"I have no dread,
And feel the curse to have no natural fear,
Nor fluttering throb, that beats with hopes or wishes,
Or lurking love of something on the earth"
_Manfred_,
By this time the day had materially advanced, and there were grave
grounds for the uneasiness which Cuffe began so seriously to feel. All
three of the ships were still in the Bay of Salerno, gathering in toward
its northern shore, however; the Proserpine the deepest embayed, the
Terpsichore and the Ringdove having hauled out toward Campanella, as
soon as satisfied nothing was to be seen in-shore of them. The heights
which line the coast, from the immediate vicinity of the town of Salerno
to the headland that ends near Capri, have long been celebrated, not
only for their beauty and grandeur, but in connection with the lore of
the middle ages. As the Proserpine had never been in this bay before, or
never so near its head, her officers found some temporary relief from
the very general uneasiness that was felt on account of their prisoner,
in viewing scenery that is remarkable even in that remarkable section of
the globe. The ship had gone up abreast of Amalfi, and so close in as
to be less than a mile from the shore. This object was to communicate
with some fishermen, which had been done; the information received going
to establish the fact, that no craft resembling the lugger had been in
that part of the Bay. The vessel's head was now laid to the southward
and westward, in waiting for the zephyr, which might soon be expected.
The gallant frigate, seen from the impending rocks, looked like a light
merchantman, in all but her symmetry and warlike guise; nature being
moulded on so grand a scale all along that coast, as to render objects
of human art unusually diminutive to the eye. On the other hand, the
country-houses, churches, hermitages, convents, and villages, clustered
all along the mountain-sides, presented equally delusive forms, though
they gave an affluence to the views that left the spectator in a strange
doubt which most to admire, their wildness or their picturesque beauty.
The little air that remained was still at the southward, and as the ship
moved slowly along this scene of singular attraction, each ravine seemed
to give up a town, each shelf of rock a human habitation, and each
natural terrace a villa and a garden.
Of all men, sailors get to be the most _blasés_ in the way of the
sensations produced by novelties and fine scenery. It appears to be a
part of their calling to suppress the emotions of a greenhorn; and,
generally, they look upon anything that is a little out of the ordinary
track with the coolness of those who feel it is an admission of
inferiority to betray surprise. It seldom happens with them that
anything occurs, or anything is seen, to which the last cruise, or, if
the vessel be engaged in trade, the last voyage, did not at least
furnish a parallel; usually the past event, or the more distant object,
has the advantage. He who has a sufficient store of this reserved
knowledge and experience, it will at once be seen, enjoys a great
superiority over him who has not, and is placed above the necessity of
avowing a sensation as humiliating as wonder. On the present occasion,
however, bur few held out against the novelty of the actual situation of
the ship; most on board being willing enough to allow that they had
never before been beneath cliffs that had such a union of the
magnificent, the picturesque, and the soft; though a few continued firm,
acting up to the old characters with the consistency of settled
obstinacy.
Strand, the boatswain, was one of those who, on all such occasions,
"died hard." He was the last man in the ship who ever gave up a
prejudice; and this for three several reasons: he was a cockney, and
believed himself born in the centre of human knowledge; he was a seaman,
and understood the world; he was a boatswain, and stood upon
his dignity.
As the Proserpine fanned slowly along the land, this personage took a
position between the knight-heads, on the bowsprit, where he could
overlook the scene, and at the same time hear the dialogue of the
forecastle; and both with suitable decorum. Strand was as much of a
monarch forward as Cuffe was aft; though the appearance of a lieutenant,
or of the master, now and then, a little dimmed the lustre of his reign.
Still, Strand succumbed completely to only two of the officers--the
captain and the first lieutenant; and not always to these, in what he
conceived to be purely matters of sentiment. In the way of duty, he
understood himself too well ever to hesitate about obeying an order; but
when it came to opinions, he was a man who could maintain his own, even
in the presence of Nelson.
The first captain of the forecastle was an old seaman of the name of
Catfall. At the precise moment when Strand occupied the position named,
between the knight-heads, this personage was holding a discourse with
three or four of the forecastle-men, who stood on the heel of the
bowsprit, inboard--the etiquette of the ship not permitting these
worthies to show their heads above the nettings. Each of the party had
his arms folded; each chewed tobacco; each had his hair in a queue; and
each occasionally hitched up his trousers, in a way to prove that he did
not require the aid of suspenders in keeping his nether garments in
their proper place. It may be mentioned, indeed, that the point of
division between the jacket and the trousers was marked in each by a
bellying line of a clean white shirt, that served to relieve the blue of
the dress, as a species of marine facing. As was due to his greater
experience and his rank, Catfall was the principal speaker among those
who lined the heel of the bowsprit.
