Story 2--Chapter VIII.
The Ship Duchess.
She was a vision of delight.
Ballad.
These treasures are for you, my own beloved one—
Laid up for you by your own father’s hand.
Foxglove.
Antonio. A long, low, black and rakish vessel, say you?
Pietro. Yes, captain; she’s a pirate beyond doubt.
Antonio. We’ll have a fight or e’er she capture us.
The Storm.
The truth of my history obliges me to relate some occurrences powerfully bearing upon John’s fortunes.
It was in the early part of the month of June, in the year 1817, when the ship Duchess left the port of Kingston, in the island of Jamaica, bound to the port of Havre, in France. She had been chartered for this voyage by a French merchant by the name of Jules Durocher.
Jules Durocher had settled, when a young man, as a planter in the island of Hayti; but, dissatisfied with a planter’s life, he had sold his land in that island, and afterwards removed from Hayti to Kingston, where he established himself as a merchant. Here he had succeeded in making a large fortune, when he was but little more than forty years of age. Having lost his wife, an English lady, whom he had married in Jamaica, and to whom he was much attached, and his health, which had for many years seemed to be good, failing at length suddenly from the insidious and slowly-working effects of the climate, he had determined to retire from business, to realise his gains, and to pass the remainder of his days in his native France, with his only child Louise.
He had now so far carried out his intentions as to have converted into gold and bills of exchange all his large fortune, except the comparatively small portion which had been required to purchase a cargo of the native products of Jamaica for the ship he had chartered. So uncertain, however, are the calculations of men, that now, when the quietude in which he had long hoped to pass his declining years appeared almost certain of realisation, his health began rapidly to decline; and his state was so weak, when the lading of the Duchess was completed, that he had to be taken from his bed on land and carried to one on board of the ship. Such was the state of things in which Jules Durocher and his daughter Louise left their home of many years in Kingston, to transfer their fortunes to the father’s native France.
Louise Durocher was very beautiful; but her beauty was not of the kind which we generally attribute to French ladies, and which is characterised by sparkling black eyes, raven-hued tresses, and a brunette complexion. Her loveliness was a direct antithesis to this description. Her hair deserved fully the title of “golden” on account of both its colour and its lustre, and held smoothly round her head by a plain riband, fell in a mass of rich curls over her shoulders. Her softly bright eyes, dark, but decidedly and purely blue, exhibited in every glance a tender heart and an intelligent mind. A soft rose-tinge upon her cheeks illustrated by a delicate contrast the pearly fairness of her complexion.
At the time when she is introduced to my readers, she was dressed in a loose white muslin morning robe, slightly confined at the waist by a white silken cord; and from beneath the folds of this garment peeped out now and then two beautifully-shaped little feet clad in a delicate pair of white satin slippers. The band round her hair was also white. A dress of this description does not generally comport with beauty of the style of Louise’s; but in the case of loveliness so exceeding as hers, it absolutely added to the effect. The pure, innocent, and elevated expression of her face, haloed by her lustrous wealth of golden hair, the beholder might be said to realise the ideal of the old masters.
The cabin of the Duchess occupied, as usual, the after-part of the ship. Directly at the stern, and dividing the width of the vessel between them, were two handsome and elegantly-furnished state-rooms—the one assigned to Mr Durocher, and the other to his daughter. Each of these state-rooms opened into the saloon, which, occupying the breadth of the ship, was very nearly square. Forward of this saloon, a narrow passage leading from it divided a double row of state-rooms—two upon each side—which were used by the officers of the ship.
At the time when these new characters are introduced to the reader, the Duchess had been some days out of port. She had gone through what is called the Windward Passage—between the islands of Cuba and Hayti—had passed through the channel crowded with many islets, which lies between Caycos and Turks islands and had fairly entered upon the broad Atlantic. The invigorating air of the open sea had so improved the health of Mr Durocher that he had been brought from the bed in his state-room to a sofa in the saloon. Here he was attended by his daughter and a young quadroon slave girl, who waited upon the young lady.
Louise, who was skilled in music, and performed upon several instruments, had just finished singing, to an accompaniment on the harp, the beautiful old song entitled “My Normandy”—a genuine relic of the age of chivalry, of the days of the trouviers and troubadours—when her father’s emotion caused her to put aside the instrument. That touching song, applying fully to the case of the returning exile himself, with its tender refrain—
“I long again the land to see, Which gave me birth—my Normandy,” recalled the past vividly, with many a hope then entertained of a happy return to his native land—many a hope which the untimely death of his wife had destroyed for ever.
“Dear Louise,” said Mr Durocher, “how feelingly you sing that charming song of my native land! What happiness I used to anticipate in pointing out to your now sainted mother—when wealth, achieved through a long and tedious exile, should enable me to resume, in my Normandy, the station from which losses had reduced my family—all the beautiful scenes so familiar to my childhood. God destroys such hopes to draw our affections away from the things of earth. ’Tis now for you only, my beloved child, that I at all consider a worldly future. You will have wealth; few of the daughters of France born upon the soil will be heirs to such a fortune. But there are cares also belonging to the possession of riches; and how will an inexperienced young girl like you know how to meet these?”
“Do not trouble yourself about me, my dear father,” said the affectionate daughter. “Is not your health improving? Every day since we left Kingston you have gained strength. You will live yourself to see your money safely invested and your daughter’s future secured. Let us hope that many, many happy years on earth await us.”
“If future years are in store for me, Louise,” replied Mr Durocher, “they may be cheerful when blessed by your presence, but I cannot be happy where your mother is not. I feel convinced, however, that I shall soon meet her again; I am impressed with a feeling—though I know not why—that I shall never more see France.”
The young lady left her seat beside the harp and sat upon a chair near to the sofa on which her father was reclining. She placed her arm round his neck, and took in her disengaged hand one of his.
