very resolute in their
purpose to defend the ship to the last; for there were several ladies on
board, wives and daughters, whose presence alone was sufficient to inspire
them with the most resolute resistance to the freebooters.
In the midst of the silence that prevailed on the decks of both vessels,
the packet captain heard distinctly the order given by Faulcon to
lower and man the cutter.
“We shall now know the worst, and the meaning of this battle
among them,” he said, as the cutter began to pull towards them. “Do
not fear, ladies! He visits us only in a small six oared boat. His intentions
are pacific at least, now!”
“Shall you let him come aboard, captain?” asked two or three of
the passengers, cocking their guns.
“To be sure! I want to know his business. We have nothing to
fear from a boat's crew. They have come up with my boat, and some
words are spoken between them! They seem to be civil ones. Now
both boats are pulling along together!”
Their progress was watched with the most eager curiosity, until the
cutter from the schooner came under the gangway.
“Throw him a rope,” cried the captain of the ship. “Now let down
the gangway-ladder!”
The rope was caught by the bow-oarsman, and the boat drawn alongside.
Faulcon then stepped upon the gangway-ladder, and ascended
to the deck by the aid of his right arm alone, for his left was wounded
by a blow from Lightfoot's cutlass, and now hung in a sling.
“Who is the captain of this ship?” he inquired, in a tone at once
courteous and commanding, as he gazed round upon the dense group
gathered about the gangway, rendered visible by the light of several
lanterns held by seamen.
“I am, sir,” answered Captain Bunker, advancing a step.
“I have come on board to inform you that you are no longer detained.
You are at liberty to proceed on your voyage!”
“Why was I brought to by a shot, sir?” he demanded sharply.
“And if you please, inform us what bloody work has been going on in
your schooner. Are you her captain?”
“I am now! I was not fifteen minutes ago!”
“Then she has changed hands! You have had a mutiny?”
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“Yes. The vessel was three weeks ago in the Colombian service.
The war having ended, her captain, to remunerate himself for a debt
due him by the government, run to sea with his schooner, and resolved
to hoist the free flag. I was his lieutenant, and refusing to join him,
was thrown into irons. At length I feigned to yield, was restored to
my duty, and formed secretly a plan to retake the schooner, and carry
her back into Colombia. His purpose to board and plunder your vessel,
was the signal for resistance on my part, and hastened the crisis.
You witnessed the struggle. I had on my side thirty-four out of seventy
men. We have carried the vessel, and her captain is in irons. I
have boarded you to make this explanation, and to express my regret
at your detention.”
“With this address, Faulcon bowed, and turned as if about to quit
the ship, when to his surprise, he heard his name pronounced by a female
voice, with an exclamation of sudden recognition. The tones,
ere he looked round at the speaker, thrilled to his soul. He directed
his eyes to the place whence the voice came, and beheld leaning upon
the arm of her father, Alice Ashley, pale and fragile, and regarding him
with a look of the most eager attention and touching interest.
“No, my brave captain,” exclaimed the commander of the packet-ship,
taking his hand, and grasping it warmly; “you are not to get off
so easily. Come into the cabin, and let us have a glass of wine. You
need it after such hard fighting as I have seen you engaged in to-night!”
-- --
[figure description] Illustration.[end figure description]
-- 078 --
CHAPTER THIRTEENTH.
SHOWS HOW LOVE NEVER PERISHES, THOUGH IT MAY SLEEP LONG; ALSO HOW
FAULCON'S FORTUNES BRIGHTEN.
[figure description] Page 078.[end figure description]
FAULCON doubtless would have left the ship, declining the invitation
of its frank-hearted captain, had he not recognised Alice
Ashley thus unexpectedly among the passengers, and seen that
she regarded him with looks of deeper interest than he believed she
could entertain for him. With an embarrassed manner, that was caused
partly by joyful surprise, at once more beholding her who had never
been forgotten by him, notwithstanding his later affection for Don Adelaida,
he accepted the invitation, and was ushered by the captain into his
sumptuous cabin. Several of the gentlemen were also asked down, and
wine and refreshments were brought and placed before them. The
health of Faulcon, who had not yet given his name, was drank with enthusiasm;
for aside from their admiration of his bravery, they all felt
that they owed to him the preservation of the ship from plunder, and
perhaps the safety of their own lives.
“You have not given us the name of your late captain, sir,” said the
commander of the packet, after they had drank once or twice round.
“He was once an officer in the navy, but degraded for some misconduct,
when he went into the patriot service. His name is Lightfoot!”
“Lightfoot; I know no such name in the service,” said an old gentleman,
who wore the naval button.
“This is not his true name. His real name is Richard Level!”
“Then do I know who he is! I am not surprised at his career!
You say he is on board in irons?” demanded the old naval captain.