"This here coast is moun_tain_ious, as one may own," observed the
captain of the forecastle; "but what I say is, that it's not _as_
moun_tain_ious as some I've seen. Now, when I went round the 'arth with
Captain Cook, we fell in with islands that were so topped off with
rocks, and the like o' that, that these here affairs alongside on 'em
wouldn't pass for anything more than a sort of jury mountains."
"There you're right, Catfall," said Strand, in a patronizing way; "as
anybody knows as has been round the Horn. I didn't sail with Captain
Cook, seeing that I was then the boatswain of the Hussar, and she
couldn't have made one of Cook's squadron, being a post-ship, and
commanded by a full-built captain; but I _was_ in them seas when a
younker, and can back Catfall's account of the matter by my largest
anchor, in the way of history. D--e, if I think these hillocks would be
called even jury mountains, in that quarter of the world. They tell me
there's several noblemen's and gentlemen's parks near Lunnun, where they
make mountains just to look at; that must be much of a muchness with
these here chaps. I never drift far from Wappin', when I'm at home, and
so I can't say I've seen these artifice hills, as they calls them,
myself; but there's one Joseph Shirk, that lives near St. Katharine's
Lane, that makes trips regularly into the neighborhood, who gives quite
a particular account of the matter."
"I dare to say it's all true, Mr. Strand," answered the captain of the
forcastle, "for I've know'd some of them travelling chaps who have seen
stranger sights than that. No, sir, I calls these mountains no great
matter; and as to the houses and villages on 'em, where you see one
here, you might say you could see two on some of the desert islands--"
A very marvellous account of Cook's Discoveries was suddenly checked by
the appearance of Cuffe on the forecastle. It was not often the captain
visited that part of the ship; but he was considered a privileged
person, let him go where he would. At his appearance, all the "old
salts" quitted the heel of the spar, tarpaulins came fairly down to a
level with the bag-reefs of the shirts, and even Strand stepped into the
nettings, leaving the place between the knight-heads clear. To this spot
Cuffe ascended with a light, steady step, for he was but six-and-twenty,
just touching his hat in return to the boatswain's bow.
A boatswain on board an English ship-of-war is a more important
personage than he is apt to be on board an American. Neither the captain
nor the first lieutenant disdains conversing with him, on occasions; and
he is sometimes seen promenading the starboard side of the quarter-deck
in deep discourse with one or the other of those high functionaries. It
has been said that Cuffe and Strand were old shipmates, the latter
having actually been boatswain of the ship in which the former first
sailed. This circumstance was constantly borne in mind by both parties,
the captain seldom coming near his inferior, in moments of relaxation,
without having something to say to him.
"Rather a remarkable coast this, Strand," he commenced, on the present
occasion, as soon as fairly placed between the knight-heads; "something
one might look for a week, in England, without finding it."
"I beg your pardon, sir, but I'm not of the same way of thinking. I was
just telling the forecastle lads, down there, that there's many a
nobleman and gentleman at home as has finder hills than these, made by
hand, in his parks and gardens, just to look at."
"The d--l you have! And what did the forecastle lads down there say to
that?"
"What could they, sir? It just showed the superiority of an Englishman
to an Italian, and that ended the matter. Don't you remember the
Injees, sir?"
"The Indies! Why, the coast between Bombay and Calcutta is as flat as a
pancake most of the distance."
"Not them Injees, sir, but t'other--the West, I mean. The islands and
mountains we passed and went into in the Rattler; your honor was only a
young gentleman then, but was too much aloft to miss the sight of
anything--and all along America, too."
As Strand was speaking he glanced complacently round, as if to intimate
to the listeners what an old friend of the captain's they enjoyed in the
person of their boatswain.
"Oh! the West Indies--you're nearer right there, Strand, and yet they
have nothing to compare to this. Why, here are mountains, alive with
habitations, that fairly come up to the sea!"