“Dearest father,” she said, in a tender and soothing tone of voice, “these low spirits are but the lingering effects of your illness. Life must still have much happiness in store for you. The grand and beautiful scenes of day and night, upon land and water, exhibiting, as they ever do, a proof of the power and goodness and love of God towards His creatures, must have an influence leading to happiness upon every human soul. I am sure that one so good as you must feel this blessed influence.”
“I do feel it, my dear child,” said the invalid; “but that feeling cannot remove the uneasiness which I experience at the conviction that I must soon leave you alone in the world. I have a number of relations in France; but you are unknown to all of them; even I, so long has it been since I have met any of them, must be nearly, if not quite forgotten.”
The speaker paused awhile in reflection. Louise was also silent; she could make no reply to her father’s last observation; its probable truth admitted of no just objection. Mr Durocher at length spoke again—
“Louise,” he said, taking a pocket-book from an inside breast-pocket of his coat, “in this pocket-book are bills of exchange on different bankers in France to the amount of twelve hundred thousand francs. Even if these be lost, the money will still be safe; the bills are executed in triplicate; one copy of each has been left by me in the hands of a friend at Kingston, and the third copy of each has been sent to a gentleman in Havre. These bills can only be paid on my endorsement, or on that of my legal representative, in case of my death. There is a note of the names of these gentlemen and of a list of the drafts in my trunk; here is a copy of the same note which I wish you to take possession of. In the strong-box in my state-room are fifty thousand francs in gold; and the cargo of this ship should sell at Havre for at least a hundred and fifty thousand francs. In the event of my death, this property is yours. I should have mentioned to you these particulars before; I feel urged now to postpone no longer giving you this information.”
At this instant, and before Louise could make a reply, a loud voice giving orders and the noise of hurrying feet were heard upon deck.
“Celeste,” said Mr Durocher, addressing the quadroon girl, “go upon deck and see if you can learn what is the matter.”
The girl hurried up the cabin steps, as ordered, and soon returned accompanied by the captain.
“What is the cause of the disturbance overhead, Captain Johnson?” asked the invalid.
“We have been apparently pursued for some hours,” was the answer, “by a rather suspicious-looking vessel. Pirates are by no means uncommon in these waters, and it is not improbable that this is one. As the wind is light, we have crowded on every yard of canvas. The stranger, nevertheless, is evidently gaining upon us. I have, therefore, ordered our two twelve-pounders to be made ready for service, and have directed the men also to look to their small-arms. If it were late in the day we might indulge a hope of keeping at a sufficient distance from the suspicious craft to make our escape in the night.”
The time was between nine and ten o’clock in the morning.
The face of Louise became white with alarm. The poor girl seemed to be terribly frightened.
“There is no need of feeling alarmed, Miss Durocher,” said the captain, in a cheerful voice. “We are not by any means certain the stranger is a pirate. Should he prove to be such, the probabilities are in our favour that he will not molest us, when he finds, on nearer approach, that we are so strong; these sea-robbers are not apt to assault any vessel which they cannot capture without fighting. We are well manned, having sixteen officers and seamen, all able men. We have two cannons and plenty of muskets and cutlasses, besides a full supply of ammunition. Even if he should attack us, I think that we can easily beat him off. My vessel is larger than his, and manoeuvres well; and fully one-half of us are man-of-war’s men.”
“Why do you suppose,” asked Mr Durocher, “that the stranger is in pursuit of you?”
“Because,” replied Captain Johnson, “when we first saw him, the course which he was steering was due south-east as ours is north-east, and he is now directly astern of us. If Miss Durocher will come with me upon deck, she can see our pursuer very plainly by aid of the telescope. You are too weak, I suppose, to get upon deck yourself, Mr Durocher?”
“I will try to do so, if you will give me your aid,” answered the invalid.
“You had better not undertake so much,” said Louise. “I am afraid that the fatigue will do you harm.”
“It will not hurt him at all, miss,” said Captain Johnson, cheerily. “He need not suffer from fatigue at all. If you will let that yellow girl of yours bring up an easy-chair, I will carry your father up in my arms.”
Captain Johnson was, indeed, a powerfully-made man; he was fully six feet in height, and stout in proportion. Constant exercise in the open air had given to him the full vigour to which his herculean frame seemed to entitle him.
As soon as the invalid was made comfortable in his easy-chair, and was in a position from which he commanded a view of the ocean all around, the spy-glass was handed to him. Far away towards the south-west, and at first sight rather low upon the horizon, the strange sail could be seen by the unassisted eye; but the telescope showed that her hull was above the horizon.
“There seem to be a number of men upon her deck,” said Mr Durocher; “and she has one of those long pivot-guns amidships. That is a very dangerous cannon, Captain Johnson; our pursuer may, with a gun of so long a range, do us ruinous injury without coming near enough to allow us to do him harm with our small cannon.”
The telescope was passed to the captain, and by him to Louise. It was then handed to the officers of the ship.
“Can you make out her hull?” asked the captain of one of these officers, who had at the moment the glass in his hand.
“Partly,” was the answer. “What I can see of it is entirely black. She seems to be clipper-built.”
“And these Baltimore clippers are so fleet,” remarked the captain.
Things began to look dark for those on board the ship, it must be confessed; if the stranger’s intentions were hostile, his superior speed, and the long range of his pivot-gun, made the escape of the chase very doubtful. Captain Johnson, however, like a good officer, made every preparation for defence. His self-possessed and even cheerful manner inspired those under his command with confidence. But Louise became very pale, and Mr Durocher suffered much in mind, principally upon her account; but, for the sake of each other, their fears were kept to themselves. The quadroon girl shivered with terror, on her own account, and on account of those to whom she had been so much attached for many years.
Story 2--Chapter IX.
The Combat.
The foe, invulnerable still,
Foiled his wild rage by steady skill,
Till, at advantage ta’en, his brand
Forced Roderick’s weapon from his hand.