“Yes, sir. I intend to carry him to Colombia as a prisoner!”
“I hope that they will string him up with five fathom of three-ply.
Sir, you have done not only Colombia service in taking possession of
the schooner, but you have done service to every maritime nation. May
I know whom I have the honor of addressing?” continued the officer
in a frank tone of kindness and respect.
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[figure description] Page 079.[end figure description]
“My name I fear will do little credit to me, as it has been, in my
native city, associated with a crime, of which, God be thanked, I am
now innocent, but which drove me an exile into the patriot service. My
name is Field Faulcon, gentlemen!”
“Then you are the young man who, a year ago, wounded Mr. Tilghman
in a personal rencontre?” exclaimed the captain. “Mr. Tilghman,
do you recognise this brave man, for I believe you are alive, and
can speak for yourself!” continued the captain, addressing a gentleman
who that moment made his appearance into the cabin from his state-room.
“This, Captain Faulcon, is the gentleman I believe whom you
struck down, and supposed you had killed. It is no longer ago than
yesterday, he was relating the circumstance to us after dinner, around
this very table; and I will bear testimony that he handsomely acquitted
you of any thing dishonorable!”
Faulcon gazed with a degree of surprise, not to be expressed by
words, upon the figure of Mr. Tilghman, his person wrapped in an Indian
dressing gown, and a plaid cap covering his bald forehead. The
merchant regarded him in return, with looks of curiosity and astonishment.
“Is it possible I see you again, Mr. Faulcon. Well, we meet under
very different circumstances from our last parting! I am glad to meet
you again, and under such honorable auspices for yourself. Do not
draw back and look so pale. There is my hand! I am no ghost,
though you like to have made one of me. But that is past. I was
more to blame than you were! I did not take into consideration all
things then, as I ought to have done. You acted in self-defence. It
was not heaven's will that I should die—that you should be a murderer!”
“I thank God that you live, sir,” said Faulcon with a voice tremulous
with grateful emotions.
“Yes, so do I. I recovered; but in my illness I had time to look
at the whole matter in its proper bearings. Your father, who committed
suicide the same day, had left behind him a full statement of all his
forgeries, and fully exculpating you from all blame or knowledge of
the transactions by which he had ruined himself! I then, too late regretted
my course towards you, and would gladly have paid much more
money to have had your father's death off my conscience!”
“My father did not take his own life, sir,” said Faulcon, with feeling.
“When I returned to him and told him what you had said,
-- 080 --
[figure description] Page 080.[end figure description]
and what I had done, he died under the overwhelming influence of
horror and despair! He died, sir, as I talked with him! died as he
stood before me! and remained standing a corpse, gazing upon me
with glassy eyes! I fled with terror. I escaped on board this vessel,
then lying in Boston harbor under Colombian colors.”
“I can only regret what has occurred, Mr. Faulcon,” said Mr.
Tilghman. “I feel that leniency on my part would have saved your
father's life. I have severely condemned myself for his death. I
could have prevented it. I have been troubled too at your absence
from your country, and I wish to say to you that one great object in
my coming on ship-board was to go to New Orleans and thence to
Colombia, where I might find you, assure you of my existence, of my
forgiveness, and thus open to you once more a return to your native
land!”
“This goodness overwhelms me, sir. I can scarcely credit my
senses,” exclaimed Faulcon. “Is it possible that the cloud which has
so long darkened my soul is at once dissipated. I am indeed rewarded
for not yielding to despair and the temptations to a lawless
career that are held forth to the outlaw. I have, at least, through all
my wanderings, retained inviolable my integrity as an honest American,
and now have I my rich reward in your forgiveness, and in my
restoration to my good name and my country's confidence.”
“This is certainly one of the most surprising affairs I ever fell in
with,” exclaimed the captain of the packet. “One would certainly
think somebody was up in the sky pulling the wires to make all work
so ship-shape here below. Well, my friends, it is the truth that
somebody's at the helm o' this great man-o'-war, the globe, and that
although we may work up our reckoning, the chronometer of Providence
is what we sail by, after all.”
Mr. Tilghman, after some moments silence, once more grasped
the hand of his young friend, with tears in his eyes, and seemed to
feel as if, in showing kindness to him, he was in some sort atoning
for not extending that mercy to his father which might have saved
his life. Faulcon's hand was grasped by those of all present, and for
a few minutes he felt like a child. It was with an effort he could
refrain from shedding tears; for the best and deepest emotions of his
heart were all called to the surface. The reflection that he was
once more restored to the society of honorable men, and that he had
given evidence of deserving their regard by his gallantry in capturing
the schooner before their eyes, made his bosom glow with new feelings,
and awakened all the nobler attributes of his nature. He
-- 081 --
[figure description] Page 081.[end figure description]
seemed to feel himself another man. He began again to feel that
self-respect which is the balance wheel to all manliness and elevation
of character; above all, he was impressed with a profound sense of
gratitude to that Great Cause of all causes, which had directed to this
happy issue the series of events which held such an influential bearing
upon his destiny.
