"Like an emerald gem on the breast of the sea,Dear Erin, my home! is thy vision to me;As the sun to the day—as the moon to the night,Is thy thought to my soul—'tis its warmth and its light."Sweet clime of my kindred—loved land of my birth!The fairest, the dearest, the brightest on earth;Oh! where'er I may roam—howe'er bless'd I may be,My spirit all lonely returns unto thee."There first budded passion—there burst into bloomThe flower of young hope—though it droop'd to the tomb!But that brief life of love! though whole ages may rollO'er my heart in despondence—'tis fresh in my soul."Let the winds wildly blow—let the waves madly rise,Till the storm-sprite's libation is flung in the skies;Still my spirit will seek, o'er the ocean's bright foam,For my home in dear Erin—my own native home!"[A]
"Like an emerald gem on the breast of the sea,Dear Erin, my home! is thy vision to me;As the sun to the day—as the moon to the night,Is thy thought to my soul—'tis its warmth and its light.
"Sweet clime of my kindred—loved land of my birth!The fairest, the dearest, the brightest on earth;Oh! where'er I may roam—howe'er bless'd I may be,My spirit all lonely returns unto thee.
"There first budded passion—there burst into bloomThe flower of young hope—though it droop'd to the tomb!But that brief life of love! though whole ages may rollO'er my heart in despondence—'tis fresh in my soul.
"Let the winds wildly blow—let the waves madly rise,Till the storm-sprite's libation is flung in the skies;Still my spirit will seek, o'er the ocean's bright foam,For my home in dear Erin—my own native home!"[A]
[A]Composed by Owen Grenliffe Warren, Esq.
[A]Composed by Owen Grenliffe Warren, Esq.
The last notes of the music were trembling on the chords, and the maiden stood as if entranced by her own strains, when a noise like the flitting of a humming-bird in the chamber caused her to start, and, at the same instant, something glittered past her eyes and fell at her feet. She stooped to lift it from the carpet with an exclamation between fear and surprise.
"A silver arrow! What can it mean? Ha! surely I have seen it before—no, no, it cannot be! I will examine it! what strange recollections—what long buried memories start up! I will see if my suspicions are true!"
She held it to the light with a trembling hand, and with undisguised astonishment read:
"Field of Archery, Castle Cor, May,MDCXCIV."
"Merciful Heaven!" she almost shrieked, "it is—it is the same! Who can have done this? Whence came it? 'Tis Lester!"
"It is Lester!" repeated a deep, rich voice.
She turned with a half cry and startled look towards the window, and, to her terror, beheld standing just without on the balcony, in the shadow of the curtain, a tall dark figure enveloped in a cloak, his features shaded by sable plumes drooping over his brow from a Spanish hat looped boldly up in front.
She would have shrieked, but her surprise and alarm for a moment denied her utterance. She leaned on her harp for support, and gazed on the intruder without the power to move. He advanced a step and stood within the window. The movement restored her presence of mind, and with a degree of self-possession that surprised herself, and in the tone and manner of one who feels herself insulted by intrusion rather than intimidated by the presence of the intruder, she cried,
"Stand, sir, whoever thou art! Approach no nearer, or I alarm the Hall."
As she spoke she extended her hand towards a silver bell that stood on a table near her. Quicker than thought, the stranger's hand was upon hers, and he was kneeling, without cloak or bonnet, at her feet. Surprise, rather than fear, rooted her to the spot. She gazed on him with astonishment; and, as she gazed, her features worked with extraordinary emotion. The light shone full upon his face, and exhibited the features of a fair, handsome man, scarcetwenty-five, with light flowing hair, an eye like a hawk's, and a figure of the most noble and manly proportions. He wore a short Flemish cloak of green cloth, richly embroidered, and a short Spanish sword, with a jewelled hilt, hung at his side. His face was lifted to hers with eloquent pleading. She met his gaze with a wild, alarmed look—clasped her hands on her forehead as if she would recall the past, and steadfastly fixed her eyes upon him as if tracing in his features a resemblance that startled her.
"Kate."
Soft were the tones of his deep, rich voice as he spoke, and full of tenderness were his eyes as he lifted them to hers.
"Robert of Lester!" she cried, starting back as if memory had vividly returned at the sound of his voice.
"I am he," was the reply of the stranger, bending his head lowly, as if deprecating her displeasure.
"Leave me, sir," she said, haughtily, though returning love was evidently struggling for the mastery over her sense of right. As she spoke she drew herself up commandingly, though her bosom heaved with emotion, and her averted eyes contradicted her words.
"Dearest Kate!"
"Robert of Lester, I bid you leave me. Your presence is an intrusion, sir."
"Lady," he said, with tenderness, "do you not remember when, five years since, you placed, with your own fair hands, the arrow you now hold in them, in my bonnet."
"Nay, bring not up the past; 'tis buried—long forgotten," she cried, nervously, and in a voicetremulous with feeling. "Would to God you had not appeared to revive it."
"Lady," he continued, in a soft, subdued tone, that touched her heart, "does not love's early dream—"
"That dream is o'er. Oh, that you would cease to recall what will only render me miserable!" she added, with feeling, burying her face in her hands.
"Is there no room for pardon—none for forgiveness? Hear me, Kate! dearest Kate! You who were my playmate in childhood—who in youth first awakened love in this bosom. Dash not the cup of hope for ever to the ground! I have sought thee, and now kneel to thee, to tell thee how fondly, how madly I love—"
"Cease, sir. This is no language for me to hear. Once—but, no matter—'tis past. If you have aught to say touching matters foreign to this, speak, and I can listen; then, prithee depart. Oh, that thou hadst kept away from me for ever! The sight of thee has torn my heart!"
"Then there is hope?"
"None."
"Hast forgotten," he said, with passionate tenderness, "how often we have sailed together on the little mere by Castle More; how together we have pursued the stag through the forests of Castle Cor; how oft we have rambled by the shores of its bay by moonlight, entwined in each other's arms as we walked; how we loved one another, and did pledge in the sight of Heaven undying love—"
"Robert, Robert—" she cried, moved by the touching images he had recalled.
"Have you forgotten," he continued, in the same tone, rising and advancing a step nearer to her, while she leaned against the harp, nor thought to retreat from him, "oh, have you quite forgottenall this? Can you recall it and bid me leave thee? Will you spurn him you have loved and still love—"
"Hold, hold! I love thee not! no, no, I love thee not. You presume too much, sir," she added, starting from her attitude, and with difficulty assuming a haughty bearing. "A maiden may once love, and, finding she has loved unworthily, hate!"