Lady of the Lake.
Orano. We offer you the post of captain, sir.
Ortega. I accept - with conditions.
The Onslaught.
A pirate ship, and a pirate crew.
Old Song.
The swords were brought. A clear space was left upon the deck for the combatants to move in, around which the sailors—first those who had stood near to the quarter-deck, and afterwards those from the more forward parts of the vessels formed a ring; all were eager and intensely interested, but quiet spectators. Seeing the officers offering no interference, they no doubt considered that it was also their part to make no interruption. Mr Dempster acted as second to Marston; Mr Brown, better known as Bowsprit, acted as second to John Coe.
The swords were measured by the seconds and found of equal length. As both the weapons belonged to Captain Marston, the choice of them was offered to the prisoner, who took one of them at once, apparently without making any selection. The combatants were then placed in position; the salutes with the blades were given, and the fight began.
It was very soon apparent that young Coe was the more expert swordsman. Captain Marston had, when young, as most young gentlemen of fortune were in the habit of doing, taken lessons in the small-sword exercise; but he had of late been accustomed only occasionally to combats with the cutlass; and such conflicts—as even one who is not an expert at either weapon must know—must rather tend to diminish than increase one’s skill with the small-sword. His antagonist, on the contrary, had been in the habit for years of practising play with foils with young gentlemen in his neighbourhood, so that he had much improved his skill of late years.
The sword-points were scarcely crossed before John was aware that his adversary’s life was in his hands. This discovery was a great relief to his mind. He placed no faith in the pledges given by Captain Marston’s officers; on the contrary, he felt assured that, if he should kill one who had virtually acknowledged himself to be a pirate chief, his own life would be forfeited; even if the officers should keep their pledges to the letter, the common sailors were bound by no pledge. These reflections caused him to use all his efforts to disarm his adversary; and added to these considerations, inducing him to pursue such a course, was the memory of early associations, and also the apparent generosity of his foe in granting him a combat at all, as equal almost as it could be made under the circumstances.
Captain Marston, too, became very soon aware that he was fighting against one who was superior in the use of the weapon which he had selected. Shaken from his usual self-possession by a knowledge of this fact, and irritated by the forbearance of one whom he had considered his inferior with any weapon, and especially with the one which he had chosen, he made the mistake usual in such cases,
“And showered his blows like wintry rain.”
John Coe, on the contrary, kept perfect control of his faculties. For an instant he retreated rapidly before the violent assault of his adversary; but the next moment, with a short, sudden and powerful blow of his sword, he sent Captain Marston’s weapon flying over his own head. His own sword-point was immediately at the captain’s breast.
There was a sensation among the spectators at this sudden and totally unexpected result of the combat; but there was no movement towards any interference.
Captain Marston’s arms dropped by his side. He stood before his antagonist, as if ready to receive his sword-thrust. Coe stood, meanwhile, with his sword fixed, as it were, in the same position, while he kept his eyes firmly bent upon those of his conquered adversary.
“I am at your mercy, Mr Coe,” said Captain Marston, at length in a voice that palpitated, if I may use the term, partly on account of his recent violent exertion, and partly because of surprise at his defeat.
“I wish you no harm,” answered the victor, lowering his sword-point. “I only wished to show that had I been assailed by open force, I should not have been easily made a prisoner.”
The expression of the faces of the lookers-on showed that their captive had risen very highly in their estimation within the last few minutes. The most brutal and debased human being in the world still admires manly courage and magnanimity. The determined bearing of the prisoner, indicating a perfect preservation of his self-respect and self-reliance, in such adverse circumstances, and his willingness, even eagerness to prove his manhood by fighting Captain Marston in the very presence of his band, and the coolness, skill, and self-control which he had exhibited in winning and in using his victory, all manifested those qualities which men most admire in men. Captain Marston saw the admiration of his prisoner which was expressed in the faces of his officers and men; and he immediately resorted to an expedient which, by exhibiting on his part a generosity apparently equal, but in fact more than equal, to that of his adversary, might neutralise to some extent the injury which may have been done to his standing in the opinions of his band by the result of the contest.
“You see, gentlemen,” he said, addressing his ship’s company, “that in the opinion which I have heretofore expressed to you of my friendly foe, I have not overrated his merits. Let us have three hearty cheers for John Alvan Coe.”
The three cheers called for were immediately given with a will.
“I further propose, gentlemen,” said Captain Marston, “that we proceed forthwith to form the corps of marines which I have before spoken of to you, and that Mr Coe be offered the captaincy of that band.”
“And with all due deference to Captain Vance,” exclaimed Afton, before Captain Marston’s proposition could be acted upon, and with his usual intermingling of expletives, “I propose that we either make Mr Coe commander of this brig, or throw him overboard. For my part, I should prefer to have the latter alternative carried out. No divided command can exist except to our disadvantage. If Mr Coe is, in your opinion, superior to Captain Vance, make him our chief; but do not give to him a charge which, unless he and the captain entirely agree, may cause civil war on board the brig.”
“I beg to differ with my honoured friend, Lieutenant Afton,” said Bowsprit, facing the ship’s company. “As Mr Coe has proved himself a brave and skilful man, we should try to secure him as a co-partner in our enterprises. As he is a born and bred gentleman, there are cogent reasons why he should hold a respectable position among us. But, although he has shown that he is superior to Captain Vance in the use of the small-sword, we are not therefore to suppose that he is co-equal with our distinguished chieftain in experience in seamanship and in habits of command. Nor would our new friend rank, in the position proposed, with our captain; he would be co-ordinate in rank with Lieutenant Seacome. There would be no danger of a conflict of authority with Captain Vance; there is a commander of marines on board of every man-of-war. I cannot, therefore, agree with either of the propositions of my distinguished friend Afton. His first would be unjust to our captain, his second would be an equal wrong to the gallant new comer. I second Captain Vance’s motion.”