"Well, sir, as to habitations, what's these to a street in Lunnun? Begin
on the starboard hand, for instance, as you walk down Cheapside, and
count as you go; my life for it, you'll reel off more houses in half an
hour's walk than are to be found in all that there village yonder. Then
you'll remember, sir, that the starboard hand only has half, every Jack
having his Jenny. I look upon Lunnun as the finest sight in nature,
Captain Cuffe, after all I have seen in many cruises!"
"I don't know, Mr. Strand. In the way of coast, one may very well be
satisfied with this. Yonder town, now, is called Amalfi; it was once a
place of great commerce, they say."
"Of commerce, sir!--why, it's nothing but a bit of a village, or, at
most, of a borough built in a hollow. No haven, no docks, no
comfortable place even for setting up the frame of a ship on the beach.
The commerce of such a town must have been mainly carried on by means of
mules and jackasses, as one reads of in the trade of the Bible."
"Carried on as it might be, trade it once had. There does not seem to be
any hiding-place along this shore for a lugger like the Folly, after
all, Strand."
The boatswain smiled, with a knowing look, while, at the same time, the
expression of his countenance was like that of a man who did not choose
to let others into all his secrets.
"The Folly is a craft we are not likely to see again, Captain Cuffe," he
then answered, if it were only out of respect to his superior.
"Why so? The Proserpine generally takes a good look at everything she
chases."
"Aye, aye, sir; that may be true, as a rule, but I never knew a craft
found after a third look for her. Everything seems to go by thirds in
this world, sir; and I always look upon a third chase as final. Now,
sir, there are three classes of admirals, and three sets of flags; a
ship has three masts; the biggest ships are three-deckers; then there
are three planets----"
"The d--l there are! How do you make _that_ out, Strand?"
"Why, sir, there's the sun, moon, and stars; that makes just three by my
count."
"Aye, but what do you say to Jupiter, Saturn, Venus, and all the rest of
them, the earth included?"
"Why, sir, they're all the rest of the stars, and not planets at all.
Then, sir, look around you, and you'll find everything going by threes.
There are three topsails, three jibs, and three topgallant sails--"
"And two courses," said the captain, gravely, to whom this theory of the
threes was new.
"Quite true, sir, in name, but your honor will recollect the spanker is
nothing but a fore-and-aft course, rigged to a mast, instead of to a
jack-yard, as it used to be."
"There are neither three captains nor three boatswains to a ship, Master
Strand."
"Certainly not, sir; that would be oppressive, and they would stand in
each other's way; still, Captain Cuffe, the thirds hold out wonderfully,
even in all these little matters. There's the three lieutenants; and
there's the boatswain, gunner, and carpenter--and--"
"Sail-maker, armorer, and captain of the mast," interrupted Cuffe,
laughing.
"Well, sir, you may make anything seem doubtful by bringing forward a
plenty of reasons; but all my experience says, a third chase never comes
to anything, unless it turns out successful; but that _after_ a third
chase, all may as well be given up."
"I fancy Lord Nelson holds a different doctrine, Strand. He tells us to
follow a Frenchman round the earth, rather than let him escape."
"No doubt, sir. Follow him round three earths, if you can keep him in
sight; but not round _four_. That is all I contend for, Captain Cuffe.
Even women, they tell me, take what is called their thirds, in a
fellow's fortin'."
"Well, well, Strand, I suppose there must be some truth in your
doctrine, or you wouldn't hold out for it so strenuously; and as for
this coast, I must give it up, for I never expect to see another like
it; much less a third."
"It's my duty to give up to your honor; but I ask permission to think a
third chase should always be the last one. That's a melancholy sight to
a man of feelin', Captain Cuffe, the object between the two
midship-guns, on the starboard side of the main-deck, sir?"
"You mean the prisoner? I wish with all my heart he was not there,
Strand. I think I would rather he were in his lugger again, to run the
chances of that fourth chase of which you seem to think so lightly."
"Your hanging ships are not often lucky ships, Captain Cuffe. In my
judgment, asking your pardon, sir, there ought to be a floating jail in
every fleet, where all the courts and all the executions should
be held."
"It would be robbing the boatswains of no small part of their duty, were
the punishments to be sent out of the different vessels," answered
Cuffe, smiling.