With these reflections, came with sad joy, the thought of Alice
Ashley. From the moment he had caught a glimpse of her sweet
pale face on deck, she had vanished. Nor could he see her father
in the cabin among the other gentlemen. The sight of her, so frail
and delicate, as if suffering from illness, had awakened all his past
affection towards her; for those that are once truly loved are loved
ever. The severed heart may by-and-bye cling to another with
love, but it will forevermore dwell in memory with gentle tenderness,
and often with thrilling sensibility, upon her whom it once
worshipped. True love never dieth! It may wane and become invisible,
as does the moon, but when memory reflects from the past
the once beloved object, the soul overflows with love, as the moon,
when once more it turns its broad bosom to the sun, is filled again
with light.
So Faulcon's heart turned towards the sun of his first adoration.
His bosom thrilled with a sweet delight, and the star of hope once
more sparkled on the horizon. He now looked eagerly around for
her who filled his thoughts. Several ladies were grouped near the
companion-way, gazing upon the youthful hero, to whom they owed
their protection, but Alice was not among them. He feared he
should not behold her again, or if he should, that she might regard
him with indifference or scorn. But when he recalled that look of
pleased recognition, and the softly-spoken, eager exclamation with
which she repeated his name, and the pale, ethereal countenance, in
which only dwelt serene and celestial benignity, he would not believe
his own doubts and fears. Her looks of illness distressed him.
They touched him to the heart, and moved all his sympathy. He
forgot her former treatment, and had room in his bosom only for the
tenderest sympathy. He wished once more to see her again before
he left the ship, but he felt that it could not be.
“Alice no longer feels hostile towards me,” he said, mentally, “for
her looks were kind; but she has thought best to keep from my
view. Be it so. I will try and forget her. I will make an effort to
banish all hope. I thought I had well nigh forgotten her. I thought
-- 082 --
[figure description] Page 082.[end figure description]
that in the love I have lately entertained towards Dona Adelaida
was buried all tender recollections of Alice. But the sight of her
has shown me that, although I may love Adelaida, my heart has
never yet fully renounced its allegiance to her who first awakened
its love!”
“You are thoughtful, Captain Faulcon,” said the commander of
the packet-ship. “Come, sir, we will once more have a bumper
round to you and Mr. Tilghman.”
“If you please, I will now go on board,” said Faulcon, after the
bumper had been drank. “I have left the schooner in a disordered
condition, and it is necessary that everything should be done to
secure the prisoners.”
“How many have you on board?”
“About twenty-one or two.”
“Have you room for them all?”
“Yes, between decks.”
“You must take good care they don't rise upon you before you
get into the port of the republic.”
“I have means for keeping them safe, sir. I wish you and the
gentlemen, and also the ladies present, good evening.”
“If you will go, I will not detain you. The world shall hear of
your gallantry, sir! You shall have a name yet that you will have
need to be proud to wear!”
Faulcon ascended to the deck, escorted by the captain. As he
was crossing to the gangway, Alice Ashley approached him with
her hand extended. He took it, bewildered with joyful wonder.
“Mr. Faulcon,” said. Alice, in a tone at once trembling and calm,
“in behalf of the ladies on board this ship, I present you grateful
acknowledgments for the protection you have extended to us. Your
bravery commands our admiration, and you will always be remembered
by us with that gratitude which is due to a brave and generous
benefactor!”
As she ceased, she left in his hand a folded paper, and the next
moment left the deck. He placed the note in his bosom, and then,
after taking leave of nearly all the passengers who crowded about
the gangway, he descended into his boat, and in five minutes afterwards
stood once more on the quarter-deck of the schooner. He
was met by Don Diego and Dona Adelaida. The latter clasped his
hand between hers and pressed it to her lips. He felt warm tears
fall upon it, and his heart was moved, while his conscience gently upbraided
him for letting his affections play the truant, or rather turn
-- 083 --
[figure description] Page 083.[end figure description]
back to their former love; for all his feelings towards Alice had
been revived in their strength.
"Senor, I owe you life and honor," were the ardent expressions of
grateful feeling with which the beautiful Spaniard met him, now for
the first time since his conquest of the vessel ; for he had left the
schooner directly for the ship, without descending into the cabin to
see her, where he had earnestly desired her to remain through the
conflict. She had obeyed, and now met him as he came on board,
to pour forth her gratitude.
"I am rewarded in your safety, Dona Adelaida," he said, slightly
embarrassed by the warmth of her feelings.
The words were kind. He could have said neither more nor les.