"Dearest Kate," he said, in a tone that reminded her of the days when they were lovers, gently taking her hand.
"Nay, stand back, sir!" she cried, troubled and with difficulty governing the tones of her voice, which returning love fain would have fashioned in its own sweet way.
"Nay, dearest Kate, you love me still! Wherefore this shrinking form and averted eye—this wild look of alarm—this struggle to reprove when your heart gushes with returning love? Why do you gaze on me with looks of horror! At one moment terror is depicted on your face, at another tenderness takes its place. It could not be thus if you scorned me!"
"Robert, I cannot listen to you—'tis dangerous—fatal. If—if I did love you still, thy crimes—"
"Ha! do you know me!"
"As 'the Kyd.'"
"Who told thee this?" he asked, fiercely.
"Elpsy."
"When?"
"Yesterday!"
"The foul fiend!" he cried, pacing the floor. He then muttered, "So—this plan is defeated. I can no longer rewoo her as Lester! Ten minutes since, this false witch told me that none save herself knew that the bastard Lester and Kyd were one! I would have made her believe I had returned from five years of honourable exile, to which her anger had banished me, and penitent, wooed her as Lester, as I have promised the sorceress—for I can do now what then I could not do: five years of crime makes a wonderful difference in a man's feelings! Yet I will deny all. She should believe me before this witch."
Such were the thoughts that run rapidly through his mind as he walked the room. Turning round to her, he said, in the tone of voice that innocence would assume,
"Alas, dearest Kate! has this baleful sorceress, with envenomed breath, instilled her poison in a flower so fair. Alas, and were I 'the Kyd,' would you, with the taproom gossips of the babbling town, believe me such as Rumour with her hundred tongues would make me? Shall I toherrefer this altered air—this cold look—this hand that's neither given nor withdrawn? Dost remember when first we parted after our plighted vows beneath the linden by the southern tower of Castle Cor ('twas the third day before thy birthday, I remember it well); thy heart against mine beat wildly—thy head lay upon my breast—my arm encircled thy waist—my lips were pressed to thine—and this 'kerchief, bearing thy initials wrought by thine own fingers, and which I have kept sacred as the pious monk a relic of the cross, was saturate with tears—thytears, Kate. And thus, though five long years have separated us, do we meet now!"
"'Fore Heaven, sir! hast thou not given cause?" she exclaimed, recovering herself after a brief but terrible struggle with her feelings, for she was fast melting at his words. "Dost remember how thou didst leave me, and to what end? Hast forgotten thy crimes? I am mad to talk with thee. Thou art no longer Lester. In thee alone I see the freebooter, the bucanier, the terrible Kyd! Shame that a noble, for a light word spoken by a spirited maiden in anger, should thus have cast himself away!"
"I had other cause—thou dost yet believe me to be Lester—but—"
"I will hear no palliation—thou hast thrown thyself away—when, if thou hadst really loved me, thou wouldst have come back and sought to heal the breach."
"I would have done it—but—"
"Thou didst not. Therefore are we no longer aught to each other!"
"Thy words tell me what I have scarce dared to hope—that thou wouldst have received and pardoned me! But there was an impassable barrier—"
"Which was thy pride. Fatal, fatal has it been to thee."
"Nay, but a dark stain—"
"Enough, Robert of Lester! I will hear no more in extenuation or plea. Let this interview cease."
She turned from him as she spoke, though it evidently cost her an effort to do so, and made a step towards the door communicating with the main body of the mansion.
"Lady! Kate—dear Kate," he cried, passionately, approaching her and kneeling before her, "you have said you would have received me had I then returned. If thy love was true love, five years should not kill it, but increase it rather. Behold me returned; forget the long lapse of time; see me only at thy feet to atone the deep offence given on thy birthday, which has so long separated us; receive me as if but a day, and not years, had intervened; take me once more to the throne of thy affections; let me again be the Lester of thy early years—the Lester whom thou hast loved—thyLester—thy—"
"Nay, Robert," she cried, with softness, yet turning her head away as she spoke, as if fearing to trust herself to meet his glance; "nay, it may not be. I pity you; but love!—love?—no, no, it lives no longer. Then art thou not guilty?" she cried, with sudden energy, recoiling from him. "Thou didst make me for the moment forget Kyd in Lester. Go, thou art not the Lester I have known. I no longer love thee, Robert; and if I did, crime on thy part has placed between us a wall high as heaven!"
"I am not so guilty as you believe, lady; but, if I have sinned against thee, thus here at thy feet I do atone my deep offence."
"Rise, sir. I accuse you not; with Heaven lies the knowledge of your guilt. But, if conscience goad thee not to it, why thus a suppliant?"
"Conscience useth neither spur nor exhortation. If I am proved innocent, yet is the homage of my knee still due to thee as the divinity that my soul for years has worshipped."
"Enough, sir! I tremble to hear thee link my name with such gross impiety. Detain me no longer."
"Dear Lady Kate!" he pleaded, entreatingly.
"Release my hand! and remember," she added, with a suddenness characteristic of thiscapricieuse création, "when you fashion your speech, that you address Lady Catharine of Bellamont!"
She drew back haughtily as she spoke, and the guilty lover bent his head low before the reproof, while resentment and grief were mingled in the expression of his countenance.
"Lady," he said, without looking up, and speaking in a voice apparently modulated by injured feelings, "do you believe the tales of crime men charge me with?"
"How else," she replied, pausing and turning back, losing, in her just resentment, the lover in the pirate, and speaking in tones of virtuous dignity, "How else? 'Tis rife on every tongue. Thy deeds are the undying theme of fireside wonder and village gossip. Nay, mothers use the dreaded name of Kyd to scare rude children to obedience!"
"By the cross!" he cried, starting up and speaking with fierce vehemence, "'tis all a foul invention; an idle tale and lying calumny; the escaped bile of some long-festering sore, nourished and fattened in the breast of scandal. Nay, dear Kate," he continued, changing his manner and voice, and speaking as if he made light of it all, "'tis not worth a passing thought! 'Tis an old-wives' tale only; and for such inventions thou hast too much good sense to crush the hopes of years; thou hast," he added, tenderly, "too deep remembrance of our former love to tear a heart that, like the rootless mistletoe which borrows life from that it clings to, lives only by its hold on thine!"
"Robert," she said, moved by the solemn and impassioned tones of his voice, his pleading look, his face upturned to hers, all eloquent with love and bringing him, as in happier days, before her memory, "Robert, I once loved you—how truly, Heaven and my own heart were witnesses. Thou wert virtuous then, and helmeted with truth, and thy heart was girt about with honour, like plate of proof. Thy look was noble, and thy port such as became the nobleness within. I was proud of thee. Absent, I treasured thee in my heart of hearts, and lived only—was happy only, in thy presence! When Rumour came trumpeting your misdeeds,Iwas thelastto believe them true."