"Aye, aye, sir--the punishments, I grant, your honor; but hanging is an
_execution_, and not a punishment. God forbid that at my time of life I
should be ordered to sail in a ship that has no punishment on board; but
I am really getting to be too old to look at executions with any sort of
pleasure. Duty that isn't done with pleasure is but poor duty at the
best, sir."
"There are many disagreeable and some painful duties to be performed,
Strand; this of executing a man, let the offence be what it may, is
among the most painful."
"For my part, Captain Cuffe, I do not mind hanging a mutineer so very
much, for he is a being that the world ought not to harbor; but it is a
different thing with an enemy and a spy. It's our duty to spy as much as
we can for our king and country, and one ought never to bear too hard on
such as does their duty. With a fellow that can't obey orders, and who
puts his own will above the pleasure of his superiors, I have no
patience; but I do not so much understand why the gentlemen of the
courts are so hard on such as do a little more reconn'itrin'
than common."
"That is because ships are less exposed to the attempts of spies than
armies' Strand. A soldier hates a spy as much as you do a mutineer. The
reason is, that he may be surprised by an enemy through his means, and
butchered in his sleep. Nothing is so unpleasant to a soldier as a
surprise; and the law against spies, though a general law of war,
originated with soldiers, rather than with us sailors, I should think."
"Yes, sir, I dare say your honor is right. He's a rum 'un, a soldier,
at the best; and this opinion proves it. Now, sir, Captain Cuffe, just
suppose a Frenchman of about our own metal took it into his head to
surprise the Proserpine some dark night; what would come of it, after
all? There's the guns, and it's only to turn the hands up, to set 'em at
work, just the same as if there wasn't a spy in the world. And should
they prefer to come on board us, and to try their luck at close
quarters, I rather think, sir, the surprise would meet 'em face to face.
No, no, sir; spies is nothing to us--though it might teach 'em manners
to keel-haul one, once-and-a-while."
Cuffe now became thoughtful and silent, and even Strand did not presume
to speak, when the captain was in this humor. The latter descended to
the forecastle, and walked aft, his hands behind his back, and his head
inclining downward. Every one he met made way for him, as a matter of
course. In that mood, he moved among the throng of a ship of war as a
man tabooed. Even Winchester respected his commander's abstraction,
although he had a serious request to make, which it is time to explain.
Andrea Barrofaldi and Vito Viti remained on board the frigate, inmates
of the cabin, and gradually becoming more accustomed to their novel
situation. They did not escape the jokes of a man-of-war, but, on the
whole, they were well treated, and were tolerably satisfied; more
especially as the hope of capturing le Feu-Follet began to revive. As a
matter of course, they were apprised of the condition of Raoul; and,
both kind and benevolent men in the main, they were desirous of
conversing with the prisoner, and of proving to him that they bore no
malice. Winchester was spoken to on the subject; but before he granted
the permission, he thought it safest to consult the Captain in the
matter. At length an opportunity offered, Cuffe suddenly rousing
himself, and giving an order in relation to the canvas the ship
was under.
"Here are the two Italian gentlemen, Captain Cuffe." observed
Winchester, "desirous of speaking to the prisoner. I did not think it
right, sir to let him have communication with any one, without first
ascertaining your pleasure."
"Poor fellow! His time is getting very short, unless we hear from
Clinch; and there can be no harm in granting him every indulgence. I
have been thinking of this matter, and do not possibly see how I can
escape ordering the execution, unless it be countermanded from
Nelson himself."
"Certainly not, sir. But Mr. Clinch is an active and experienced seaman,
when he is in earnest; we may still hope something from him. What is to
be done with the Italians, sir?"
"Let them, or any one else that poor Yvard is willing to see, go below."
"Do you mean to include old Giuntotardi and his niece, Captain
Cuffe?--and this deserter of our own, Bolt--he, too, has had something
to say of a wish to take leave of his late shipmate?"
"We might be justified in denying the request of the last, Mr.
Winchester, but hardly of the others. Still, if Raoul Yvard wishes to
see even him, his desire may as well be granted."
Thus authorized, Winchester no longer hesitated about granting the
several permissions. An order was sent to the sentinel, through the
corporal of the guard, to allow any one to enter the prisoner's room
whom the latter might wish to receive. A ship was not like a prison on
shore, escape being next to impossible, more especially from a vessel at
sea. The parties accordingly received intimation that they might visit
the condemned man, should the latter be disposed to receive them.