The speech of Billy Bowsprit was received with much applause, and the proposition of the captain was adopted by a vote of two to one. Mr Afton had his admirers among those old salts who were, like himself, rough in language, and especially hardened in crime. These men were not influenced in their votes by the authority of the captain, or the eloquence of Billy Bowsprit.
“And now, Mr Coe,” said the captain, “will you do me the honour of accepting the post to which we have elected you, and give me the pleasure of being the first to name you by your new title, Captain Coe, of the marine force?”
Young Coe remembered the conversation upon this very subject which he had held, in anticipation, with Ada Revere, and her advice as to the course which he should pursue, should the offer be made to him. He called to mind also that, immediately preceding his duel with Captain Marston, she had declared that she was indebted to himself for an important service. He knew that that unfortunate girl must be better qualified by experience than he was himself to guide his course in relation to this matter. He determined, therefore, that he would consult with her again, and, should he find her sincere in her friendly feelings towards him, to be governed by her counsel in the desperate strait in which he was placed. With this purpose in view he made answer to Captain Marston’s question—
“Your offer, Captain Vance, and gentlemen,” he said, addressing the officers and seamen, and, for the first time, giving the captain of the brig his assumed name, “so changes the relation which I bore towards you but a few moments ago, that I must beg of you to grant me a little time to consider this question so suddenly placed before me. With your permission, I will retire for a few moments, and then return and give you my decision. In any case, I thank you for the favour you have shown to me.”
Having thus spoken on deck, he retired to the cabin. In the saloon he found Ada Revere. She sat upon a sofa, with her head resting upon her hands. On the entrance of our hero she rose at once to meet him, and her face, which had been sad, expressed a sense of relief.
“Oh! I am so glad to see you, Mr Coe,” she said. “Your face seems to show that nothing unpleasant has resulted from the state of things in which I left you. Tell me—do tell me quickly—what has happened?”
John related to her all that had occurred.
“And now, Miss Revere,” he added, “I have come to ask an explanation of your language when you spoke some time ago of being under an obligation to me. When I saw you at the old manor house, your face seemed familiar to me. I thought that that recognition was accounted for by my having seen you in your boy’s dress, at the Spout on Saint Leonard’s Creek. But you appeared to refer to an acquaintance between us dating, farther into the past.”
“I can see nothing wrong, Mr Coe,” answered the beautiful girl, “in telling you—in outline, at least—all my history. Do you remember Ada Ashleigh, who was one of your schoolmates at the old Manor Quarter school-house situate between Millmont and Drum Point?”
“Certainly I do,” was the answer. “What a sweet and guileless little girl she was!”
“I was that little girl, Mr Coe,” said Ada. “Do you not remember that, when any of the schoolchildren charged me with being the daughter of a man who received smuggled goods, after my father was brought before a court in Baltimore on such a charge, you always took my part? And once—an occasion which I shall never forget—when Mr Dempster, now an officer on board of this brig, but then a boy almost a year older than yourself, wounded my feelings even to weeping by his jeers, you rebuked him so severely for being rude, as you said, to a harmless little girl, that he challenged you to fight. I shall never forget the gratitude which I felt towards you for championing my cause, and my delight when you handled Dempster so roughly, that he was obliged to acknowledge himself beaten, and to promise never to say a harsh word to me again.”
“We had heard in Calvert,” said John Alvan, “that Ada Ashleigh had made a runaway marriage in Baltimore, for which she was disinherited by her father. Since that intelligence was received, two or three years ago, I have heard nothing of her fate.”
“That runaway marriage was between me and Harry Marston,” said Ada. “He intended it for a false marriage; and when he told me that it was such, I believed his words. But I learned, nearly a year ago now, from the friend of Captain Marston, whom he engaged to procure the services of some one, not a minister of the gospel, to perform the ceremony, that we had actually been wedded by a regular priest, and I have since obtained from that priest a certificate of the marriage. The conscience of Henry Marston’s friend would not, at the last, allow him to take part in such deceit. My father never knew that it was with Captain Marston that I left his house; nor have I yet been able to summon the necessary courage to inform Captain Marston that we are really married. I wish that he knew it. I am sure that, had he been acquainted with the fact, he would never have commissioned me, his own wife, to act the part which he meant that I should act during your imprisonment at the old manor house and at the hut.”
“I would tell him for you myself, unhesitatingly,” remarked John Alvan, “but the information would come most properly from you.”
After some further conversation upon the subject, young Coe asked—
“Do you still advise me, madam, to accept this position which is offered to me? I do not mean absolutely to accept it, but seem to accept it. I know now that you are really my friend, and have full faith in you.”
“I certainly do,” answered the lady. “Your refusal to do so must eventuate in your death. They have gone too far to set you free, even under the most solemn pledges. As the most of these men would not be faithful to any pledge made to you, so they would not trust in any pledges made by you to them, under the circumstances. Whereas, by seeming to accept the offer, you will, in the ordinary course of things, have many chances of making your escape.”
“Yet,” remarked the young man, “if they were to undertake, for instance, to capture a merchant vessel, I would die rather than give assistance in the commission of such a crime.”
“Of course,” answered Ada, “but the ‘chapter of accidents’ may make unnecessary your placing yourself in antagonism to the brig’s crew on that question. We will hope so.”
“Have they ever really made such captures?” asked young Coe.
“Many such,” replied Ada. “They are pirates in the full meaning of the word.”
“In this business they must have committed murders,” said John.
“There is not a man in the brig, except yourself,” answered Ada, “who is not responsible for the shedding of human blood.”
“Dear madam,” said John, pityingly, “what a terrible life you must have led among such men.”