"Kate—dearest Kate—"
"Nay, speak not. Your tongue and eyes are not yet drilled to play their parts together."
"Kate—I entreat—"
"True love for a noble maiden should have been to thee a shield and buckler, Robert, and kept thee from this sad fall."
"Lady, you do me wrong. My hand, but not my heart, has erred—"
"I have not yet done. From one source, that mingles not with the noisy torrent Rumour has let loose throughout the world, I've gathered most certain proof that you are guilty both in heart and hand. Ay, men do not, for very fear, tell the half of what thou hast done."
"This source—the witch?"
"No. Long had I heard of Kyd the outlaw; long had crime and guilt, in shapes most dreadful and appalling, come to my shrinking ears coupled with his name. Night and day, as we crossed the sea, was double watch set, lest he should come upon us unawares. Everywhere did I hear of him and his deeds of blood, till I did believe him to be a demon human only in shape, let on earth for its punishment. 'Twas from one who had been thy prisoner I heard the sanguinary tale. 'Twas told me ere I knew thee other than the world knew thee—for 'twas only yesterday Elpsy told me, what before had crossed my mind as the mere shadow of a suspicion, banished as soon as it came, that thou wert Lester, and that revenge against me had driven thee to piracy. This I believe not; Heaven keep me from answering for thy guilt—rather attribute it to thy own evil passions, and, I fear, an innate love for rapine; for how else wouldst thou have torn thy noble mother's heart (I speak not of hers to whom thy troth was plighted), and foregone thy rank and title among men?"
"If thou didst know all, lady, thou wouldst not judge me thus—"
"Thou canst say nothing I will believe. He who told me is, as once thou wert, the soul of truth and honour!"
"Who is this Daniel come to judgment?" asked the bucanier, with irony.
"A naval officer, who was taken prisoner in the Indian Seas by a rover, and afterward made his escape by stratagem."
"This rover?"
"Thyself."
"There is but one of rank above a common sailor who was my captive and escaped," he muttered, turning away as if recalling the past; "Fitzroy I think was his name; it may be he; if so, I will no longer urge my innocence, but woo her under my proper colours. Pray," he said, abruptly addressing her in a voice in which awakened jealousy was mingled with sarcasm, "hast thou ever chanced to know a youthful officer called Fitzroy?"
"Fitzroy!" she repeated, with embarrassment, while the blood mounted to her cheek in a way in which it never does in a maiden's save when a lover is suddenly named.
"Ay, I said Fitzroy. Is there aught in the name to call up the rich blood to the face? Fitzroy's the name—Rupert Fitzroy, I think!"
In her agitation her eyes involuntarily turned to the spot where she had dropped the colours she was working, and, to her increased confusion, the letters she had just completed met her eye. His glance followed hers, and instantly he exclaimed, with an eye sparkling with jealousy and surprise,
"By the rood! lady, there are the very initials! So this pretty bit of bunting can tell tales! Now,by the cross, I see it all," he said, walking the room with anger and speaking in an under tone; "behind this tale of my deeds she let slip so glibly, and under cover of believing it, she fain would conceal her transferred love. Woman," he cried, sternly addressing her, "know you this Rupert Fitzroy well?"
"You hold no right to question me," she firmly replied, "and I refuse to answer."
"So, I have a rival! 'Tis love for another, and not hatred of the crimes you lay to my charge, that leads you to scorn me thus. The arms of thy house above his name! Ha! 'tis a well-ripened love! I'll find it out; and if he who stands between me and thee be on the sea or wide earth, I will cross blades with him. A proper youth, that thou art ashamed to own him—perhaps the young fisher's lad has taken my place—I have heard he took to the seas."
"Even he, if honourable, were worthier than thou, with the nobility which thou hast dishonoured. But he no longer lives. Lest you give wrong motives to my silence, I will confess to thee that I do know a Captain Fitzroy—Rupert Fitzroy—once your captive by most foul-handed treachery—now as far removed above you as the eagle, that looks unblenching on the sun, above the tortoise."
"You love him?"
"I do."
"Then, by the holy Heaven! thou shalt repent thy love and he, crossing my path ere the sun, that shall rise to-morrow, be a month older."
As he spoke he turned from her and disappeared through the window, leaving her overwhelmed with surprise, wonder, and alarm. She heard him strike the ground as he sprung from the low balcony, and listened with trembling to his departingfootsteps as they rapidly crossed the lawn towards the seaside. For a few moments she remained standing as he had left her, as if endeavouring to realize what had passed, her eyes strained, her hands clasped across her forehead, her lips parted.
"Oh God, that this had been spared me!" she cried, with the bitterness of a soul surcharged with intense grief. "Have I seen him? Was it he? His voice—his air—oh, it was Lester's self!—he whom I have never ceased to love—whom—but these are dangerous thoughts—I must think of him no more. Oh crime, crime! what a deep and impassable gulf hast thou placed between us! Yet I have seen him, spoken with him! His hand has pressed mine in gentleness as it was wont. Oh how the past came back! time seemed obliterated, and I could at one moment have given myself up to him—but crime, crime! No, no, I must think no more of him; yet I am not sorry I have beheld him once more. Strange that, after so many years, and years of crime, have elapsed, he should still be dear to me! No, no, he is not dear to me—notheas he is—it is Lester of my youth—it is he that I love—he I alone think of, whose memory I can never cease to cherish; but this guilty being I know not! Yet he is Lester! My poor, poor head—my poor heart—how they strive with one another. Oh that my love could wash out his crimes! But whither do my thoughts wander? The sight of him has made me forget that I am no longer a wild girl at Castle Cor. I must root out his young love, and try no longer to identify myself now with myself then. I am now the betrothed of another—of another who has won me by his sympathy and gentleness, by his nobleness and his honour, by his manly virtues, and the deep devotion of his pure and elevated love. Rupert, Iwill not be false to thee; the trial is over. Henceforward I will fill my heart with thee alone, though I did tell thee, when thou didst woo me on the sea, that I would not give it all up to thee; that in one part was sacredly embalmed the sad memory of a first, yet unworthy love!"