Yet there was to her quick ear something cold in their cadence that
caused her to look up with surprise.
"Have I offended you, senor ?" she asked, impulsively.
"No, Adelaida ! I am very happy that you are safe from the
power of Captain Lightfoot. But this deck is no place for you. The
traces of the fight are all around. Will you soon retire to your
cabin ? In the morning you will see nothing upon deck to offend
the eye. Buenos noches, fair senorita !"
"Felices noches, senor!" answered Dona Adelaida, in a sad tone ;
and taking her father's arm, she slowly descended to the cabin, feeling
in her heart that Faulcon's manner, tone and feelings had in one
short half hour undergone a change.
"Now that I am free from the power of that dark-hearted captain,
I see Senor Faulcon no longer loves me," she said, as she reached
her state-room, and speaking with a melancholy air. "Did he regard
me only while I was in danger? Did he love me only because
I was unprotected ? Then it was pity and sympathy, and not love!
Well. I will not let him discover that I feel this change in him. I
will see if to-morrow he is thus; and if so, I will speak to him no
more of love. I will be grateful for what I owe him, and if he cares
no more for me, I can the more closely cherish his grateful memory
in my heart of hearts !"
-- 084 --
CHAPTER FOURTEENTH.
OUR HERO BEING IN A DILEMMA BETWEEN TWO, MAKES A VIRTUE OF NECESSITY,
AND ALSO A SPEECH.
[figure description] Page 084.[end figure description]
Faulcon now called Mosley and ascertained from him that
the prisoners were secured in irons and the schooner nearly
restored to her former orderly condition. He thanked the
faithful officer for his promptness, and also for his brave services in
the re-capture of the schooner. Then calling the men aft, he addressed
to them eloquently and warmly a few words of thanks for
the part they had taken, assuring them that their conduct would be
rewarded by the Colombian government, as well as by the approval
of their own breasts. Giving them a few directions with reference
to their future duties, he hastened for a few moments to his state-room
to peruse the paper which Alice Ashley had left in his hand.
He closed his door, and by the light of a lamp, read the address.
It was in pencil, written in tremulous letters, and read simply, “To
Field Faulcon, Esq.” He opened it with fingers scarce less agitated
than were those that traced his name upon the outside. It was unsealed
and had been hurriedly folded together. He read, with what
emotions the reader will conceive who follows with him its delicately
pencilled lines, the words below:—
“Sir,
Your appearance on board—your gallantry,—the reflection that
I owe to you more than life, impels me to address you. I owe you
an apology for my past treatment of you when once you bestowed
upon me your regard. I ask your forgiveness, though I have never
forgiven myself. I was influenced to act as I did by representations
made to my father and myself, against your character. They bore
the air of truth, and were believed. Circumstances afterwards convinced
me that I had done you injustice, and that you had been the
victim of one whom you had ignorantly made your enemy. He deliberately
plotted your ruin in my estimation, and, I am sorry to say,
so far succeeded as to lead me to take a position with regard to you,
-- 085 --
[figure description] Page 085.[end figure description]
which it has since deeply pained me to reflect upon. I now embrace
the first opportunity—an opportunity I have long wished for—to make
this avowal. It is due to myself as well as to you.
“Permit me to congratulate you upon the noble conduct you have just
exhibited, and to assure you of my esteem. I pray that your future
course may be bright and distinguished. I shall probably, not live to
see you take the position among men which I feel you will yet do. I
am dying slowly of consumption, to alleviate which, in some degree,
I am now taking a southern voyage, a voyage which, but for your generous
courage, would have terminated to all on board most disastrously.
Farewell.
Your friend, Alice Ashley.”
“Noble, excellent creature! Angelic Alice! How generously have
you acted in thus voluntarily overstepping the reserve of your sex, and
thus confiding in me. It is like yourself, frank and open-hearted as a
spirited, unsuspecting child. How my heart swells and bounds with the
reflowing current of my former love. Can I hope from what you have
here written? Can I discern in one line the sweet truth that you
love me still? I tremble between hope and doubt. Dying! Alas!
she speaks too truly, I fear. I marked her pale cheek and altered
form. She looked like a flower just drooping to fall to the ground.
Dying! no, you cannot die—you will not die! My love shall enfold
you as the vine embraces the breaking branch, and uphold and
strengthen you. I will see you again; I will cast myself at your feet;
I will learn from your own lips if I can still hope to be loved as you
have once loved me. Dearest, blest Alice!”
He pressed the pencilled name again and again to his lips, manifesting
in his ardent passion the undying power of love in the heart.
“But how shall I behold her again? I have sterner duties before me,
than kneeling at a maiden's feet. The ship is bound to New-Orleans.