By this time, something like a general gloom had settled on the ship.
The actual state of things was known to all on board, and few believed
it possible that Clinch could reach the Foudroyant, receive his orders,
and be back in time to prevent the execution. It wanted now but three
hours of sunset, and the minutes appeared to fly, instead of dragging.
The human mind is so constituted, that uncertainty increases most of its
sensations;--the apprehension of death even, very usually exciting a
livelier emotion than its positive approach. Thus it was with the
officers and people of the Proserpine; had there been no hope of
escaping the execution, they would have made up their minds to submit to
the evil, as unavoidable; but the slight chance which did actually exist
created a feverish excitement that soon extended to all hands; and this
as completely as if a chase were in sight, and each individual was bent
on overtaking her. As minute after minute flew by, the feeling
increased, until it would not much exceed the bounds of truth to say
that under none of the vicissitudes of war did there ever exist so
feverish an hour on board his Britannic Majesty's ship the Proserpine,
as the very period of which we are now writing. Eyes were constantly
turned toward the sun, and several of the young gentlemen collected on
the forecastle, with no other view than to be as near as possible to the
headland around which the boat of Clinch was expected to make her
reappearance, as behind it she had last been seen.
The zephyr had come at the usual hour, but it was light, and the ship
was so close to the mountains as to feel very little of its force. It
was different with the two other vessels. Lyon had gone about in time to
get clear of the highest mountains, and his lofty sails took enough of
the breeze to carry him out to sea, three or four hours before; while,
the Terpsichore, under Sir Frederick Dashwood, had never got near enough
in with the land to be becalmed at all. Her head had been laid to the
southwest, at the first appearance of the afternoon wind; and that
frigate was now hull-down to seaward--actually making a free wind of it,
as she shaped her course up between Ischia and Capri. As for the
Proserpine, when the bell struck three in the first dog-watch, she was
just abeam of the celebrated little islets of the Sirens, the western
breeze now beginning to die away, though, getting more of it, the ship
was drawing ahead faster than she had been since the turn of the day.
Three bells in the first dog-watch indicate the hour of half-past five.
At that season of the year, the sun sets a few minutes past six. Of
course there remained but little more than half an hour, in which to
execute the sentence of the law. Cuffe had never quitted the deck, and
he actually started when he heard the first sound of the clapper.
Winchester turned toward him, with an inquiring look; for everything had
been previously arranged between them; he received merely a significant
gesture in return. This, however, was sufficient. Certain orders were
privately issued. Then there appeared a stir among the foretop-men and
on the forecastle, where a rope was rove at the fore-yard-arm, and a
grating was rigged for a platform--unerring signs of the approaching
execution.
Accustomed as these hardy mariners were to brave dangers of all sorts,
and to witness human suffering of nearly every degree, a feeling of
singular humanity had come over the whole crew. Raoul was their enemy,
it is true, and he had been sincerely detested by all hands,
eight-and-forty hours before; but circumstances had entirely changed the
ancient animosity into a more generous and manly sentiment. In the first
place, a successful and a triumphant enemy was an object very different
from a man in their own power, and who lay entirely at their mercy. Then
the personal appearance of the young privateersman was unusually
attractive, and altogether different from what it had been previously
represented, and that, too, by an active rivalry that was not altogether
free from bitterness. But chiefly was the generous sentiment awakened by
the conviction that the master-passion, and none of the usual
inducements of a spy, had brought their enemy into this strait; and
though clearly guilty in a technical point of view, that be was
influenced by no pitiful wages, even allowing that he blended with the
pursuit of his love some of the motives of his ordinary warfare. All
these considerations, coupled with the reluctance that seamen ever feel
to having an execution in their ship, had entirely turned the tables;
and there, where Raoul would have found so lately between two and three
hundred active and formidable enemies, he might almost be said now to
have as many sympathizing friends.
No wonder, then, that the preparations of the foretop-men were regarded
with unfavorable eyes. The unseen hand of authority, nevertheless, held
all in restraint. Cuffe himself did not dare to hesitate any longer. The
necessary orders were given, though with deep reluctance, and then the
captain went below, as if to hide himself from human eyes.
The ten minutes that succeeded were minutes of intense concern. All
hands were called, the preparations had been completed, and Winchester
waited only for the reappearance of Cuffe, to issue the order to have
the prisoner placed on the grating. A midshipman was sent into the
cabin, after which the commanding officer came slowly, and with a
lingering step, upon the quarter-deck. The crew was assembled on the
forecastle and in the waists; the marine guard was under arms; the
officers clustered around the capstan; and a solemn, uneasy expectation
pervaded the whole ship. The lightest footfall was audible. Andrea and
his friend stood apart, near the taffrail, but no one saw Carlo
Giuntotardi or his niece.
"There is yet some five-and-twenty minutes of sun, I should think, Mr.
Winchester," observed Cuffe, feverishly glancing his eye at the western
margin of the sea, toward which the orb of day was slowly settling,
gilding all that side of the vault of heaven with the mellow lustre of
the hour and latitude.
"Not more than twenty, I fear, sir," was the reluctant answer.
"I should think five might suffice, at the worst; especially if the men
make a swift run." This was said in a half whisper, and thick husky
tones, the Captain looking anxiously at the lieutenant the while.
Winchester shrugged his shoulders, and turned away, unwilling to reply.
Cuffe now had a short consultation with the surgeon, the object of which
was to ascertain the minimum of time a man might live, suspended by the
neck at the yard-arm of a frigate. The result was not favorable; for a
sign followed to bring forth the prisoner.
Raoul came on deck, in charge of the master-at-arms and the officer who
had acted as provost-marshal. He was clad in his clean white lazzarone
garb, wearing the red Phrygian cap already mentioned. Though his face
was pale, no man could detect any tremor in the well-turned muscles that
his loose attire exposed to view. He raised his cap courteously to the
group of officers, and threw an understanding glance forward at the
fearful arrangement on the fore-yard. That he was shocked when the
grating and rope met his eye, is unquestionable; but, rallying in an
instant, he smiled, bowed to Cuffe, and moved toward the scene of his
contemplate execution, firmly, but without the smallest signs of bravado
in his manner.
A deathlike stillness prevailed, while the subordinates adjusted the
rope, and placed the condemned man on the grating. Then the slack of the
rope was drawn in by hand, and the men were ordered to lay hold of the
instrument of death, and to stretch it along the deck.
"Stand by, my lads, to make a swift run and a strong jerk, at your first
pull," said Winchester, in a low voice, as he passed down the line.
"Rapidity is mercy, at such a moment."
"Good God!" muttered Cuffe, "can the man die in this manner, without a
prayer; without even a glance toward heaven, as if asking for mercy?"
"He is an unbeliever, I hear, sir," returned Griffin, "We have offered
him all the religious consolation we could; but he seems to wish
for none."
"Hail the topgallant yards once more, Mr. Winchester," said Cuffe,
huskily.
"Foretopgallant yard, there!"
"Sir?"
"Any signs of the boat--look well into the bay of Naples--we are opening
Campanella now sufficiently to give you a good look up toward the head."
A pause of a minute succeeded. Then the lookout aloft shook his head in
the negative, as if unwilling to speak. Winchester glanced at Cuffe, who
turned anxiously, mounted a gun, and strained his eyes in a gaze to the
northward.
"All ready, sir," said the first lieutenant, when another minute
elapsed.
Cuffe was in the act of raising his hand, which would have been the
signal of death, when the dull, heavy report of a distant gun came
booming down from the direction of the town of Naples.
"Stand fast!" shouted Cuffe, fearful the men might get the start of-him.
"Make your mates take their calls from their mouths, sir. Two more guns,
Winchester, and I am the happiest man in Nelson's fleet!"
A second gun _did_ come, just as these words were uttered: then followed
a breathless pause of half a minute, when a third smothered but
unequivocal report succeeded.
"It must be a salute, sir," Griffin uttered, inquiringly..
"The interval is too long. Listen! I hope to _God_ we have had the
last!"
Every ear in the ship listened intently, Cuffe holding his watch in his
hand. Two entire minutes passed, and no fourth gun was heard. As second
after second went by, the expression of the captain's countenance
changed, and then he waved his hand in triumph.
"It's as it should be, gentlemen," he said. "Take the prisoner below,
Mr. Winchester. Unreeve the rope, and send that d--d grating off the
gun. Mr. Strand, pipe down."
Raoul was immediately led below. As he passed through the after-hatch,
all the officers on the quarter-deck bowed to him, and not a man was
there in the ship who did not feel the happier for the reprieve.