Such were the conflicting thoughts that were passing through the mind of the troubled maiden, when she was startled by a low tap at the door. It was a second time repeated before she could command her voice to bid the applicant enter. The door slowly opened, and the family confessor of the Earl of Bellamont entered the boudoir. He was a man of commanding figure, with light flowing hair, and a peaked, auburn beard reaching to his breast, giving the appearance of the usual pictorial representations of the Saviour. He was about fifty years of age, and in the full prime and vigour of life. His forehead was white and high, his features noble, and his face eminently handsome, with a gay and youthful expression, while a light smile played constantly about his fine mouth. The under lip had a slight voluptuous fulness, with which the soft expression of his sparkling blue eyes harmonized, while both gave intimation of a liberality in morals by no means in strict conformity with the letter of his order.
Though holding the station of confessor in Lord Bellamont's family, Father Nanfan had not come with him from England. Twenty years before, a hermit had taken up his abode in a cave among the cliffs of Hoboken; his country, name, or order no one knew. He soon acquired great reputation for sanctity, and his fame spread far and wide. At length Governor Fletcher, hearing of him, visited him, and, for some cause which has not transpired, prevailed upon him to live with him as hisprivate secretary. Subsequently, Father Nanfan won the confidence and esteem of the first Robert Livingston and other leaders of the time, and, through his talents, knowledge, and ambition, exercised great influence in the government. He moved the wires of the famous Leslierian rebellion, and, though unacknowledged, was the real leader of the faction. When Bellamont succeeded Fletcher, he had sufficient influence with the party to induce them to adhere to the new governor, who rewarded him by appointing him his private secretary and family confessor. He had been an inmate of the White Hall but a few days, when, concealed beneath his religious guise, Kate Bellamont thought she detected a dangerous and bad man. It might have been imagination, for she confessed that neither by word nor look had he given ground for such suspicion; yet, from the first, she had felt a dislike towards him, and experienced a fear in being alone in his presence, which she could neither define, nor, on any reasonable grounds, defend.
He paused an instant, with his hand upon the half-closed door, as he saw the embarrassment of her manner, and fixed upon her inquiringly his large penetrating eyes, and then said, in a voice the words of which alone conveyed a reproof, for the gentle tone in which they were addressed to her were calculated to alarm from their tenderness rather than from their severity,
"Thou wert not present at vespers, maiden; and, at the bidding of thy noble mother, I have sought thee to learn why of late thy thoughts are more given to earthly than to heavenly things. If thou wilt kneel, I will now confess thee here."
"Nay, father, I will meet thee at matins and there confess. Beshrew me, sir, thou art full bold,and art disposed to carry thy priestly privileges to their full compass, that you intrude upon a lady in her private chamber. Hast heard me, sir? I would be alone; or, if thou wilt remain, thou art at liberty to do so, if first thou wilt move from the door and permit me to pass out."
"Nay, daughter, thou art troubled; the quick flush—the startled eye—the timid aspect—thou dost need to disburden thy heart!"
"I bid thee leave me," she cried, with mingled alarm and aversion.
"Calm your spirits, lady," he said, closing the door, and taking her hand ere she could prevent him, though she instantly withdrew it with a quick impulsive action, and retreated towards the window.
"Lady, I see you know me; you have read aright the admiring expression of my eyes when first I met thee—the devoted deference of my manner—the impassioned tones of my voice. Yes, sweet Lady Catharine, thy charms have fired me—thy image has taken the place of that of the Virgin Mother in my heart; for one smile, one look from thee, I am ready to sacrifice even my hopes of Heaven!"
He kneeled at her feet as he spoke, and his noble features, noble even through the guilt that shadowed them, were animated with passionate ardour.
"Hoary blasphemer, silence! Thank Heaven that gave me secret and instinctive warning of thy black character! Leave me, sir, or I shall call on my father!"
"He is not within hearing," he said, rising and taking both her hands; "and, if thou shouldst rouse his vengeance against me, his life, not mine, would be the sacrifice. So, if thou lovest him, beware!"
"Release me, then, sir. Coward—false priest—unhand me."
"One kiss from those voluptuous lips," he said, throwing his arm about her waist, "for full long have I fasted from beauty's favours."
"Ho, within there!" she shrieked.
Instantly he released her hand, but said, in a hoarse whisper, while his eyes flashed with resentment,
"If thou alarm the house, or give the least shadow of a hint of what has passed, and evil to me do come of it, the lives of all dear to thee shall be the sacrifice. If you will not love me, you shall fear me. Beware!" The next moment, changing his manner, he said, "Lady, it was but a momentary passion; it is passed; thy matchless beauty maddened me; fear me no longer. Forever keep silence, and thou wilt hear no more of my ill-matched love. Wilt thou forgive me, lady?"
"Seek it first of Heaven, dreadful man, if heavenward thou hast the boldness to lift thine eyes."
"Can I now hope to confess thee, maiden?"
"Thou, hypocrite! If it be that thou canst thus deceive thyself, and mingle holiness with sin, I am not to be part with thee in thy sacrilege! No, sir; rather would I ask absolution at the hands of the arch fiend than at thine. I know thee!"
"And of thy knowledge shall thou one day reap the bitter fruit," he said, in a voice and with a changed manner that intimated a threat.
"I do not fear thee, trusting in a power stronger than thou!"
"Thou wouldst have made a sublime priestess! Indignation but adds dignity to thy beauty, and excitement gives richness to thy cheek, brilliancy to thine eyes, and the haughty curl of thy lip is but the more tempting with its ripe fulness unrolled. By Heaven, I will not be thwarted; I am no mewly boy, to be frightened at a woman's frown. I willclasp thee in my arms, and ravish a kiss from that mouth, which even scorn cannot make less lovely, in punishment for thy pride!"
As he spoke he approached, and was about to clasp her in his embrace, when he received a blow from a mace which felled him to the floor, and the next instant the sorceress was standing above him, with one foot upon his chest.
"Ha, ha, ha! we are well met, Father Nanfan. 'Tis thus thou dost assoilzie the souls of maidens, by first teaching them to sin! Oh, thou hypocrite. But there will be a time! Nay, thou canst not get up," she added, pressing the end of her mace hard upon his forehead as he struggled to rise. "Maiden, I have saved thy lips from pollution! and thou, monster, do I not know thee? Oh, ho! Get thee up and go!"
As she spoke she stepped aside from his body, and he rose to his feet, his countenance black with mingled fury and shame.
"Foul witch, I will have thy life—and thou, haughty lady, shalt not escape me!"
He was passing swiftly, with gestures of vengeance, from the room, when the sorceress laid her hand upon him.
"Beware, I bid thee! Me thou canst not injure! her thou shalt not!"
"Who shall hinder me, woman? I will have thee, ere to-morrow's sun, burned at the stake!"