“I have often been able to save bloodshed,” said Ada. “Most of the captures made by the Falcon have been made without the taking of human life. When life has been taken it has been mostly in cases where a fight has followed a refusal on the part of a merchant vessel to surrender. I have never known a case where Captain Marston has allowed any one to be hurt after surrender. Indeed, I think at heart he is sick of the business in which he is engaged. Afton, however, and too many of the crew with him, appear to take pleasure in acts of cruelty.”
The conversation between Mrs Marston and young Coe here closed, and the latter returned upon deck. He expressed to the captain and the ship’s company his acceptance provisionally of the post offered to him, it being understood that he reserved to himself the right to resign it whenever he thought proper to do so.
Mr Afton loudly pronounced his maledictions against such “half-way” courses; and there were at first some dark scowls seen among the men.
“I welcome you into our gallant service, Captain Coe,” said Captain Marston, with much cordiality in his manner, “and am sure that no one member could be a greater addition to our company. As to the terms which Captain Coe makes,” continued the pirate chief, addressing the men, “no one can object to them; any man has the right to resign at any time any office which he holds among us. The main thing is that Captain Coe is now a member of our band, and we all know how forcibly, in an instance of this kind, applies the old adage, ‘In for a penny, in for a pound!’ Shipmates welcome our new comrade.”
These remarks of Captain Marston, intended to counteract what had been said by Afton, and to satisfy the crew with regard to the reservation made by Coe, were well-timed, and their new comrade was welcomed with loud cheers.
The company of marines was at once formed, and “Captain” Coe, as they called him, immediately commenced the performance of his new office, by taking his men through such a preparatory drill as the short remaining time of daylight would allow. It was his determination to make himself as popular as he could among those who were placed under his command, with the view of using his influence for such good purposes as might hereafter present themselves. He was eminently successful in his endeavours to obtain popularity, his men already entertaining great admiration of his courage and resolute demeanour.
The Sea-bird continued for some days to run a southerly course, impelled by a moderate breeze from the west. Her prow was then turned towards the south-east, it being the intention of Captain Marston to get into the track of vessels trading between the West Indies and the Spanish Main, and the different European ports. While on this course certain changes were made in the appearance of the brig. The white stripe along her bends, just below the guards, was covered with a strip of black canvas; like strips, on which were painted the words the Falcon, were placed on each of her bows, and on her stern, over the name the Sea-bird, and the carved image of one bird was substituted for that of another as her figure-head. Other alterations were made in her rigging and elsewhere, so that the vessel’s appearance was almost entirely changed.
Story 2--Chapter X.
The Chase.
The western breeze is fresh and free;
Before its power the vessels fleet,
And, bounding o’er the flashing waves,
Like lovers haste to meet.
Isobel - A Ballad.
And sweep through the deep,
While the stormy tempests blow;
While the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy tempests blow.
Mariners of England.
By each gun a lighted brand,
In a bold, determined hand.
Battle of the Baltic.
Day after day the wind continued to blow mildly from the west, and the brig still made regular but slow progress before it, on her south-eastwardly course.
One morning, before sunrise, a strange sail was espied upon the larboard bow. It was during Mr Afton’s watch that this discovery was made. The second-lieutenant pronounced the stranger to be a merchant ship. This fact, with the opinion of the officer of the watch, being communicated to the commander of the brig, who was still in his hammock, and whom we must now call Captain Vance, orders were given by him to crowd all sail on the Falcon, and to pursue the stranger ship.
Hour after hour passed away, and still the pirate vessel continued to gain on the chase, which had in the meanwhile been discovered to be a large and heavily-laden ship.
Mile after mile the brig gained while the wind lasted; but towards two o’clock the light breeze, which had been blowing from the same point so many days, began to die away, and by noon there was an absolute calm. The brig was at this time still many miles distant from the ship. For more than an hour each vessel remained, except as affected by that unceasing swell (in this instance scarcely perceptible) which never allows the water to be perfectly tranquil, as motionless as—
“A painted ship
Upon a painted ocean.”
Between one and two o’clock, clouds, in masses at first comparatively light, but which grew dense and denser, began to move overhead from the east towards the west; these were evidently impelled by a wind travelling in the same direction, and light flaws of which occasionally made faint shadows over the ocean by slightly stirring its waters, and sometimes gave a soft pulsation to the sails of the two vessels.
Shortly after two o’clock, lightning flashes gleamed in rather quick succession, from below the eastern horizon; but no thunder was heard. At length a small portion of densely black cloud showed itself in the same direction, above the line dividing the ocean and sky. This cloud rapidly rose, spreading itself as it ascended, while flashes of lightning, followed, after fast-diminishing intervals, by grand and grander thunder-burst, flamed forth more and more frequently, from the dark and threatening mass of vapour.
Soon blasts of wind, heavily laden with moisture, and each more powerful than that which preceded it, came with rapidly decreasing lulls, from the west, until the breeze, having at length become continuous, had grown almost to a storm. Both vessels had prepared for this increased force of the wind by shortening sail. The chase, however, urged by the necessity of escaping as well from the brig which pursued her as from the storm, still carried all the canvas which she could bear under the heavy pressure of the wind, almost directly before which both vessels were now steering an east-north-east course. Still the brig, built after the Baltimore clipper model, so famed for fleetness, continued to gain rapidly upon the ship.
“Suppose, captain,” said Afton, addressing Marston, “we range the ‘Long Tom’ to bear upon her, and give her a shot?”
“There is no chance of hitting her,” answered the captain, “with the brig beginning to pitch in the way she is now; it will be but waste of powder. Besides, the distance is too great.”
“If we wait,” objected the second-lieutenant (so-called), “until we get within range of her two cannon, she will have the advantage of us in the number of her guns. If we fire at her from a distance, on the contrary, her cannon will be of no use to her.”
The intelligent reader, of course, already understands that the ship pursued was the Duchess, which, with her passengers and captain, was introduced to his attention in a previous chapter.
