In such a time as this it is not meet
That every nice offence should bear its comment.
_Shakespeare_
The cliffs threw their dark shadows wide on the waters, and the gloom
of the evening had so far advanced as to conceal the discontent that
brooded over the ordinarily open brow of Barnstable as he sprang from
the rocks into the boat, and took his seat by the side of the silent
pilot. "Shove off," cried the lieutenant, in tones that his men knew
must be obeyed. "A seaman's curse light on the folly that exposes planks
and lives to such navigation; and all to burn some old timberman, or
catch a Norway trader asleep! give way, men, give way!"
Notwithstanding the heavy and dangerous surf that was beginning to
tumble in upon the rocks in an alarming manner, the startled seamen
succeeded in urging their light boat over the waves, and in a few
seconds were without the point where danger was most to be apprehended.
Barnstable had seemingly disregarded the breakers as they passed, but
sat sternly eyeing the foam that rolled by them in successive surges,
until the boat rose regularly on the long seas, when he turned his looks
around the bay in quest of the barge.
"Ay, Griffith has tired of rocking in his pillowed cradle," he muttered,
"and will give us a pull to the frigate, when we ought to be getting the
schooner out of this hard-featured landscape. This is just such a place
as one of your sighing lovers would doat on; a little land, a little
water, and a good deal of rock. Damme, long Tom, but I am more than half
of your mind, that an island now and then is all the terra firma that a
seaman needs."
"It's reason and philosophy, sir," returned the sedate cockswain; "and
what land there is, should always be a soft mud, or a sandy ooze, in
order that an anchor might hold, and to make soundings sartin. I have
lost many a deep-sea, besides hand leads by the dozen, on rocky bottoms;
but give me the roadstead where a lead comes up light and an anchor
heavy. There's a boat pulling athwart our forefoot, Captain Barnstable;
shall I run her aboard or give her a berth, sir?"
"'Tis the barge!" cried the officer; "Ned has not deserted me, after
all!"
A loud hail from the approaching boat confirmed this opinion, and in a
few seconds the barge and whale-boat were again rolling by each other's
side. Griffith was no longer reclining on the cushions of his seats, but
spoke earnestly, and with a slight tone of reproach in his manner.
"Why have you wasted so many precious moments, when every minute
threatens us with new dangers? I was obeying the signal, but I heard
your oars, and pulled back to take out the pilot. Have you been
successful?"
"There he is; and if he finds his way out, through the shoals, he will
earn a right to his name. This bids fair to be a night when a man will
need a spy-glass to find the moon. But when you hear what I have seen on
those rascally cliffs, you will be more ready to excuse my delay, Mr.
Griffith."
"You have seen the true man, I trust, or we incur this hazard to an evil
purpose."
"Ay, I have seen him that is a true man, and him that is not," replied
Barnstable, bitterly; "you have the boy with you, Griffith--ask him what
his young eyes have seen."
"Shall I!" cried the young midshipman, laughing; "then I have seen a
little clipper, in disguise, out sail an old man-of-war's man in a hard
chase, and I have seen a straggling rover in long-togs as much like my
cousin----"
"Peace, gabbler!" exclaimed Barnstable in a voice of thunder; "would you
detain the boats with your silly nonsense at a time like this? Away into
the barge, sir, and if you find him willing to hear, tell Mr. Griffith
what your foolish conjectures amount to, at your leisure."
The boy stepped lightly from the whale-boat to the barge, whither the
pilot had already preceded him, and, as he sunk, with a mortified air,
by the side of Griffith, he said, in a low voice:
"And that won't be long, I know, if Mr. Griffith thinks and feels on the
coast of England as he thought and felt at home."
A silent pressure of his hand was the only reply that the young
lieutenant made, before he paid the parting compliments to Barnstable,
and directed his men to pull for their ship.
The boats were separating, and the plash of the oars was already heard,
when the voice of the pilot was for the first time raised in earnest.
"Hold!" he cried; "hold water, I bid ye!"
The men ceased their efforts at the commanding tones of his voice, and
turning toward the whale-boat, he continued:
"You will get your schooner under way immediately, Captain Barnstable,
and sweep into the offing with as little delay as possible. Keep the
ship well open from the northern headland, and as you pass us, come
within hail."
"This is a clean chart and plain sailing, Mr. Pilot," returned
Barnstable; "but who is to justify my moving without orders, to Captain
Munson? I have it in black and white, to run the Ariel into this
feather-bed sort of a place, and I must at least have it by signal or
word of mouth from my betters, before my cutwater curls another wave.
The road may be as hard to find going out as it was coming in--and then
I had daylight as well as your written directions to steer by."
"Would you lie there to perish on such a night?" said the pilot,
sternly. "Two hours hence, this heavy swell will break where your vessel
now rides so quietly."
"There we think exactly alike; but if I get drowned now, I am drowned
according to orders; whereas, if I knock a plank out of the schooner's
bottom, by following your directions, 'twill be a hole to let in mutiny,
as well as sea-water. How do I know but the old man wants another pilot
or two."
"That's philosophy," muttered the cockswain of the whale-boat, in a
voice that was audible: "but it's a hard strain on a man's conscience to
hold on in such an anchorage!"
"Then keep your anchor down, and follow it to the bottom," said the
pilot to himself; "it's worse to contend with a fool than a gale of
wind; but if----"
"No, no, sir--no fool neither," interrupted Griffith. "Barnstable does
not deserve that epithet, though he certainly carries the point of duty
to the extreme. Heave up at once, Mr. Barnstable, and get out of this
bay as fast as possible."
"Ah! you don't give the order with half the pleasure with which I shall
execute it; pull away, boys--the Ariel shall never lay her bones in such
a hard bed, if I can help it."
As the commander of the schooner uttered these words with a cheering
voice, his men spontaneously shouted, and the whale-boat darted away
from her companion, and was soon lost in the gloomy shadows cast from
the cliffs.
In the mean time, the oarsmen of the barge were not idle, but by
strenuous efforts they forced the heavy boat rapidly through the water,
and in a few minutes she ran alongside of the frigate. During this
period the pilot, in a voice which had lost all the startling fierceness
and authority it had manifested in his short dialogue with Barnstable,
requested Griffith to repeat to him, slowly, the names of the officers
that belonged to his ship. When the young lieutenant had complied with
this request, he observed to his companion:
"All good men and true, Mr. Pilot; and though this business in which you
are just now engaged may be hazardous to an Englishman, there are none
with us who will betray you. We need your services, and as we expect
good faith from you, so shall we offer it to you in exchange."
"And how know you that I need its exercise?" asked the pilot, in a
manner that denoted a cold indifference to the subject.
"Why, though you talk pretty good English, for a native," returned
Griffith, "yet you have a small bur-r-r in your mouth that would prick
the tongue of a man who was born on the other side of the Atlantic."
"It is but of little moment where a man is born, or how he speaks,"
returned the pilot, coldly, "so that he does his duty bravely and in
good faith."
It was perhaps fortunate for the harmony of this dialogue, that the
gloom, which had now increased to positive darkness, completely
concealed the look of scornful irony that crossed the handsome features
of the young sailor, as he replied: "True, true, so that he does his
duty, as you say, in good faith. But, as Barnstable observed, you must
know your road well to travel among these shoals on such a night as
this. Know you what water we draw?"
"'Tis a frigate's draught, and I shall endeavor to keep you in four
fathoms; less than that would be dangerous."
"She's a sweet boat!" said Griffith, "and minds her helm as a marine
watches the eye of his sergeant at a drill; but you must give her room
in stays, for she fore-reaches, as if she would put out the wind's eye."
The pilot attended, with a practised ear, to this description of the
qualities of the ship that he was about to attempt extricating from an
extremely dangerous situation. Not a syllable was lost on him; and when
Griffith had ended, he remarked, with the singular coldness that
pervaded his manner:
"That is both a good and a bad quality in a narrow channel. I fear it
will be the latter to-night, when we shall require to have the ship in
leading-strings."
"I suppose we must feel our way with the lead?" said Griffith.
"We shall need both eyes and leads," returned the pilot, recurring
insensibly to his soliloquizing tone of voice. "I have been both in and
out in darker nights than this, though never with a heavier draught than
a half-two."
"Then, by heaven, you are not fit to handle that ship among these rocks
and breakers!" exclaimed Griffith; "your men of a light draught never
know their water; 'tis the deep keel only that finds a channel;--pilot!
pilot! beware how you trifle with us ignorantly; for 'tis a dangerous
experiment to play at hazards with an enemy."
"Young man, you know not what you threaten, nor whom," said the pilot
sternly, though his quiet manner still remained undisturbed; "you forget
that you have a superior here, and that I have none."
"That shall be as you discharge your duty," said Griffith; "for if----"
"Peace!" interrupted the pilot; "we approach the ship, let us enter in
harmony."
He threw himself back on the cushions when he had said this; and
Griffith, though filled with the apprehensions of suffering, either by
great ignorance or treachery on the part of his companion, smothered his
feelings so far as to be silent, and they ascended the side of the
vessel in apparent cordiality.
The frigate was already riding on lengthened seas, that rolled in from
the ocean at each successive moment with increasing violence, though her
topsails still hung supinely from her yards; the air, which continued to
breathe occasionally from the land, being unable to shake the heavy
canvas of which they were composed.
The only sounds that were audible, when Griffith and the pilot had
ascended to the gangway of the frigate, were produced by the sullen
dashing of the sea against the massive bows of the ship, and the shrill
whistle of the boatswain's mate as he recalled the side-boys, who were
placed on either side of the gangway to do honor to the entrance of the
first lieutenant and his companion.
But though such a profound silence reigned among the hundreds who
inhabited the huge fabric, the light produced by a dozen battle-
lanterns, that were arranged in different parts of the decks, served not
only to exhibit faintly the persons of the crew, but the mingled feeling
of curiosity and care that dwelt on most of their countenances.
Large groups of men were collected in the gangways, around the mainmast,
and on the booms of the vessel, whose faces were distinctly visible,
while numerous figures, lying along the lower yards or bending out of
the tops, might be dimly traced in the background, all of whom expressed
by their attitudes the interest they took in the arrival of the boat.
Though such crowds were collected in other parts of the vessel, the
quarter-deck was occupied only by the officers, who were disposed
according to their several ranks, and were equally silent and attentive
as the remainder of the crew. In front stood a small collection of young
men, who, by their similarity of dress, were the equals and companions
of Griffith, though his juniors in rank. On the opposite side of the
vessel was a larger assemblage of youths, who claimed Mr. Merry as their
fellow. Around the capstan three or four figures were standing, one of
whom wore a coat of blue, with the scarlet facings of a soldier, and
another the black vestments of the ship's chaplain. Behind these, and
nearer the passage to the cabin from which he had just ascended, stood
the tall, erect form of the commander of the vessel.
After a brief salutation between Griffith and the junior officers, the
former advanced, followed slowly by the pilot, to the place where he was
expected by his veteran commander. The young man removed his hat
entirely, as he bowed with a little more than his usual ceremony, and
said:
"We have succeeded, sir, though not without more difficulty and delay
than were anticipated."
"But you have not brought off the pilot," said the captain, "and without
him, all our risk and trouble have been in vain."
"He is here," said Griffith, stepping aside, and extending his arm
towards the man that stood behind him, wrapped to the chin in his coarse
pea-jacket, and his face shadowed by the falling rims of a large hat,
that had seen much and hard service.
"This!" exclaimed the captain; "then there is a sad mistake--this is not
the man I would have, seen, nor can another supply his place."
"I know not whom you expected, Captain Munson," said the stranger, in a
low, quiet voice; "but if you have not forgotten the day when a very
different flag from that emblem of tyranny that now hangs over yon
taffrail was first spread to the wind, you may remember the hand that
raised it,"
"Bring here the light!" exclaimed the commander, hastily.
When the lantern was extended towards the pilot, and the glare fell
strong on his features, Captain Munson started, as he beheld the calm
blue eye that met his gaze, and the composed but pallid countenance of
the other. Involuntarily raising his hat, and baring his silver locks,
the veteran cried:
"It is he! though so changed----"
"That his enemies did not know him," interrupted the pilot, quickly;
then touching the other by the arm as he led him aside, he continued, in
a lower tone, "neither must his friends, until the proper hour shall
arrive."
Griffith had fallen back to answer the eager questions of his messmates,
and no part of this short dialogue was overheard by the officers, though
it was soon perceived that their commander had discovered his error, and
was satisfied that the proper man had been brought on board his vessel.
For many minutes the two continued to pace a part of the quarter-deck,
by themselves, engaged in deep and earnest discourse.
As Griffith had but little to communicate, the curiosity of his
listeners was soon appeased, and all eyes were directed toward that
mysterious guide, who was to conduct them from a situation already
surrounded by perils, which each moment not only magnified in
appearance, but increased in reality.