"And I will have thee hung higher than ever Haman was, if thou move a step towards it. I know thee, and thy life is in my hands!"
"Ha! you speak mysteriously!"
"Do I? But there is no mystery about thee that Elpsy cannot unravel."
"Speak, woman!"
"Thou darest not harm me, nor do injury to anyone I would protect; for I have the key to thy secret, and, therefore, to thy life."
"Thou! Who am I, then? What secret?" he hoarsely demanded.
She approached him, and whispered low in his ear.
He started back as if he had been struck with a dagger, and, staring upon her with wild surprise, in which intense alarm was mingled, cried,
"Who art thou, in Heaven's name?"
"Elpsy the sorceress!"
"But beside?"
"No matter."
"Wonderful woman! Thy unholy arts could alone have given thee this secret. Thou art indeed to be feared."
"Obey me, then, and secret it shall ever be."
"Speak; what would you?"
"Swear never to harbour revenge against this maiden, or any one of the house of Bellamont; of myself I speak not, for I do not fear thee! Dost thou swear?"
"By the sacred cross, I do."
"Thou art safe, then, so long as thou shalt keep thine oath. Go!"
The priest slowly left the chamber, and, as he closed the door behind him, the sorceress darted from the window upon the balcony, and disappeared in the darkness as suddenly as she had appeared, leaving the maiden overwhelmed with shame, anger, and wonder at the scenes and events in which she had borne so singular a part.
"Lo! now in yonder deep and gloomy caveTh' unholy hags their spells of mischief weave—Raise the infernal chant; while at the soundDread Spirits seem to dance the caldron round,And fiends of awful shape from earth and hellWith direful portents aid the magic spell."C. Donald McLeod.
When Robert Lester, now Kyd the pirate, left the presence of Kate Bellamont, without seeking the stone steps that descended to the lawn, he leaped from the low balcony to the ground, and strode, at a pace made quick and firm by the strength of his feelings, towards a gate that opened into the lane in which the inn of Jost Stoll was situated. Avoiding the narrow street, though it was silent and deserted, he turned his footsteps aside towards the beach, and, winding round a ledge of rocks wildly piled together, with a few shrubs and a dwarf cedar or two clinging in the clefts, he came to the mouth of the canal, where his boat lay half hidden in the shadow of a huge overhanging rock.
"Who comes," challenged one of several men that were standing around.
He was too much wrapped in his own dark thoughts to hear or give reply, and was only roused to a consciousness of his position by the cocking of pistols and the repetition of the challenge in a sharper tone.
"The Silver Arrow!" he answered, briefly.
"The captain! Advance!" was the reply.
"Ho, Lawrence, you are alert. Yet it should be so, for we are surrounded by enemies. Youmust learn, nevertheless, to challenge lower under the guns of a fort. By the moving of lights and show of bustle on the ramparts, we have already drawn the attention of the honest Dutch warriors whom our English governors have seen fit to retain to man their works."
"It's to save linstocks, by making them touch off the pieces with their pipes," said Lawrence; "their powder always smells more of tobacco than sulphur."
"A truce to this. Man your oars and put off," said Kyd, in a stern tone.
The men knew by the change in his voice that their chief was in a humour that was not to be disregarded; and scarcely had the orders passed from his lips, before every man was in his seat, with his oars elevated in the air. The coxswain, Lawrence, at the same time took his place at the helm, and in a low tone said,
"All's ready."
"Shove off and let fall," cried Kyd, in the same suppressed tone, springing into the stern-sheets.
"What course, captain?"
"Hell Gate," was the deep response, as he seated himself in the stern and wrapped his cloak about him.
"Give way, lads," followed this information, from the coxswain, and swiftly the barge shot out from the mouth of the canal; doubling the south point of the town, it moved rapidly up the narrow sound between Long and Manhattan Islands, now called East River, and was soon lost in the gloom.
When Kyd parted from Elpsy before the inn, she had remained standing in the place in which he had left her until his form was lost beneath the trees surrounding the White Hall; then, turning towards thestreet that led by a devious route in the direction of the north gate of the city, she walked a few moments rapidly along in the deep shade cast by the far-projecting roofs of the low Dutch mansions. Suddenly she stopped.
"He may have a faint heart," she muttered, as if her thoughts run upon the interview between the pirate and noble maiden. "She will not now accept him as Lester after I have told her who Lester has become. Oh, I did it to make him use force in his wooing. I would not have him, after all that has passed in the last five years, win her with honour to herself. I would have her humbled. I would have her become Lady Lester against her own will. And if he has remaining in his memory a tithe of her former scorn of him, he will love to repay her thus. Yet I doubt. I will go back and see that I am not thwarted. Never shall I rest, in grave or out, till he is Lord of Lester, and Kate Bellamont his wedded wife."
She turned as she spoke, and, retracing her steps towards the inn, continued on past it towards the wicket that opened into the park, and, gliding beneath the trees, stole towards the window of the maiden's chamber, directed by the light that shone through the foliage that climbed about it. Aided by her white staff, she was cautiously ascending a flight of steps that connected the extremity of the balcony with the lawn, when she heard Kyd's angry words at parting, saw him rush forth, leap to the ground, and take his swift way towards his boat. Her first impulse was to call him back; but, suppressing it, she softly approached the window for the purpose of using her own fearful power over the minds of all with whom she came in contact, in giving a turn more favourable to her design to the alarmed maiden's mind. She was arrested by the entrance of the priest as she was in the act of entering the chamber, and drew instantly back into the shadow. But she gradually moved forward into the light of the lamp, and, as her eyes rested on his features, they grew bloodshotten with the intensity of her gaze. Her face was thrust forward almost into the room, her long scragged neck was stretched to its full length, and her whole person advanced with the utmost eagerness. It could not have been the words of the priest or his manner that caused an excitement so sudden and extraordinary. She evidently discovered in him a resemblance that surprised her, while it filled her soul with a savage and vengeful joy.
"It is he!" she gasped. "Ever before have I met him cowled! He, he alone! I would know him in hell! Ha, I have lived for something! Oh, this knowledge is worth to me mines of gold! I would have sold my soul for it! The same brow, still almost as fair; the same mouth, the same rich light in the eyes, and, save his beard, almost as young as when last we met. Ha! 'tis he. We have met to some purpose now. Ho, ho! am I not getting work to do? This is a new matter on my hands. I will plot upon it. Ha, dares he? The hoary lecher! Nay, she has flung him back! 'Tis a proper maiden!" she added, as she saw the priest foiled in his attempt to sully the purity of the noble girl's lips.