“In the present condition of the weather,” replied the captain to the objections of his second officer, “we shall have to lose the advantage of the longer range of our gun, or lose our hoped-for prize. At the rate at which we are now gaining on her, it will be nearly sunset when we overtake her. The sky is already darkened by clouds, and if the rain—which is threatening to fall every moment—should continue into the night, we may lose sight of her altogether, and she may make her escape in the darkness. If she offers to resist, therefore, we shall have to fight at close quarters.”
“I hope that she may be worth the trouble she is likely to give us,” muttered Afton, with his usual maledictions.
“And I hope, Afton,” retorted the captain, with a jesting smile, “that you have no intention of getting nervous about the matter?”
“A pretty time of day,” rejoined Afton, “for anybody to be doubting my courage. You know well enough that I was only wishing that we should make a good haul in capturing her.”
“We cannot tell what she is worth,” said the captain, “until we get on board of her. This we know—that she is a large ship, and appears to be well laden. Others might give up the hope of capturing her on account of the state of the weather; I never give up what I undertake.”
“It is very evident,” said Lieutenant Seacome, “from the manner in which she is handled, that the man who has charge of her is a thorough seaman.”
“Yes,” assented the captain. “And there is something about the man’s movements, as I note him through the telescope, which convinces me that he will make a fight of it before he yields. Captain Coe, you must see to it that your men are ready with all their side-arms. They evidently have men enough to manage both their cannon; and they will, therefore, have the advantage of us, unless we board them, or lay so closely alongside of them that our small-arms will tell. I am determined to board, however, if it be possible to do so in such a sea.”
“My men are prepared to act at a minute’s notice,” said the captain of Marines.
Young Coe had made much progress in the last few days in perfecting his men in their drill. He had already gained their confidence in his capacity for command, his courage and skill, and his possession of all his faculties in moments of danger. Notwithstanding the language in which he had so promptly answered Captain Vance’s (as we must call him now) inquiry, he entertained not the slightest intention of taking any part in the commission of crime; he was determined, on the contrary, to use his influence with his men to prevent it. For the manner in which he should carry out this latter determination he was compelled to trust to contingencies.
On board the pirate-brig every preparation was made for a conflict. In the meantime the hours advanced, and at length the two vessels were within short cannon range of each other. It still wanted more than an hour to sunset, and notwithstanding the dense clouds which still covered the sky (the rain which had fallen heavily for a while had soon ceased) the daylight was still clear enough to distinguish objects on board of one ship from the other, whenever the upheaving and subsidence of the waves allowed the deck of the lower to be seen from that of the higher.
As the brig overhauled the chase, Captain Vance directed his helmsman to steer to the larboard of the chase, on a line as near as it was safe to approach her; by this course he would not only take the weather-guage of the ship, but would also make his position more convenient to “speak” her.
“Mr Bowsprit,” said the captain to the officer who had charge of the cannon, “fire a shot across her bows. That is the best way to open the conversation.”
The shot was immediately fired; and the reverberation was deafening, in the damp, heavy atmosphere.
The vessels were now not more than a hundred yards apart; so near were they to each other, that the shadow of the brig—the outlines of which were defined clearly by the light which came from the western sky, where the clouds were somewhat broken—fell almost aboard the ship.
The shot brought immediately a hail from the deck of the Duchess.
“Brig ahoy!” came through a speaking trumpet in stentorian tones from Captain Johnson.
“Ay, ay,” was the answer.
“Who are you, and what do you want?” was the retort from the deck of the ship.
“The Falcon, free rover,” replied Captain Vance, “and we want you to surrender.”
“We will never surrender to pirates,” answered Captain Johnson.
“If you surrender without resistance, we will spare the lives of all on board,” said the captain of the Falcon.
“I would rather sink the ship,” replied the captain of the Duchess.
“Woe be to you then,” exclaimed Captain Vance. “Your blood and that of those under your control be upon your own head.”
All this conversation between the vessels had been carried on through speaking-trumpets.
“Mr Seacome,” said Captain Vance to his first lieutenant, “display the flag.”
The pirate flag of those days, having a black ground with white skull and cross-bones displayed upon it, was immediately run up to the main mast-head of the brig.
The gale still continued to blow with great force, and the waves were running higher and higher. Though I have said that the vessels were about a hundred yards apart, it is not to be supposed that there was any regularity in the distance between them. Now one vessel would be far below, then far above the other, as she sank into the trough of a sea, or rose upon the crest of a wave. Now the surging waters would drive them farther apart, and now closer together. Meanwhile, near and far over the sea, the fiercely-labouring winds and billows loudly roared in wild unison their stern and complaining songs.
“Had we not better, captain,” asked Seacome, “keep as near as we can to the ship until this gale has fallen, and then make the assault? We could scarcely board in such a wind as this, even should she surrender.”
John Coe wished sincerely that this proposition should be adopted. Only in case of boarding the ship could he hope to carry out his plans; and it did not seem to him possible that boarding could be done in such a state of the weather. Should muskets be used, while the vessels were thus running side by side, his men—acting under his orders too—would, like the rest of the pirate-brig’s crew, do all the damage they could to those on board the ship; and he would have no means of preventing them.
“It is not the wind that is in our way,” answered Captain Vance to Mr Seacome, “so much as the waves; and seas will run higher and higher while this gale continues. Our best chance is now. Mr Bowsprit,” he exclaimed, turning to that officer, “have you reloaded your gun?”
“Ay, ay, sir,” was the answer.
“Then fire into them,” said the captain, “and do them all the damage you can.”
The Long Tom again pealed a savage note. But the only damage done to the Duchess was a small hole made through one of her sails.
The shot was immediately returned; it was fired by Captain Johnson’s own hand. The ball passed through the guards and swept across the deck of the Falcon, killing one man, and wounding two more by the splinters which it tore from the timbers through which it had forced its way. The loud peal of the cannon had not died away, when another shot from the Duchess came almost upon its track, again killing one and wounding two more.