They will probably remain the winter there—if she lives. If she
lives! Oh, let her live, that I may once more behold her and tell her
that I still love—that all my heart is her own! I am tempted once
more to go on board the ship; but by this, she is a mile astern, sailing
on her course. I will steer for Colombia, and after surrendering my
prisoners to the government, hasten to meet Alice in New-Orleans.
Sweet, noble girl! What benevolent angel prompted you to write
thus to me—to overwhelm my soul with a flood of kindness!”
Thus speaking, he again pressed to his lips the note, thrust it into
his breast, and opened his state-room door to go on desk. Dona
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[figure description] Page 086.[end figure description]
Adelaida was seated in the cabin, her hand upon her brow, and her whole
attitude like one very sorrowful.
“Senora, you seem not to be well,” he said kindly, and taking her
hand.
She started and looked up, and then colored with beautiful confusion.
“I thought, senor, you were upon deck. The air of the cabin is
cooler than in my state-room.”
“Adelaida,” he said, seating himself by her side, and speaking in
a tone of tenderness, yet one not wholly free from embarrassment,
“I have a few words to say to you,—will you listen?”
“Speak, senor,” she replied in a low voice, dropping her large oriental
eyes to the floor.
“I first saw you in the midst of peril and battle, lady. Your beauty
and misfortunes enlisted my sympathy, and I extended to you my protection.
Afterwards your gentle and noble qualities of heart and mind,
as I saw them developed, interested me deeply; and in the impulse
of my feelings I confessed to you the power they had over me. Your
persecution by Captain Lightfoot strengthened still more my interest
in you, through sympathy for your situation. I thought that my heart
was yours. But, lady, forgive me! I knew not my heart. But you
shall hear its history and then judge me. A long time ago, I loved a
beautiful girl of the northern land. She was as fair as the pearl on the
ocean strand, and her eyes were like the deep blue of the summer
sea. She had a spirit proud but gentle—much like thine. She was
a woman to love and worship with the heart's reverence. We loved—
our souls were one. At length coldness took the place of affection
in her heart towards me. She banished me from her presence. I could
never learn from her silent lips wherein I had offended. She would
see me no more, and I became an exile from my native land. I bore
away with me her image in my heart; and though I forgave, I could
not forget her. Time, which befriends all the sad and disappointed,
gradually soothed the keenness of my regret; and by-and-bye I banished
her, as I believed, from my heart.
“I saw you. My bosom yearned to reflect some other heart in
the mirror of its affections, and your image fell there, and was retained
with pride and gratitude. There was much in you that reminded
me of her I had loved, and this made you still dearer to me.
I should never have doubted that I loved you with all my heart, but
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for what has this night occurred. Are you listening, lady? for I am
before you a penitent, confessing for absolution!”
“I hear you, senor,” answered the maiden, in an even tone.
“Proceed.”
“On board the ship, I found that lady a passenger with her father.
When she beheld me, she repeated my name in a tone between pleasure
and surprise. I caught her eyes. They rested kindly upon
me. When last I saw them, they were lighted up by the brilliancy
of haughty scorn. I saw her but to pity and love; for her cheek
had lost its rose, her form its elasticity, and she seemed like one just
hovering between two worlds.
“As I left the ship, she spoke kindly to me, taking my hand, and
left in it a note, which I have just been reading. The sight of her,
with the perusal of the note, has revived all my long slumbering love
and devotion. Here is the note. Read it, while I go on deck.
When you have perused it, tell me if you will forgive me for withdrawing
from you my false affections, (which, nevertheless, I did
believe to be true,) and giving them to her who first awakened them
in my soul. I throw myself wholly upon your generous nature. I
have frankly unfolded to you all. I would not coldly conduct towards
you, and leave you to uncertain suspicions. I have freely
told you the truth, and cast myself upon your mercy. You would
do right to answer that it is not material to you on whom I place my
affections, and laugh at me as a very vain lover to suppose that any
recreancy of mine could move you. But you are above such arts as
these. I feel that you will extend towards me the same frankness I
have bestowed. I await my sentence, Adelaida!”
“Senor,” answered the fair Spaniard, “I should be lost to all sense
of gratitude to question the propriety of any course you see fit to
take. To you I owe my life and honor. I have no demand upon
your affections. You have extended towards me all that I can look
for or hope for. I will confess that gratitude for your kindness has
taken a tenderer form in my heart. But I will not be selfish. I
freely resign to you all claim you think I may have upon your affections.
It is enough for me to owe to you all that I now do. Your
happiness is first in my mind. I do not wish to read the note. Your
words are truth to me. I shall ever pray for your happiness and the
life of her whom you love. Give back to her freely all your heart!
I should be grieved to think that you felt bound by any obligation to
me, senor!”
“You are very generous, Senora Adelaida,” said Faulcon, much
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relieved by the manner in which she had received his communication.
“I owe everything to you. Shall I not bestow anything in return?”
“Well, senor captain,” said Don Diego, entering the cabin, “we
are once more free, and in safety. How shall we repay you?”
“I need no thanks, senor!”
“Captain Faulcon,” called Mosley at the companion-way.
“Well?” answered Faulcon, hastening to the deck.
“There is an ugly-looking black cloud rising in the south-west.
Hadn't we better make sail?”
“I thought I had given the order some time ago, to fill away. I
must have forgotten it. Square away the fore-yard again.”
“Aye, aye, sir!”
The schooner was now put on directly before the wind which blew
from the north. The ship was just visible astern, about two miles
distant. Faulcon stood watching the cloud which rose rapidly and
grew each moment darker. Don Diego approached him and said,
“What course do you steer, Captain?”
“You, of course, do not wish to go to Colombia, and I was just
thinking that I would run into Havanna and leave you and Dona
Adelaida.”
“That would be doing us a kindness, senor. How far are we
from the port?”
“Not more than seventy miles. I will put in there and leave you.”
“A thousand thanks, senor captain. You increase our debt of
gratitude to you each moment.”
“Keep her away two points, helmsman,” said Faulcon. “Haul
aft the main and fore sheets and brace up the top-sail yards;” he called
to the crew. Now, Mr. Mosley, we will divide our people into
watches, and you must act as my first lieutenant. As I have no second,
I shall keep the starboard watch myself. Don Diego, you had
best sleep while you can. In the morning by ten o'clock we shall be
inside the Moro Castle.”
“In a few minutes Faulcon had the quarter deck to himself. Mosley
and his watch had gone below. His own watch, consisting of seventeen
men, were stationed forward, save four, who, armed with pistols
and cutlasses, stood guard over the prisoners at the fore and main
hatches.
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“How is Lightfoot now?” asked Faulcon, going to the steerage
hatch and speaking to the young man who had acted as surgeon.
“He sleeps, sir, since his wounds were dressed.”
“None of them, I think you said, are very serious.”
“No, sir.”
“See that his chains don't chafe them.”
“They are all clear, sir.”
“Very well. Let your watch be over him till eight bells. It is
now past two o'clock.”
Faulcon now began to give his attention to the approaching cloud
which came up with the threatening aspect of a tornado. After watching
it a few seconds he gave an order to furl the main-topsail. This
was soon followed by sending men aloft to take a close reef in the foretopsail.
The mainsail was next furled and a single reef taken in
the foresail and one in the jib. Each moment the western horizon
grew blacker, and midnight darkness seemed to be settling upon the
ocean like the broad-winged vulture upon his nest.
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CHAPTER FIFTEENTH.
SHOWING HOW EVENTS ARE CONTROLLED BY A POWER ABOVE, FOR THE CONFUSION
OF THE EVIL AND THE REWARD AND HONOR OF THE GOOD.
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THE darkness which hung upon the deep, was succeeded by a fearful
stillness. The wind died away, and the waves seemed to sink into
the bosom of the ocean with a leaden weight. Then far off from the
south-west, came a low growling sound. It grew louder and fiercer, and
a white glaring line that Faulcon knew was a wall of foam driven forward
by the mad hurricane, was visible along the near horizon. Louder
roared the winds and the tossed billows, and the sound filled the firmest
soul with dread. The schooner was put square before it, and the next
moment the wild wall of waters leaped over the traffrail, and the schooner
was in an instant submerged to her gunwales, and involved in a whirlpool
of spray, as if a cataract had poured itself down upon her decks.
The vessel struggled like a living thing to throw off the weight of water,
and emerged at length with her bows from the vortex, and rode proudly
above the billowy sea. For about twenty minutes she was driven
onward with the fierce tempest, wholly at its mercy. Her masts both
curved forward with the strong pressure of the wind, and her velocity
through the water seemed like that of a bird.
At length the power of the tornado ceased. The clouds parted, and
exposed here and there a glittering star; and the foaming sea began to
subside, and change from a snowy white surface to its deep blue color.
Faulcon was now able to get the schooner under the control of her helm
and to carry sail, for he had been all the while scudding under the
close-reefed fore-topsail. The wind once more swung round to the
northward, and he was able to lay his course a second time for Havanna.
Having withstood the tornado with safety himself, he began to fear
for the ship, which he knew must have been struck by it before it
reached him. He thought painfully of the danger Alice had been in,
and was filled with anxiety for her preservation.
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The morning at length dawned, and by the increasing light of day,
the coast of Cuba became visible about five leagues to the southward.
As the sun rose, he was able to make out the faint outline of the towers
of the Moro Castle. He stood on for the port under crowded sail;
and about nine o'clock was so near that he could distinguish with his
glass the Spanish flag upon the battlements; and see the shipping in
the harbor, with the roofs and turrets of the city beyond. Numerous
small craft were sailing in and out of the harbor, or gliding along the
coast. In the entrance was moored a huge line-of-battle-ship, stripped,
but with her batteries in order, serving as a guard ship. A United
States sloop-of-war and a British frigate lay at anchor just inside of
her; and a number of Spanish ships of war were moored deeper in
the harbor. These objects opened one after another upon Faulcon's
gaze as he stood upon the after gun-carriage watching the progress of
his swift vessel through the water. Nearer and nearer he advanced to
the opening of the port, more and more distinct appeared everything
on shore. Closer and closer under the shadow of the Gibraltar-like
Moro, the schooner moved, until the battlements frowned above them,
and an officer from their summit hailed them with a loud challenge.
“What schooner of war is that?”
“The Wing of the Wind.”
“What nation? Show your colors.”
“Colombian!”
“You will come to anchor between the guard ship and the Spanish
frigate.”
“Aye, aye, sir!” answered Faulcon, who saw that although the
hostilities between Spain and the new republic had ceased, that the
Spanish authorities still retained a lively jealousy of their late foes.
As he passed the Castle, and entered the harbor, he all at once uttered
an exclamation of joyful surprise. Just ahead of him, and
hitherto concealed by being on the inner side of the U. S. sloop-of-war,
was the packet-ship Washington at anchor. A glance was sufficient
to explain to him the reason of her being there. Her fore-topmast
was gone, all her boats carried away, and her bulwarks forward
stove, so that every thing level with the deck was visible to the
eye. He saw that she had suffered greatly in the tornado, and had
barely escaped from utter shipwreck. He lufted a little as he came
under her stern, and hailed, just as Captain Bunker himself hailed him.
“You have bravely rode out the tornado, Captain,” said the latter,
“or else you were only on the skirts of it! You see how it has
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served me. I thought at one time, we should have to go to the bottom! I
have lost only a few spars and some of my forward bulwarks, with
boats and caboose! I am glad to see you again!”
“Thank you, sir! Are all your passengers safe and well?” asked
Faulcon, as his schooner sailed with a graceful curve round the ship's
quarter.
“Yes, all. Will you come on board and dine?”
“With pleasure,” answered Faulcon, as his vessel glided on.
“How do you get along with your prisoners?”
“They are very quiet.”
“Where do you anchor?”
“Close by you.”
“I am glad of that!” responded the captain with frank cordiality.
In a few seconds the schooner dropped her anchor within cable's
length of the ship, and with her sails furled, lay like some fairy bark
among the larger war-ships that were moored around her. She was
now boarded by an armed boat from the Castle, and Faulcon briefly
explained the events which had transpired. The Spanish officer then
went below to look at the prisoners, who were lying about between
decks in their chains, sullen and ferocious. They came last to Lightfoot,
who had the steerage to himself. They found him reclining upon
a mattrass, and looking very pale, but with an expression of determined
hate upon his features.
“So you have come to gaze on me as if I were a chained tiger!”
he said, addressing Faulcon fiercely.
“No. The Spanish officer wished to see the prisoners, and I came
with him. I have refrained from visiting you. I do not wish to
triumph over a fallen man.”
“I wish to speak with you, Faulcon,” said Lightfoot, as he and the
Spanish officer were passing out.
“Well, what have you to say?”
“You remember that miniature?”
“Yes.”
“You thought it resembled Alice Ashley.”
“Yes.”
“It is her likeness. Alice Ashley and I were once lovers.”
“You and she?” cried Faulcon with surprise.
“Yes. Does it not make you love me better?” he asked with
savage malice. “See, this is her picture! I kiss its sweet lips before
your eyes, for I know you were also her lover.”
“Your wounded condition only prevents me from punishing this
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insult to my feelings, Lightfoot! How is it that you have seen this
lady?”
“I supplanted you. I loved her, but found she loved another. I
resolved to destroy you in her opinion, and I succeeded.”
“Then you are the person to whom I owe my banishment from
her presence. You were my secret foe—the author of the anonymous
communications to which she listened.”
“Yes, Faulcon. If it will give you pleasure to know it, I am the
man! She was a sweet girl, and I would have sacrificed myself to
win her, much less you.”
“This confession was only needed to seal your doom. You might
have been leniently treated by the Colombian government, and punished
perhaps only with imprisonment. The Spanish officer now on
board, has desired me to surrender you as pirates. You will
not find mercy here, or favor. I shall comply with his request. You
shall die the death you so richly merit.”
With these words Faulcon approached him, and took from him by
force, the miniature of Alice Ashley.
“This, villain, you shall no longer desecrate.”
“It is very manly in you to take advantage of my weakness to
rob me.”
“I do not reproach myself when one so base as you are is the object
of my violence. We shall probably not meet again. I shall go
on deck and inform the Spanish officer that I surrender you and your
party to him, and desire him to send for you. I shall be glad when
the schooner is freed from you. I shall take her back to Colombia,
and the government will not need your presence to know what I have
done for it. Now, Captain Lightfoot, farewell. I would as a friend
recommend to you to make your peace with heaven.”
“Heaven! I know nothing about a heaven. Leave me to myself.
I don't want any preaching.”
Faulcon departed, and meeting the Spanish officer on deek, told
him that he had decided to surrender the pirates into his hands.
While he was speaking, a barge belonging to the American sloop-of-war
pulled alongside, containing the captain of the packet-ship, Mr.
Tilghman, and Mr. Ashley and his daughter, besides two or three
other ladies.
“Captain Faulcon,” said the American captain, “I have had a visit
from the lieutenant of the American sloop-of-war, and as he has heard
of your services and courage, he desired to visit you. Mr. Tilghman
and Mr. Ashley, and Miss Ashley, also desired to accompany
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us; and so you see we make quite a party; we have fairly boarded
you.”
“I surrender myself a willing captive to such fair boarders,” answered
Faulcon, slightly resting his glance upon Alice Ashley's face.
Their eyes met, the expression was kindly, and at once their hearts
flowed into one. While Captain Bunker was explaining to the Spanish
commandant of the port how his ship had been saved through
Faulcon's gallantry, the latter had been approached by Mr. Ashley,
who taking his hand, said, leading him to Alice—
“My daughter, Mr. Faulcon. You were once friends, and will
need no introduction.”
“Alice, your note filled my soul with joy and hope,” said Faulcon,
in a low tone. “Tell me, shall I hope?”
“Oh, is it possible, Mr. Faulcon, you can still think of me with
kindness?” she asked in tremulous accents, while her face lighted up
with pleasure.
“I can only think of you with love, Alice. You are dear—nay,
dearer to me than ever. Say that I may be once more regarded by
you as in times past.”
“I am willing, in any way, to atone to you, Field, for my past unkindness.
It has caused me more unhappiness than I can speak of.
The reflection, that after all, you are kind”—
“Kind, dearest Alice! That is a cold word. I love you with the
deepest tenderness. Your pale cheek and drooping form bring tears
into my eyes.”
“Nay, now that I know you love me still, Field, I shall be better.
I am happier at this little moment than I have been for a year past.”
“How blest your words make me, Alice! Then you permit me
to hope?”
“To hope for all that I have power to give, Field,” she answered,
deeply blushing.
“Sweet, kind Alice!” he cried, pressing her hand. “But why
that start?”
“It is he!” she cried, with emotion.
“Who?” demanded Faulcon. He followed her looks and beheld
Lightfoot, whom the Spanish officer had ordered to be brought on
deck. He was leaning upon the arms of two men, and regarding
them with the eyes of the demon of hatred.
“That man has confessed himself the secret foe who would have
ruined me.”
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“Yes, Field, I have since learned his baseness and treachery. It
is horrible! I cannot look upon him! Oh, that I should ever have
been so wicked as to believe him! Forgive me, Field!”
“With all my heart, Alice. Walk aft with me. He will soon be
removed into the boat. Ah, here comes on deck Dona Adelaida and
her father!”
“She is very beautiful. Who is she?”
“They were taken prisoners by Lightfoot and rescued by me.
They land in Havanna this morning. You must know her, Alice.”
As he was about to leave her to approach the fair Spaniard, Lightfoot,
who had not kept his eyes off Faulcon and Alice, suddenly rushed
forward to the capstan, on which lay a pair of pistols, and seizing
hold of one, levelled it at Faulcon and pulled the trigger. Adelaida
saw the direction in which the pistol was aimed, and impulsively threw
herself between its course and the bosom of him whom she now gave
proof that she loved better than life.
She fell dead at Faulcon's feet. He bent over her a moment and
then fixed his eyes upon the murderer, who bitterly muttered his disappointment.
He would have rushed forward and shot him dead for
the deed, but he felt that his death by his hand, would be no adequate
retribution.
“I leave you, monster, to the ignominious death of the gallows!”
he said, sternly. “You have given to heaven another angel. Yet I
would rather far, the ball had entered my own heart.”
The Colombian renegade was soon removed with his partisans from
the schooner, and in a few days afterwards were executed, Lightfoot
showing himself hardened and vindictive to the last moment. A few
moments before he was swung off, he was shown by Captain Bunker
a “Gaceta,” in which was recorded, that that morning were married by
the chaplain of the American sloop-of-war, “Field Faulcon, Esquire,
late of the Colombian service, to Alice Ashley, only daughter of
Thomas Ashley, Esquire, of Boston.
THE END.