Thus run the current of the weird woman's thoughts. With fierce resentment, she listened to the interview between the confessor and his penitent; and when a second time she saw him approach her with unhallowed lip, she sprung upon him: but whether to save the honour of the maiden's cheek, or prompted by some feminine feelingknown only to herself, will, if it is not already so, doubtless by-and-by be apparent.
After she had quitted the chamber she swiftly crossed the lawn towards the inn, turned up the narrow path that bordered the sluggish canal, and, following it to its termination near the wall, turned short round some low stone warehouses to the left, and ascended a narrow, steep street that run along close to the wall, and therefore had obtained the distinctive appellation of Wall-street. Getting close within its deep shadow, she glided along stealthily till she came to a double gate, over which hung a small lamp. Beneath the light, leaning against a guardhouse constructed on one side of the gate, she discovered a man with a firelock to his shoulder and a long pipe in his mouth. A few paces from him walked to and fro a second guard, who from time to time paused in his walk, and, in a listening attitude, looked down the broad, open street that led from the gate to the Rondeel, as if expecting the approach of some one.
"Sacrement Donner vetter! 'Tish aight ov de klock, Hanse," he said, stopping and addressing his comrade as Elpsy approached; "te relief shall 'ave peen here py dish time, heh?"
"It vill pe te Schietam at frau Stoll's vat keeps dem," replied the other, with a grunt of assent.
"Hark, Hanse! dere ish von footshteps along te vall—no heh?"
"Tish te pigs and te cattlesh. An' if it vas de peoplesh, vat matter so dey pe inside ov te valls? It ish against te rogue from te outside ov te vall vot ve keep te guart here for."
"Goot, Hanse. Ve lets nopoty in, to pe shure—nor lets nopoty out neider, heh? Pots gevitter! Vot vas te passvoord, Hanse? I vas licht mein bipe mid te paper te captain left mid us."
"Yorck."
"Yorck. Petween ourshelves, Hanse, Ich don't like dis new name ov our old city ov Nieuve Amstertam. Dese Anclish names pe hart to shpeak. 'Twas a wrong ding, Hanse, to put away te olt name, heh?"
"It vash, mein comrate, no vera koot."
"Pfui Teufel! Ich am klad I vas shmoke it in mein bipe. It vas batriotic, heh, Hanse? Let ush av te olt name pack again, Hanse."
"Vera koot, mein comrate, Ich vill."
"Ich too. Now if the peoplesh shay Yorck, tey shall pe put in de guarthouse for traitor. If tey shay Nieuve Amstertam, den tey pe Kristian peoplesh and honest men."
"If she pe a voman, comrate?"
"Den she shall pe von honest voman, to pe shure."
At this juncture of the embryo conspiracy, hatching in his very stronghold and among his tried warriors, against the Earl of Bellamont's government, striking at its very roots, and teeming with seeds of a civil war, a low, dark figure appeared from behind the guardhouse and suddenly confronted them.
"Himmel tausand! Te vitch—te tyfil!" they both exclaimed in one breath as she stood before them, plainly visible by the light of the lamp that illuminated her wild features, and threw into strong contrasts of light and shadow the prominent angles of her hideous person.
"Let me forth," she said, in a commanding tone, laying her hand with a determined gesture on the heavy bar that was placed against the gates.
The men drew back in alarm, and uttered exorcisms expressive of superstitious fear.
"Will ye not unbar? Brave men are ye to keep watch and guard over a city's gates. Unbolt!"
"Vat, Hanse, heh?" asked one of the men of his comrade, whose arm he had grasped; "sall ve lets her go?"
"It vill pe pest to hav her on te outside, comrate."
"So it vill pe, Hanse. Ve had petter let her out. I vill see if she knows te voord. Vitch vomans, vat ish te password, heh?"
"I give neither password nor countersign. I go and come as I list, and no man can hinder me. Stand aside."
As she spoke she placed her hands on the heavy bar, lifted it from its bed, and threw it at their feet. Then, turning the massive key that remained in the lock, the wide leaves flew open.
"Ve must not let it pe, Hanse, mitout te voord."
"Nor mitout leave, neider, comrate," cried one after the other, both being inspired with sudden energy.
"Ve shall pe shot."
"Ant hung too."
With one impulse they rushed forward to secure the gate, when she closed it fast in their faces, and they heard the key turn in the lock on the outside with a scornful laugh.
"Himmel! It ish lockt insite ve pe, Hanse, heh?"
"Ant she tid not shay Yorck, comrate."
"Nor Nieuve Amstertam neider. If she vas say only Nieuve Amstertam now."
"Tere ish no more need to keep guart, comrate. Nopody can get in."
"Tunder! no more dey can, Hanse, heh? 'Tish after aight o'klock, and te relief ish not been come. Dere ish no more use to keep guart, Hanse, heh?"
"Tyfil, no. Ve vill go ant get some Schietams."
"So ve vill, Hanse, ant a fresh bipe too."
Thus determining, the stalwort guard of the city gates of ancient Amsterdam shouldered their firelocks, and, confident in the security of the city, descended the street together in the direction of the alehouse offrauJost Stoll, while Elpsy kept on her course through the suburbs. Directly after leaving the gate she turned from the road which, bordered by forests, small farms, and here and there a lonely dwelling, run from the gates in a northerly direction. The path she took was a green lane, famous for lover's rambles, that led towards the East River. She traversed it at a swift running pace, now winding round some vast tree that grew in its centre, now ascending, now descending, as the path accommodated itself to the irregularities of the ground. In a few minutes she came to a romantic spring, open to the sky for many yards around, with greenest verdure covering the earth. She recognised it as a favourite resort for the industrious maidens of the town, who there were accustomed to bleach the linen they wove—and skilful weavers too were the rosy and merry Dutch maidens of that homely day! At evening they would go out to gather their bleaching; and, ere they left the spring on their return, the youths of the town would make their appearance, and, each singling out his sweetheart, take her burden under one arm, while, with the blushing girl hanging on the other, slowly they walked through the shady lane towards the town. Happy times! Gentle customs! Unsophisticated age! Oh, Maiden-lane, busy, shopping Maiden-lane! thy days of romance are passed! Who can identify thee with this green lane! But this is no place to eulogize thee; yet who maytravel over the olden-time scenes of New Amsterdam, and not pause to pay them the tribute of a thought!