“This will never do, Mr Bowsprit,” said Captain Vance. “Is your gun loaded again?”
“Yes, sir,” was the reply.
“Let me manage her this time,” said the captain.
His shot was well aimed; it struck the guards of the Duchess, scattering the splinters far and wide.
“I’ll guarantee that did them some damage,” remarked Captain Vance.
Scarcely had he spoken, when two cannon-shots came in quick succession from the Duchess. The one struck the deck of the Falcon, tearing up the splinters; the other again struck the guards, scattering fragments of timber. One sailor was killed directly beside Captain Vance; three others were slightly wounded.
“Furies!” exclaimed the pirate chief, “that fellow knows his business. But this will never do. Give them a volley of musketry.”
The loud roar of the Long Tom, and the rattling peal of the muskets immediately blended into one tremendous sound. That sound was instantly echoed from on board the ship; two cannon-shots and a dozen musket-loads again poured devastation upon the deck of the brig.
“We must come to close quarters,” exclaimed the pirate chief; “we are fast losing the advantage of superior numbers. The terrible skill of that devil with his cannon is destroying our superiority in that respect. Give me a loaded musket.”
He waited until a partial lifting of the smoke-cloud gave him a glimpse of the stout, manly figure of Captain Johnson, then, in an instant, taking aim, he fired. The ceaseless motion of the vessels destroyed the effect of his aim; and the man who was fired at escaped unharmed.
“Pistols and cutlasses!” exclaimed Vance, much excited. “Prepare to board. Forward with your men, Captain Coe. Helmsman, put us alongside of that vessel at once.”
“That’s the way to talk,” said Afton. “We’ll give the whelps no mercy now.”
“We may sink both vessels by collision,” said Seacome, “in such a sea as this.”
“Then let them sink,” cried the pirate chief, all of whose evil passions were now aroused. “Lay us aboard quickly, helmsman.”
The helmsman did his work skilfully; the starboard-bow of the brig was brought to bear gradually towards the larboard bow of the ship; and the two vessels approached each other in such a manner that their sides when they touched formed, at the point of contact, a very acute angle. The guards of the ship were above those of the brig; yet grappling-irons were cast from the latter and the vessels were made fast together. But the independent rolling and pitching of each of them, which caused them sometimes to “yaw” asunder, sometimes to come together with a crash that sounded like thunder, made the passage from one to the other very dangerous.
Story 2--Chapter XI.
The Boarding Attack.
Together they came with a crashing and rending,
While the sounds of the battle and tempest were blending.
The Lost Ship.
We will be true to you, most noble sir.
Avator.
Oh, spare my daughter! Take my wealth - I care not;
But spare my daughter.
Old Play.
Villain, forbear!
Throw down your arms - surrender.
The Assault.
The last fire from the Falcon had made sad havoc among the crew of the merchant vessel; two men were killed and three badly wounded by it. Hence it was that, when the pirates were thronging the brig’s side, preparing to spring on board the ship, Captain Johnson had but nine men to aid him in resisting the assault, the tenth being at the wheel. The odds were fearfully against him, being more than three to one; the pirate chief, leaving ten men to take care of the brig, had still thirty-one men, besides those who had been placed hors de combat, with whom to board the ship.
While John Coe was standing by the starboard guards of the brig, prepared to spring on board of the ship, with every nerve wrought up to its highest tension, he ejaculated prayers to the Almighty to guard him from sin and guide him to goodness in this terrible crisis of his fate. Just as the vessels were coming together, he felt his arm touched, and turning, saw Ada by his side.
“For heaven’s sake, madam,” he said, in low but earnest tones, “what are you doing here? Do go into the cabin and seek out its safest corner. You are almost certain to lose your life here. This is no place for a helpless woman.”
“How can I stay there,” she said, “while these horrible scenes are taking place? I am inured to danger, and put no value on my life. Besides, I feel impelled by a power within me, and which I cannot resist, to take part in the scenes about to occur on board of that ship. I put myself by your side, both because my husband would drive me away from his, and because, of all who are about to board that vessel, you alone have no evil in your heart, but are seeking to prevent it; and I wish to aid you in that good work. See! I also am armed.”
She showed a cutlass in her hand, and pointed to two double-barrelled pistols in a belt round her waist.
“Keep closely by my side, then,” said John, seeing her determination. “I will do all that I can to protect you.”
“Thank you,” she replied.
John turned towards his other side; there, near to him, stood Billy Bowsprit.
“Bowsprit,” he said, in a low voice, “keep near to me; and do not forget your pledge to give all the aid in your power to prevent, to such extent as we can, the shedding of innocent blood.”
“Mr Coe,” answered Billy, earnestly and emphatically, yet in a whisper, “I am with you, heart and hand, I am yours in life and death.”
“And see, too,” said Coe, in the same low tones, “that the five men of my band, who are with us, keep near to us, and that you and they follow me wherever I go.”
“They are here, sir,” whispered Billy, “just behind you and me. Every man of them can be relied on; they are all devoted to you.”
“And you and they,” replied John, still in the same undertones, “may depend upon my fulfilling my promise, should I escape with life and freedom from the perils of this night.”
Thus the thirty men of the Falcon’s crew detailed for the boarding-party, stood by the guards of the brig upon that side of her towards the ship, waiting for the moment when the upheaving and subsidence of the waters should uplift the former and depress the latter, that they might seize the opportunity to leap down upon the deck of the Duchess.
Captain Johnson was also waiting for the same moment. He had stationed eight men each with a cutlass in his right hand and a pistol in his left, in a position to meet the pirates should they gain his deck. He had so carefully balanced and trained his two guns that, when they should be fired, the balls would come together at a short distance from the muzzles of the cannon. By one of these guns stood Captain Johnson himself, by the other one of his mates, upon whose coolness he could thoroughly depend. Each of these two resolute men held a lighted match in his hand.
By this time the sun had been half an hour below the horizon, and the short twilight of that southern latitude was fast darkening into a night of storm and of unusual gloom; for although there was one clear spot in the western sky, all the rest of the face of heaven was veiled in heavy clouds.
In his anxiety to gain as soon as possible the deck of the ship, Captain Vance had not noted all the dispositions made on board the Duchess; his attention had been given mainly to the ordering of his own men, and to the eight men arranged for the reception of his assaulting party.
The critical moment, upon the results of which so much of vital importance to the combatants depended, arrived. The brig rose high upon the summit of a huge billow, while the merchant ship descended into the valley between that and another monster wave. At that instant the pirates sprung towards the deck of the Duchess, the eight men of the latter, who had been placed to meet this assault, fired their pistols, and Captain Johnson and his mate applied the matches to the cannon.
Three of the pirates fell upon the ship’s deck, two killed and one mortally wounded by the pistol-shots of their enemies; five made the leap too late, of whom two were crushed between the vessels, and fell into the sea, and three struck against the guards of the now rising ship, and were thrown back with violence upon their own deck. Captain Vance himself received a pistol-shot through the brain at the moment when he was about to spring from the guards of the Falcon to the deck of the Duchess; he disappeared between the two vessels and sunk into the sea.
John Coe—to avoid confronting the eight defenders of the ship—had taken his station with Ada, Billy Bowsprit, and the rest of the small party devoted to him, on the extreme left of the boarding-line of pirates. The next officer on his right was Lieutenant Afton, who was separated from him, however, by several men. At the extreme right of the whole line had been Captain Vance; Lieutenant Seacome being left in charge of the brig.
Thus, when young Coe, holding Ada by the hand, alighted on the deck of the Duchess, he found the second-lieutenant of the Falcon—with a party of five men under his immediate command—between himself and the defenders of the ship. He saw the wretch Afton, ever intent upon spoil—after making, with all the assaulting party to his right, a rush against the ship’s crew, which forced the latter to give back a space—detach himself with four men from the rest of the pirates, and, crossing the deck, hurry along the starboard side of the ship towards the entrance to the cabin.
It had been the first intention of Coe to throw himself, with his small force, between the contending parties, and to insist upon the pirates retiring to the brig; or, in case of their refusal to do so, to take sides against them in the fight. But, seeing that the odds against the ship’s crew was now not so great, Captain Johnson and his mate having joined them, he determined, with his followers, to pursue Afton, and to prevent such mischief as he might be bent upon.
Captain Johnson, when he saw so many of the pirate crew hastening towards the cabin, was also anxious to follow them; but he was too hard pressed by his enemies to allow him to do so. He hoped, moreover, that the tenants of the cabin had had the forethought to barricade the door, in which case the pirates might be prevented from breaking in upon Mr Durocher and his family until he could overpower the force immediately before him, and then, turning upon those who had gone towards the cabin, might thus be able to overcome his enemies in detail.
The door of the cabin had been barricaded by Mr Durocher, as well as he could do so, with the aid of his daughter and the quadroon girl, but the fastenings scarcely withstood for one moment the violent assault of Afton and his men.
They passed in without further opposition—the illness of Mr Durocher preventing him from offering even a moment’s resistance. An instant of silence ensued, and then, above the noise of conflict without arose the cries of distress from the cabin—the shrieks of women! That was the cry most agonising to young Coe.
“Here, my brave fellows!” he shouted, “follow me, and remember your own mothers and sisters at home!”
He dashed off down the deck, past the assailants and assailed still struggling there, and, followed by Ada and his men, sprung into the cabin to confront Afton and his men in their fiendish scheme. Afton, having penetrated to the state-rooms, had seized Miss Durocher, and was trying to drag her forth, preparatory to removing her to the brig. “Unhand that lady, villain!” shouted Coe. “Villain yourself?” roared Afton. “Who made you my master, I should like to know?”
Afton was a strong man, but young Coe was both stronger and more active, and when he was aroused and inflamed by a righteous anger the pirate was but a child in his hands. He said not another word, but releasing the lady from the grasp of the ruffian by a sudden and dexterous exertion, he seized the pirate with both hands and swung him with tremendous force through the state-room doorway into the saloon. So violently did the latter strike the floor, that he lay at once without sense or motion.
One of Afton’s men, drawing a pistol, had pointed it at the head of the infuriated rescuer; but ere he could pull the trigger, Ada, who already had a pistol in her hand, fired, and broke his right arm, which fell powerless to his side. He stooped to pick up the weapon which he had dropped with the hand of his uninjured arm, but Ada drew another pistol from her belt and presented it at his head.
“If you attempt to take up that weapon again, Joe,” she said, with firmness of purpose expressed in her tones, “you are a dead man.”
The man yielded at once, and stood motionless and silent before the pistol which she continued to hold with the muzzle towards him.
At the same time when these scenes were occurring in the state-room, others were taking place in the saloon.
“Unhand that gentleman,” said Bowsprit, to two men who held the sick Mr Durocher prisoner.
“We are acting under the orders of the second-lieutenant,” replied one of the men.
“Point your pistols at those men,” said Bowsprit, addressing those under his command, himself presenting at them a weapon in each hand.
His orders were at once obeyed.
“We have pistols, too,” gruffly said one of the men who held Mr Durocher.
“Now,” said Billy, “release your prisoner at once, or I’ll warrant you’ll never disobey orders again.”
At this moment the body of Afton came rushing head-foremost out of the state-room.
Seeing the condition of their officer, the two men unhanded Mr Durocher, and sullenly threw their weapons upon the floor.
The fourth of the men who had accompanied Afton, and who had stood at the state-room door through all these scenes, apparently stupefied by surprise, quietly handed his pistols and cutlass to Bowsprit.