After leaving the spring, her way faintly lighted by the stars, the sorceress struck into a path that led northeasterly; and, after a rapid walk of nearly a mile, came to the shore of East River at a point that could not have been reached by water without going over nearly twice the distance she had come by the forest. Descending the steep shore, she stopped at the head of a small creek that made a few yards into the land, and drew from beneath the shelter of a thickly-netted grapevine a light Indian birch canoe of the frailest structure. Stepping lightly into it, giving her weight accurately to the centre, she seated herself on the crossbar that constituted both the seat and strengthening brace of the bark: striking the water lightly with a slender paddle, she shot rapidly out of the creek. The moon had just risen, and flecked a trembling path of silvery light along the water. Plying the magic instrument, first on one side and then on the other alternately, she darted along the surface of the water with inconceivable velocity. Her course was northwardly in a line with the shore, close to which she kept. Every few minutes she would cease her toil and bend her ear close to the water, listening for sounds; and then, with a smile of gratification, renew her swift course. At length, as she rounded an elevated point, the distant fall of oars reached her ears in the direction of the town.
"He comes! He has gained on me! I must be there to prepare for him! Hey, my little bark, let us fly now!"
She stood up in the skiff as she spoke, the moonlight streaming on her dark face, flung her cloak from her shoulders, and, tossing back her long redhair, seized the paddle with a firmer grasp, and away like a mad thing flew witch and boat. Soon she turned a headland, and the waves began to be violently agitated, tossing and bubbling round her, while a roar of breaking surges was heard in the direction towards which she was driving. Far and wide the solemn moan of agitated waters filled the air. She shouted with the dash of the waves, and hissed as they bubbled and foamed in her track. Momently the commotion grew wilder and more appalling. The waters seethed like a boiling caldron. Whirlpools turned her skiff round and round like a feather, and yawning gulfs threatened each moment to ingulf her. Yet on she flew, standing upright in the boat, her hair streaming in the wind, her garments flying, and sending the boat irresistibly through the terrible commotion. The passage now became narrow, and on every side frowned black rocks, threatening destruction to the bark that should be dashed against their sides. Suddenly, when it appeared the boat could not survive an instant longer, by a dexterous application of her paddle she forced it from the boiling seas into a placid pool, sheltered by a low ledge, that formed the southern spur of a small islet a few rods square that stood at the mouth of "Hell Gate" on the north side.
"Ha, is it not a proper place for a witch, amid the mad waves and gloomy rocks! Oh, 'tis a home I love! The noise of the water is merry music! when it is lashed by a storm, the birds go sweeping and shrieking by like mad, and then it is music sweeter than the harp to Elpsy. So, I have well done my errand, and found him as he landed, and he is now on his way to me. Andwhobesides Robert, have I seen? Ah—have I not made a good night's work of it! Well, it shall go ill with me if I reap not the fruit of what I have learned. Ho, Cusha, slave!"
As she called thus in a harsh, stern tone, she drove her skiff into a crevice in the rocks, where it became firmly fixed, and, stepping from it, she bounded lightly up the precipitous shore to the summit. The top of the rock, which was but a few feet from the water, so far as could be seen by the light of the moon, was a grassy surface, dotted with a few stunted trees and one large oak, that with its broad arms nearly shadowed the entire islet. Between the columns of the trees all around the sky and water were visible. But in one place it was broken by the outline of a large rock and the roof of a low hut placed against it, directly beneath the oak. It was a rude, rough structure, wild and desolate in its appearance. On one side it over-hung the foaming waters, that leaped so high beneath it as to fling the spray upon its roof. In every part of it were crevices, from which, as the sorceress looked towards it on arriving on a level with it, streamed rays of light as if from a bright flame within; while a volume of thick, dark smoke, of an exceedingly fetid and sulphurous smell, curled upward against the sides of the rock, and rolled heavily away among the foliage of the oak.
"The slave is prepared," she said, approaching the hut.
She had taken but a single step towards it when the deep voice of a bloodhound from within broke the silence that reigned.
"The hound is alert! Ho, Sceva!"
At the sound of her voice the alarm bark of the dog was changed into a cry of delight; and, springing against the door, he would have burst it through had she not spoken, and, at the same time, opened it. Instantly the animal sprung upon her and licked her face with his huge tongue, and growled a savage sound of welcome. He was abrute of vast size, and with long, coarse gray hair, stiff, uncouth ears, and immense head; around which, and along his spine to his fore shoulders, the hair grew long and bristly like a boar's mane. His eyes were red and fierce in their expression; and huge tusks, protruding glaringly over either side of his hanging chops, gave him an aspect still more repulsive and savage.
"Down, Sceva, down!" she said, sternly, as he caught his huge paws in the tangled masses of her hair in his rough caresses; "down, I say!" The animal slunk from her and crouched upon a pile of fern in a corner of the hut.
The abode of the sorceress was rude and wild in the extreme. It was a slight frame of branchless firs, constructed against a bare rock, which constituted the east side, or wall of it. The interstices between the upright stakes were filled in with loose limbs of trees, and planks from wrecked fisher's boats; the roof in many places was open to the sky, and in its centre was a large aperture that served for an outlet to the smoke that rose from a fire smouldering beneath a caldron placed underneath. By the fitful glare it sent round, the interior of the hut, with its furniture, was distinctly visible. Entwined about an upright pole that sustained the roof were dead serpents of enormous size, and of brilliant colours, their glittering fangs hideously shining in the firelight. Festoons of toads, lizards, and other revolting reptiles hung from the ceiling, while round the wall were placed human bones arranged in fantastic figures, and ghastly sculls glared on the sight on every side, while all that could affect the imagination was conspicuous to the eyes of the observer. In the caldron in the centre of the hut was seething a dark liquid that emitted a fetid odour, and threw up volumes of smoke, which, unable toescape freely through the roof, hung heavily to within a few feet of the ground floor. Over the caldron bent the figure of an African, who was stirring the liquid with a human thigh bone, and occasionally, with a child's scull, dipping a portion from it and pouring it on the fire beneath, which instantly flamed up fiercely, casting a blue, baleful light throughout the hut. The firelight shone bright upon his person, bringing into relief every feature of his hideous countenance. His head was of huge proportions, and deformed, being perfectly flat on the top, and obtruding in front into a round forehead like an infant's newly born. It was, save a thick fringe of hair that hung shaggy and grisly above his eyes, wholly bald. His eyes were large, and projected red and wild from their beds, while his nose and lips were of enormous dimensions, which, with the total absence of anything like a chin, gave the lower part of his face a brutelike look. Yet there was an extraordinary human intelligence in the expression of his eye, in which dwelt the light of no common intellect.
He rose as the witch entered, and displayed a skeleton-like figure of great height, the low roof compelling him to bend half his length. His neck was long and scraggy; his shoulders bony; his arms and legs lank and attenuated; while his fingers, with the hard skin that clave to them and their long oval nails, resembled, as he himself did altogether, save his huge fleshy head, a dried anatomical preparation. A kilt reaching half way to his knees, and a sort of cape covering his shoulders made of the feathers of owls intermingled with the brilliant dies of snakes' skins, were his only clothing. He wore about his neck as ornaments a string of newts' eyes and serpents' fangs, and on his wrists and ankles were massive bracelets of silver.
"Thy slave welcomes thee," he said, in a voice that corresponded with the hideousness of his appearance.
He lifted his hands to his forehead as he spoke, and made an oriental obeisance nearly to the earth.
"Thou hast obeyed me, Cusha! 'Tis well! See that all be ready for the rites. He comes a second time to secure our aid against the rock and the shoal, the waves and the wind, the hand of man and the bolt of Heaven!"
"Comes he in the right spirit?"
"He fears and obeys."
"'Tis enough."
"Let nothing be wanting to retain our power over the minds of mortals; let our art lose no tithe of its honour. I will now make ready to receive him. He leaves me not till he has done my bidding, and through him my ends are answered. Now let us prepare the rites!"
In the mean while the superstitious victim of the unholy rites in preparation was on his way towards the "Witch's Isle." For nearly an hour the crew had pulled steadily along, and, save now and then a cheering cry from the coxswain, urging them to renewed exertion, not a word was spoken. Silent and thoughtful, revenge and disappointed love mingled with shame the while agitating his breast, he sat by himself in the stern of his boat, and took a retrospect of his past life.
His sense of honour was now blunted, and the experience of a reckless life had made him weigh less nicely his acts, and pay less deference to the opinions of men. He now laughed at and cursed what he called his folly in sacrificing, for a mere boyish notion of honour, his earldom. From the time he had thrown himself on board the Daneat the tower of Hurtel of the Red Hand, up to the moment that found him on his way to the abode of the sorceress, he had been scouring the seas, a bold, reckless, and sanguinary bucanier. Under the name of 'the Kyd,' oral Kyd, the sea-king—which had been given him by the Algerine corsairs, among whom he spread terror whenever he cruised up the Mediterranean—he had filled the world with tales of bloodshed and predatory conflict unparalleled in the annals of piracy. He seemed, from the first moment he placed his feet on the deck of the Dane, to have made a shipwreck of principle; to have buried, as he had said on taking leave of Lady Lester, all human feeling with the filial kiss he placed on her unconscious forehead. Yet it has been seen, in his fight with the yacht which contained the Earl of Bellamont and Grace Fitzgerald, that he had not wholly lost sight of every social tie that bound him to those with whom he had once associated. But this was the last instance of his sympathy with others. Henceforward he seemed to war with mankind as if he would avenge on his species the wrongs of his birth. The instance here given may be thought an exaggerated estimate of the rapid growth of vice. But the daily annals of crime show that it is but a step from virtue to vice, from innocence to crime. And, let the cause be strong enough, there is never an intermediate step.
Had Lester altogether forgotten Kate Bellamont while running this career? No. His thoughts reverted to her daily. Sometimes with the gentle character of his former young love, but oftener taking colour from his present altered character, and then they were resentful. Twice he had resolved to visit Castle Cor, and obtain an interview with her, and, if not by fair, by foul means, make her his bride. But he had been pursued and driven from the coastby cruisers, and his intentions had been foiled. That he loved her still was evident; and if he could have been rewarded with her hand by doing so, he would have deserted his present career for her sake. But these hopes were dissipated from the fear that she might have discovered that Kyd and he were one. This suspicion did at times alone prevent his seeking her out more resolutely and casting himself at her feet.
At length, a few months previous to the arrival of Lord Bellamont to assume the government of New-York, he, with large treasures, came into Long Island Sound; and, after burying them on Gardiner's Island, beneath a certain triangular rock which, it is said, seventy of his men rolled upon the spot, he came through Hell Gate into East River, where he anchored. As he sailed past her rock the witch recognised him, though she had not seen him since they separated at Hurtel's Tower, and at midnight paid him a visit in her skiff. She recovered her former influence over him, crime, as it ever does, having made him superstitious. From her he learned that the Earl of Bellamont was to succeed Governor Fletcher, and that his daughter would probably accompany him to America. Probing his feelings in relation to her, she discovered that he was still attached to her; and to her joy she found, on feeling his moral pulse, that she had less to fear than on a former occasion. From the moment Lester had cast away his title and fled the country, she had given her whole mind to one single object, if she should ever again meet him: viz., to bring about his restoration to his title and estates. She rightly calculated that time and the lawless school in which he had placed himself would lead to a revolution in his feelings. She now found him ripe for her purpose. Learning from him that he was bound on a cruise to intercept a fleet from Barbadoes, andwas to sail the following day, by his return she expected, as it turned out, that the Earl of Bellamont would have reached his new government. Therefore, before she left his cabin, she drew from him a promise that he would visit her at her hut the ensuing night; and there, amid the solemnities of her art, take the oath to lay claim to the title of Lester, and woo for the hand of the heiress of Bellamont: in fine, resume the position, notwithstanding all that had passed in the long interim, that he had held before the fatal field of archery at Castle Cor. Ere the next night, however, two frigates from Newport, learning his presence in the waters of Long Island, appeared in sight sailing up the Sound, when, weighing anchor, he sailed down the East River, passed boldly between Brooklyn and the town, exchanged shots with the Rondeel, and, steering down the bay, put to sea. His second appearance, and the events that followed it up to the time when he is approaching the Witch's Island, have already been narrated.
"Give way, men—pull for your lives!" shouted the coxswain, as at length they entered the boiling waters of Hell Gate.
With great exertion and skill, the tide now setting strongly through the gut, they avoided the dangers that beset them on every side, and at length reached the island. Giving orders for his men to remain in the boat and preserve silence, Kyd stepped on shore in a secluded cove at the western extremity of the island most remote from the abode of the sorceress. He passed through a dark ravine, that led with many a rugged step to the top, and, looking round as he reached it, at length discovered the hut he sought. It was calculated, combined with the roar of the sea and the lateness of the hour, and a knowledge of the fearful character of the occupant and of his own evil purposes in seeking it, to affect his mind with gloom and superstitious fears. He cautiously, and not without superstitious awe, approached the door and struck it with the hilt of his sword.
He was answered by the deep growl of the bloodhound, and the moment afterward the sorceress chanted, in a wild, supernatural strain, an Irish weird hymn, the only part of which he could comprehend were the last two lines: