Josh educating a PigPhiladelphia 1847
Josh educating a PigPhiladelphia 1847
“A body is apt to know a shipmate. Stephen Spike and I sailed together twenty years since, and I hope to live to sail with him again.”
“Yousail with Stephen Spike? when and where, may I ask, and in what v’y’ge, pray?”
“The last time was twenty years since. Have you forgotten little Jack Tier, Capt. Spike?”
Spike looked astonished, and well he might, for he had supposed Jack to be dead fully fifteen years. Time and hard service had greatly altered him, but the general resemblance in figure, stature, and waddle, certainly remained. Notwithstanding, the Jack Tier Spike remembered was quite a different person from this Jack Tier. That Jack had worn his intensely black hair clubbed and curled, whereas this Jack had cut his locks into short bristles, which time had turned into an intense gray. That Jack was short and thick, but he was flat and square; whereas this Jack was just as short, a good deal thicker, and as round as a dumpling. In one thing, however, the likeness still remained perfect. Both Jacks chewed tobacco, to a degree that became a distinct feature in their appearance.
Spike had many reasons for wishing Jack Tier were not resuscitated in this extraordinary manner, and some for being glad to see him. The fellow had once been largely in his confidence, and knew more than was quite safe for any one to remember but himself while he might be of great use to him in his future operations. It is always convenient to have one at your elbow who thoroughly understands you, and Spike would have lowered a boat and sent it to the wharf to bring Jack off, were it not for the gentleman who was so inquisitive about pilots. Under the circumstances, he determined to forego the advantages of Jack’s presence, reserving the right to hunt him up on his return.
The reader will readily enough comprehend that the Molly Swash was not absolutely standing still while the dialogue related was going on, and the thoughts we have recorded were passing through her master’s mind. On the contrary, she was not only in motion, but that motion was gradually increasing, and by the time all was said that has been related, it had become necessary for those who spoke to raise their voices to an inconvenient pitch in order to be heard. This circumstance alone would soon have put an end to the conversation, had not Spike’s pausing to reflect brought about the same result, as mentioned.
In the mean time, Mulford had got the canvas spread. Forward, the Swash showed all the cloth of a full-rigged brig, even to royals and flying gib; while aft, her masts was the raking, tall, naked pole of an American schooner. There was ataut top-mast, too, to which a gaff-topsail was set, and the gear proved that she could also show, at need, a staysail in this part of her, if necessary. As the Gate was before them, however, the people had set none but the plain, manageable canvas.
The Molly Swash kept close on a wind, luffing athwart the broad reach she was in, until far enough to weather Blackwell’s, when she edged off to her course, and went through the southern passage. Although the wind remained light, and a little baffling, the brig was so easily impelled, and was so very handy, that there was no difficulty in keeping her perfectly in command. The tide, too, was fast increasing in strength and velocity, and the movement from this cause alone was getting to be sufficiently rapid.
As for the passengers, of whom we have lost sight in order to get the brig under way, they were now on deck again. At first, they had all gone below, under the care of Josh, a somewhat rough groom of the chambers, to take possession of their apartment, a sufficiently neat, and exceedingly comfortable cabin, supplied with every thing that could be wanted at sea, and, what was more, lined on two of its sides with state-rooms. It is true, all these apartments were small, and the state-rooms were very low, but no fault could be found with their neatness and general arrangements, when it was recollected that one was on board a vessel.
“Here ebbery t’ing heart can wish,” said Josh, exultingly, who, being an old-school black, did not disdain to use some of the old-school dialect of his caste. “Yes, ladies, ebbery t’ing. Let Capt. Spike alone for dat! He won’erful at accommodation! Not a bed-bug aft—know better dan come here; jest like de people, in dat respects, and keep deir place forrard. You nebber see a pig come on the quarter-deck, nudder.”
“You must maintain excellent discipline, Josh,” cried Rose, in one of the sweetest voices in the world, which was easily attuned to merriment—“and we are delighted to learn what you tell us. How do you manage to keep up these distinctions, and make such creatures know their places so well?”
“Nuttin easier, if you begins right, miss. As for de pig, I teach dem wid scaldin’ water. Whenever I sees a pig come aft, I gets a little water from de copper, and just scald him wid it. You can’t t’ink, miss, how dat mend his manners, and make him squeel fuss, and t’ink arter. In that fashion I soon gets de ole ones in good trainin’, and den I has no more trouble with dem as comes fresh aboard; for de ole hog tell de young one, and ’em won’erful cunnin’, and know how to take care of ’emself.”
Rose Budd’s sweet eyes were full of fun and expectation, and she could no more repress her laugh than youth and spirits can always be discreet.
“Yes, with the pigs,” she cried, “that might do very well; but how is it with those—other creatures?”
“Rosy, dear,” interrupted the aunt, “I wish you would say no more about such shocking things. It’s enough for us that Capt. Spike has ordered them all to stay forward among the men, which is always done on board well disciplined vessels. I’ve heard your uncle say, a hundred times, that the quarter-deckwas sacred, and that might be enough to keep such animals off it.”
It was barely necessary to look at Mrs. Budd in the face to get a very accurate general notion of her character. She was one of those inane, uncultivated beings, who seem to be protected by a benevolent Providence in their pilgrimage on earth, for they do not seem to possess the power to protect themselves. Her very countenance expressed imbecility and mental dependence, credulity and a love of gossip. Notwithstanding these radical weaknesses, the good woman had some of the better instincts of her sex, and was never guilty of any thing that could properly convey reproach. She was no monitress for Rose, however, the niece much oftener influencing the aunt than the aunt influencing the niece. The latter had been fortunate in having had an excellent instructress, who, though incapable of teaching her much in the way of accomplishments, had imparted a great deal that was respectable and useful. Rose had character, and strong character, too, as the course of our narrative will show; but her worthy aunt was a pure picture of as much mental imbecility as at all comported with the privileges of self-government.
The conversation about “those other creatures” was effectually checked by Mrs. Budd’s horror of the “animals,” and Josh was called on deck so shortly after as to prevent its being renewed. The females staid below a few minutes, to take possession, and then they re-appeared on deck, to gaze at the horrors of the Hell-Gate passage. Rose was all eyes, wonder and admiration of every thing she saw. This was actually the first time she had ever been on the water, in any sort of craft, though born and brought up in sight of one of the most thronged havens in the world. But there must be a beginning to every thing, and this was Rose Budd’s beginning on the water. It is true the brigantine was a very beautiful, as well as an exceedingly swift vessel, but all this was lost on Rose, who would have admired a horse-jockey bound to the West Indies, in this the incipient state of her nautical knowledge. Perhaps the exquisite neatness that Mulford maintained about every thing that came under his care, and that included every thing on deck, or above board, and about which neatness Spike occasionally muttered an oath, as so much senseless trouble, contributed somewhat to Rose’s pleasure; but her admiration would scarcely have been less with anything that had sails, and seemed to move through the water with a power approaching that of volition.
It was very different with Mrs. Budd. She, good woman, had actually made one voyage with her late husband, and she fancied that she knew all about a vessel. It was her delight to talk on nautical subjects, and never did she really feel her great superiority over her niece, so very unequivocally, as when the subject of the ocean was introduced, about which she did know something, and touching which Rose was profoundly ignorant, or as ignorant as a girl of lively imagination could remain with the information gleaned from others.
“I am not surprised you are astonished at the sight of the vessel, Rosy,” observed the self-complacent aunt at one of her niece’s exclamations of admiration. “A vessel is a very wonderful thing, and we are told what extr’orny beings they are that ‘go down to the sea in ships.’ But you are to know this is not a ship at all, but only a half-jigger rigged, which is altogether a different thing.”
“Was my uncle’s vessel, The Rose In Bloom, then, very different from the Swash?”
“Very different, indeed, child! Why, The Rose In Bloom was a full-jiggered ship, and had twelve masts—and this is only a half-jiggered brig, and has but two masts. See, you may count them—one—two!”
Harry Mulford was coiling away a top-gallant-brace, directly in front of Mrs. Budd and Rose, and, at hearing this account of the wonderful equipment of The Rose In Bloom, he suddenly looked up, with a lurking expression about his eye that the niece very well comprehended, while he exclaimed, without much reflection, under the impulse of surprise—
“Twelve masts! Did I understand you to say, ma’am, that Capt. Budd’s ship had twelve masts?”
“Yes, sir,twelve! and I can tell you all their names, for I learnt them by heart—it appearing to me proper that a ship-master’s wife should know the names of all the masts in her husband’s vessel. Do you wish to hear their names, Mr. Mulford?”
Harry Mulford would have enjoyed this conversation to the top of his bent, had it not been for Rose. She well knew her aunt’s general weakness of intellect, and especially its weakness on this particular subject, but she would suffer no one to manifest contempt for either, if in her power to prevent it. It is seldom one so young, so mirthful, so ingenuous and innocent in the expression of her countenance, assumed so significant and rebuking a frown as did pretty Rose Budd when she heard the mate’s involuntary exclamation about the “twelve masts.” Harry, who was not easily checked by his equals, or any of his own sex, submitted to that rebuking frown with the meekness of a child, and stammered out, in answer to the well-meaning, but weak-minded widow’s question—
“If you please, Mrs. Budd—just as you please, ma’am—only twelve is a good many masts—” Rose frowned again—“that is—more than I’m used to seeing—that’s all.”
“I dare say, Mr. Mulford—for you sail in only a half-jigger; but Capt. Budd always sailed in a full-jigger—andhisfull-jiggered ship had just twelve masts, and, to prove it to you, I’ll give you the names—first, then, there were the fore, main, and mizzen masts—”
“Yes—yes—ma’am,” stammered Harry, who wished the twelve masts and The Rose In Bloom at the bottom of the ocean, since her owner’s niecestill continued to look coldly displeased—“that’s right, I can swear!”
“Very true, sir, and you’ll find I am right as to all the rest. Then, there were the fore, main, and mizzen top-masts—they make six, if I can count, Mr. Mulford?”
“Ah!” exclaimed the mate, laughing, in spite of Rose’s frowns, as the manner in which the old sea-dog had quizzed his wife became apparent to him. “I see how it is—you are quite right, ma’am—I dare say The Rose In Bloom had all these masts, and some to spare.”
“Yes, sir—I knew you would be satisfied. The fore, main and mizzen top-gallant-masts make nine—and the fore, main and mizzen royals make just twelve. Oh, I’m never wrong in any thing about a vessel, especially if she is a full-jiggered ship.”
Mulford had some difficulty in restraining his smiles each time the full-jigger was mentioned, but Rose’s expression of countenance kept him in excellent order—and she, innocent creature, saw nothing ridiculous in the term, though the twelve masts had given her a little alarm. Delighted that the old lady had got through her enumeration of the spars with so much success, Rose cried, in the exuberance of her spirits—
“Well, aunty, for my part, I find a half-jigger vessel so very, very beautiful, that I do not know how I should behave were I to go on board afull-jigger.”
Mulford turned abruptly away, the circumstance of Rose’s making herself ridiculous giving him sudden pain, though he could have laughed at her aunt by the hour.
“Ah, my dear, that is on account of your youth and inexperience—but you will learn better in time. I was just so, myself when I was of your age, and thought the fore-rafters were as handsome as the squared-jiggers, but soon after I married Capt. Budd I felt the necessity of knowing more than I did about ships, and I got him to teach me. He didn’t like the business, at first, and pretended I would never learn; but, at last, it came all at once like, and then he used to be delighted to hear me ‘talk ship,’ as he called it. I’ve known him laugh, with his cronies, as if ready to die, at my expertness in sea-terms, for half an hour together—and then he would swear—that was the worst fault your uncle had, Rosy—hewouldswear, sometimes, in a way that frightened me, I do declare!”
“But he never swore at you, aunty?”
“I can’t say that he did exactly do that, but he would swear all round me, even if he didn’t actually touch me, when things went wrong—but it would have done your heart good to hear him laugh! He had a most excellent heart, just like your own, Rosy dear; but, for that matter, all the Budds have excellent hearts, and one of the commonest ways your uncle had of showing it was to laugh, particularly when we were together and talking. Oh, he used to delight in hearing me converse, especially about vessels, and never failed to get me at it when he had company. I see his good-natured, excellent-hearted countenance at this moment, with the tears running down his fat, manly cheeks, as he shook his very sides with laughter. I may live a hundred years, Rosy, before I meet again with your uncle’s equal.”
This was a subject that invariably silenced Rose. She remembered her uncle, herself, and remembered his affectionate manner of laughing at her aunt, and she always wished the latter to get through her eulogiums on her married happiness, as soon as possible, whenever the subject was introduced.
All this time the Molly Swash kept in motion. Spike never took a pilot when he could avoid it, and his mind was too much occupied with his duty, in that critical navigation, to share at all in the conversation of his passengers, though he did endeavor to make himself agreeable to Rose, by an occasional remark, when a favorable opportunity offered. As soon as he had worked his brig over into the south or weather passage of Blackwell’s, however, there remained little for him to do, until she had drifted through it, a distance of a mile or more, and this gave him leisure to do the honors. He pointed out the castellated edifice on Blackwell’s as the new penitentiary, and the hamlet of villas, on the other shore, as Ravenswood, though there is neither wood nor ravens to authorize the name. But the “Sunswick,” which satisfied the Delafields and Gibbses of the olden time, and which distinguished their lofty halls and broad lawns, was not elegant enough for the cockney tastes of these later days, so “wood” must be made to usurp the place of cherries and apples, and “ravens” that of gulls, in order to satisfy its cravings. But all this was lost on Spike. He remembered the shore as it had been twenty years before, and he saw what it was now, but little did he care for the change. On the whole, he rather preferred the Grecian Temples, over which the ravens would have been compelled to fly, had there been any ravens in that neighborhood, to the old fashioned and highly respectable residence that once alone occupied the spot. The point he did understand, however, and on the merits of which he had something to say, was a little farther ahead. That, too, had been re-christened—the Hallet’s Cove of the mariner being converted into Astoria—not that bloody-minded place at the mouth of the Oregon, which has come so near bringing us to blows with our “ancestors in England,” as the worthy denizens of that quarter choose to consider themselves still, if one can judge by their language. This Astoria was a very different place, and is one of the many suburban villages that are shooting up, like mushrooms, in a night, around the greatCommercialEmporium. This spot Spike understood perfectly, and it was not likely that he should pass it without communicating a portion of his knowledge to Rose.
“There, Miss Rose,” he said, with a didactic sort of air, pointing with his short, thick finger at thelittle bay which was just opening to their view; “there’s as neat a cove as a craft need bring up in. Thatused to bea capital place to lie in, to wait for a wind to pass the Gate; but it has got to be most too public for my taste. I’m rural, I tell Mulford, and love to get in out-of-the-way berths with my brig, where she can see salt-meadows, and smell the clover. You never catch me down in any of the crowded slips, around the markets, or any where in that part of the town, for Idolove country air. That’s Hallet’s Cove, Miss Rose, and a pretty anchorage it would be for us, if the wind and tide didn’t sarve to take us through the Gate.”
“Are we near the Gate, Capt. Spike?” asked Rose, the fine bloom on her cheek lessening a little, under the apprehension that formidable name is apt to awaken in the breasts of the inexperienced.
“Half a mile, or so. It begins just at the other end of this island on our larboard hand, and will be all over in about another half mile, or so. It’s no such bad place, a’ter all, is Hell-Gate, to them that’s used to it. I call myself a pilot in Hell-Gate, though Ihaveno branch.”
“I wish, Capt. Spike, I could teach you to give that place its proper and polite name. We call it Whirl-Gate altogether now,” said the relict.
“Well, that’s new to me,” cried Spike. “Ihaveheard some chicken-mouthed folk sayHurl-Gate, but this is the first time I ever heard it called Whirl-Gate—they’ll get it to Whirlagig-Gate next. I don’t think that my old commander, Capt. Budd called the passage any thing but honest, up and down Hell-Gate.”
“That he did—that he did—and all my arguments and reading could not teach him any better. I proved to him that it was Whirl-Gate, as any one can see that it ought to be. It is full of Whirlpools, they say, and that shows what Nature meant the name to be.”
“But, aunty,” put in Rose, half reluctantly, half anxious to speak, “what hasgateto do with whirlpools? You will remember it is called a gate—the gate to that wicked place I suppose is meant.”
“Rose, you amaze me! How canyou, a young woman of only nineteen, stand up for so vulgar a name as Hell-Gate?”
“Do you think it as vulgar as Hurl-Gate, aunty? To me it always seems the most vulgar to be straining at gnats.”
“Yes,” said Spike, sentimentally, “I’m quite of Miss Rose’s way of thinking—straining at gnats is very ill-manners, especially at table. I once knew a man who strained in this way, until I thought he would have choked, though it was with a fly to be sure; but gnats are nothing but small flies, you know, Miss Rose. Yes, I’m quite of your way of thinking, Miss Rose; itisvery vulgar to be straining at gnats and flies, more particularly at table. But you’ll find no flies or gnats aboard here, to be straining at, or brushing away, or to annoy you. Stand by there, my hearties, and see all clear to run through Hell-Gate. Don’t let me catchyoustraining at any thing, though it should be the fin of a whale!”
The people forward looked at each other, as they listened to this novel admonition, though they called out the customary “ay, ay, sir,” as they went to the sheets, braces and bowlines. To them the passage of no Hell-Gate conveyed the idea of any particular terror, and with the one they were about to enter, they were much too familiar to care any thing about it.
The brig was now floating fast, with the tide, up abreast of the east end of Blackwell’s, and in two or three more minutes she would be fairly in the Gate. Spike was aft, where he could command a view of every thing forward, and Mulford stood on the quarter-deck, to look after the head-braces. An old and trustworthy seaman, who acted as a sort of boatswain, had the charge on the forecastle, and was to tend the sheets and tack. His name was Rove.
“See all clear,” called out Spike. “D’ye hear there, for’ard! I shall make a half-board in the Gate, if the wind favor us, and the tide prove strong enough to hawse us to wind’ard sufficiently to clear the pot—so mind your—”
The captain breaking off in the middle of this harangue, Mulford turned his head, in order to see what might be the matter. There was Spike, leveling a spy-glass at a boat that was pulling swiftly out of the north channel, and shooting like an arrow directly athwart the brig’s bows into the main passage of the Gate. He stepped to the captain’s elbow.
“Just take a look at them chaps, Mr. Mulford,” said Spike, handing his mate the glass.
“They seem in a hurry,” answered Harry, as he adjusted the glass to his eye, “and will go through the Gate in less time than it will take to mention the circumstance.”
“What do you make of them, sir?”
“The little man who called himself Jack Tier is in the stern-sheets of the boat, for one,” answered Mulford.
“And the other, Harry—what do you make of the other?”
“It seems to be the chap who hailed to know if we had a pilot. He means to board us at Riker’s Island, and make us pay pilotage, whether we want his services or not.”
“Blast him and his pilotage too! Give me the glass”—taking another long look at the boat, which by this time was glancing, rather than pulling, nearly at right angles across his bows. “I want no such pilot aboard here, Mr. Mulford. Take another look at him—here, you can see him, away on our weather bow, already.”
Mulford did take another look at him, and this time his examination was longer and more scrutinising than before.
“It is not easy to cover him with the glass,” observed the young man—“the boat seems fairly to fly.”
“We’re forereaching too near the Hog’s Back, Capt. Spike,” roared the boatswain, from forward.
“Ready about—hard a-lee,” shouted Spike. “Let all fly, for’ard—help her round, boys, all you can, and wait for no orders! Bestir yourselves—bestir yourselves.”
It was time the crew should be in earnest. While Spike’s attention had been thus diverted by the boat, the brig had got into the strongest of the current, which, by setting her fast to windward, had trebled the power of the air, and this was shooting her over toward one of the greatest dangers of the passage on a flood tide. As everybody bestirred themselves, however, she was got round and filled on the opposite tack, just in time to clear the rocks. Spike breathed again, but his head was still full of the boat. The danger he had just escaped as Scylla met him as Charybdis. The boatswain again roared to go about. The order was given as the vessel began to pitch in a heavy swell. At the next instant she rolled until the water came on deck, whirled with her stern down the tide, and her bows rose as if she were about to leap out of water. The Swash had hit the Pot Rock.
——
Watch.If we know him to be a thief, shall we not lay hands on him?Dogb.Truly, by your office, you may; but I think they that touch pitch will be defiled: the most peaceable way for you, if you do take a thief, is, to let him show himself what he is, and steal out of your company.Much Ado About Nothing.
Watch.If we know him to be a thief, shall we not lay hands on him?
Dogb.Truly, by your office, you may; but I think they that touch pitch will be defiled: the most peaceable way for you, if you do take a thief, is, to let him show himself what he is, and steal out of your company.
Much Ado About Nothing.
We left the brigantine of Capt. Spike in a very critical situation, and the master himself in great confusion of mind. A thorough seaman, this accident would never have happened, but for the sudden appearance of the boat and its passengers; one of whom appeared to be a source of great uneasiness to him. As might be expected, the circumstance of striking a place as dangerous as the Pot Rock in Hell-Gate, produced a great sensation on board the vessel. This sensation betrayed itself in various ways, and according to the characters, habits, and native firmness of the parties. As for the ship-master’s relict, she seized hold of the main-mast, and screamed so loud and perseveringly, as to cause the sensation to extend itself into the adjacent and thriving village of Astoria, where it was distinctly heard by divers of those who dwelt near the water. Biddy Noon had her share in this clamor, lying down on the deck in order to prevent rolling over, and possibly to scream more at her leisure, while Rose had sufficient self-command to be silent, though her cheeks lost their color.
Nor was there any thing extraordinary in females betraying this alarm, when one remembers the somewhat astounding signs of danger by which these persons were surrounded. There is always something imposing in the swift movement of a considerable body of water. When this movement is aided by whirlpools and the other similar accessories of an interrupted current, it frequently becomes startling, more especially to those who happen to be on the element itself. This is peculiarly the case with the Pot Rock, where, not only does the water roll and roar as if agitated by a mighty wind, but where it even breaks, the foam seeming to glance up stream, in the rapid succession of wave to wave. Had the Swash remained in her terrific berth more than a second or two, she would have proved what is termed a “total loss;” but she did not. Happily the Pot Rock lies so low, that it is not apt to fetch up any thing of a light draught of water; and the brigantine’s fore-foot had just settled on its summit, long enough to cause the vessel to whirl round and make her obeisance to the place, when a succeeding swell lifted her clear, and away she went down stream, rolling as if scudding in a gale, and, for a moment, under no command whatever. There lay another danger ahead, or it would be better to say astern, for the brig was drifting stern foremost, and that was in an eddy under a bluff, which bluff lies at an angle in the reach, where it is no uncommon thing for craft to be cast ashore, after they have passed all the more imposing and more visible dangers above. It was in escaping this danger, and in recovering the command of his vessel, that Spike now manifested the sort of stuff of which he was really made, in emergencies of this sort. The yards were all sharp up when the accident occurred, and springing to the lee-braces, just as a man winks when his eye is menaced, he seized the weather fore-brace with his own hands, and began to round in the yard, shouting out to the man at the wheel to “port his helm” at the same time. Some of the people flew to his assistance, and the yards were not only squared, but braced a little up on the other tack, in much less time than we have taken to relate the evolution. Mulford attended to the main-sheet, and succeeded in getting the boom out in the right direction. Although the wind was in truth very light, the velocity of the drift filled the canvas, and taking the arrow-like current on her lee bow, the Swash, like a frantic steed that is alarmed with the wreck made by his own madness, came under command, and sheered out into the stream again, where she could drift clear of the apprehended danger astern.
“Sound the pumps,” called out Spike to Mulford, the instant he saw he had regained his seat in the saddle. Harry sprang amidships to obey, and the eye of every mariner in that vessel was on the young man, as, in the midst of a death-like silence, he performed this all-important duty. It was like the physician’s feeling the pulse of his patient before he pronounces on the degree of his danger.
“Well, sir?” cried out Spike, impatiently, as the rod re-appeared.
“All right, sir,” answered Harry, cheerfully—“the well is nearly empty.”
“Hold on a moment longer, and give the water time to find its way amidships, if there be any.”
The mate remained perched up on the pump, in order to comply, while Spike and his people, who now breathed more freely again, improved the leisure to brace up and haul aft, to the new course.
“Biddy,” said Mrs. Budd, considerately, during this pause in the incidents, “you needn’t scream any longer. The danger seems to be past, and you may get up off the deck now. See, I have let go of the mast. The pumps have been sounded, and are found tight.”
Biddy, like an obedient and respectful servant, did as directed, quite satisfied if the pumps were tight. It was some little time, to be sure, before she was perfectly certain whether she were alive or not—but, once certain of this circumstance, her alarm very sensibly abated, and she became reasonable. As for Mulford, he dropped the sounding rod again, and had the same cheering report to make.
“The brig is tight as a bottle, sir.”
“So much the better,” answered Spike. “I never had such a whirl in her before in my life, and I thought she was going to stop and pass the night there. That’s the very spot on which ‘The Hussar’ frigate was wrecked.”
“So I have heard, sir. But she drew so much water that she hit slap against the rock, and started a butt. We merely touched on its top, with our fore-foot, and slid off.”
This was the simple explanation of the Swash’s escape, and every body being now well assured that no harm had been done, things fell into their old and regular train again. As for Spike, his gallantry, notwithstanding, was upset for some hours, and glad enough was he when he saw all three of his passengers quit the deck to go below. Mrs. Budd’s spirits had been so much agitated that she told Rose she would go down into the cabin and rest a few minutes on its sofa. We say sofa, for that article of furniture, now-a-days, is far more common in vessels than it was thirty years ago in the dwellings of the country.
“There, Mulford,” growled Spike, pointing ahead of the brig, to an object on the water that was about half a mile ahead of them, “there’s that bloody boat—d’ye see? I should like of all things to give it the slip. There’s a chap in that boat I don’t like.”
“I don’t see how that can be very well done, sir, unless we anchor, repass the gate at the turn of the tide, and go to sea by the way of Sandy Hook.”
“That will never do. I’ve no wish to be parading the brig before the town. You see, Mulford, nothing can be more innocent and proper than the Molly Swash, as you know from having sailed in her these twelvemonths. You’ll give her that character, I’ll be sworn?”
“I know no harm of her, Capt. Spike, and hope I never shall.”
“No, sir—you know no harm of her, nor does any one else. A nursing infant is not more innocent than the Molly Swash, or could have a clearer character, if nothing but truth was said of her. But the world is so much given to lying, that one of the old saints, of whom we read in the good book, such as Calvin and John Rogers, would bevilified if he lived in these times. Then, it must be owned, Mr. Mulford, whatever may be the raal innocence of the brig, she has a most desperate wicked look.”
“Why, yes, sir—it must be owned she is what we sailors call a wicked-looking craft. But some of Uncle Sam’s cruisers have that appearance also.”
“I know it—I know it, sir, and think nothing of looks myself. Men are often deceived in me, bymylooks, which have none of your long-shore softness about ’em, perhaps; but my mother used to say I was one of the most tender-hearted boys she had ever heard spoken of—like one of the babes in the woods, as it might be. But mankind go so much by appearances, that I do not like to trust the brig too much afore their eyes. Now, should we be seen in the lower bay, waiting for a wind, or for the ebb tide to make, to carry us over the bar, ten to one but some philotropic or other would be off with a complaint to the District Attorney, that we looked like a slaver, and have us all fetched up to be tried for our lives as pirates. No, no—I like to keep the brig in out-of-the-way places, where she can give no offence to your ’tropics, whether they be philos, or of any other sort.”
“Well, sir, we are to the eastward of the Gate, and all’s safe. That boat cannot bring us up.”
“You forget, Mr. Mulford, the revenue craft that steamed up, on the ebb. That vessel must be off Sands’ Point by this time, andshemay hear something to our disparagement from the feller in the boat, and take it into her smoky head to walk us back to town. I wish we were well to the eastward of that steamer! But there’s no use in lamentations. If there is really any danger, it’s some distance ahead yet, thank Heaven!”
“You have no fears of the man who calls himself Jack Tier, Capt. Spike?”
“None in the world. That feller, as I remember him, was a little bustlin’ chap that I kept in the cabin, as a sort of steward’s mate. There was neither good nor harm in him, to the best of my recollection. But Josh can tell us all about him—just give Josh a call.”
The best thing in the known history of Spike was the fact that his steward had sailed with him for more than twenty years. Where he had picked up Josh no one could say, but Josh and himself, and neither chose to be very communicative on the subject. But Josh had certainly been with him as long as he had sailed the Swash, and that was from a time actually anterior to the birth of Mulford. The mate soon had the negro in the council.
“I say, Josh,” asked Spike, “do you happen toremember such a hand aboard here as one Jack Tier?”
“Lor’ bless you, yes, sir—’members he as well as I do the pea-soup that was burnt, and which you t’rowed all over him to scald him for punishment.”
“I’ve had to do that so often, to one careless fellow or other, that the circumstance doesn’t recall the man. I remember him, but not as clear as I could wish. How long did he sail with us?”
“Sebberal v’y’ge, sir, and got left ashore down on the Main, one night, when ’e boat war obliged to shove off in a hurry. Yes, ’members little Jack, right well I does.”
“Did you see the man that spoke us from the wharf, and hailed for this very Jack Tier?”
“I see’d a man, sir, dat was won’erful Jack Tier built like, sir; but I didn’t hear the conwersation, habbin’ the ladies to ’tend to. But Jack was oncommon short in his floor timbers, sir, and had no length of keel at all. His beam was won’erful for his length, altogedder—what you call jolly-boat or bum-boat build, and was only good afore ’e wind, Capt. Spike.”
“Was he good for any thing aboard ship, Josh? Worth heaving-to for, should he try to get aboard of us again?”
“Why, sir, can’t say much for him in dat fashion. Jackwashandy in the cabin, and capital feller to carry soup from the galley, aft. You see, sir, he was so low-rigged that the brig’s lurchin’ and pitchin’ couldn’t get him off his pins, and he stood up like a church in the heaviest wea’der. Yes, sir, Jack was right good fordat.”
Spike mused a moment—then he rolled the tobacco over in his mouth, and added, in the way a man speaks when his mind is made up—
“Ay, ay!—I see into the fellow. He’ll make a handy lady’s maid, and we want such a chap, just now. It’s better to have an old friend aboard, than to be pickin’ up strangers, ’long shore. So, should this Jack Tier come off to us, from any of the islands or points ahead, Mr. Mulford, you’ll round to and take him aboard. As for the steamer, if she will only pass out into the Sound, where there’s room, it shall go hard with us but I get to the eastward of her, without speaking. On the other hand, should she anchor this side of the Fort, I’ll not attempt to pass her. There is deep water inside of most of the islands, I know, and we’ll try and dodge her in that way, if no better offer. I’ve no more reason than another craft, to fear a government vessel; but the sight of one of them makes me oncomfortable—that’s all.”
Mulford shrugged his shoulders, and remained silent, perceiving that his commander was not disposed to pursue the subject any further. In the mean time, the brig had passed beyond the influence of the bluff, and was beginning to feel a stronger breeze, that was coming down the wide opening of Flushing Bay. As the tide still continued strong in her favor, and her motion through the water was getting to be four or five knots, there was every prospect of her soon reaching Whitestone, the point where the tides meet, and where it would become necessary to anchor; unless, indeed, the wind, which was now getting to the southward and eastward, should come round more to the south. All this Spike and his mate discussed together, while the people were clearing the decks, and making the preparations that are customary on board a vessel before she gets into rough water.
By this time, it was ascertained that the brig had received no damage by her salute of the Pot Rock, and every trace of uneasiness on that account was removed. But Spike kept harping on the boat, and “the pilot-looking chap who was in her.” As they passed Riker’s Island, all hands expected a boat would put off with a pilot, or to demand pilotage; but none came, and the Swash now seemed released from all her present dangers, unless some might still be connected with the revenue steamer. To retard her advance, however, the wind came out a smart working breeze from the southward and eastward, compelling her to make “long legs and short ones” on her way towards Whitestone.
“This is beating the wind, Rosy dear,” said Mrs. Budd, complacently, she and her niece having returned to the deck a few minutes after this change had taken place. “Your respected uncle did a great deal of this in his time, and was very successful in it. I have heard him say, that in one of his voyages between Liverpool and New York, he beat the wind by a whole fortnight, every body talking of it in the insurance offices as if it was a miracle.”
“Ay, ay, Madam Budd,” put in Spike, “I’ll answer for that. They’re desperate talkers in and about them there insurance offices in Wall street. Great gossips be they, and they think they know every thing. Now, just because this brig is a little old or so, and was built for a privateer in the last war, they’d refuse to rate her as even B, No. 2, and my blessing on ’em.”
“Yes, B, No. 2, that’s just what your dear uncle used to call me, Rosy—his charming B, No. 2, or Betsy, No. 2; particularly when he was in a loving mood. Captain Spike, did you ever beat the wind in a long voyage?”
“I can’t say I ever did, Mrs. Budd,” answered Spike, looking grimly around, to ascertain if any one dared to smile at his passenger’s mistake; “especially for so long a pull as from New York to Liverpool.”
“Then your uncle used to boast of the Rose In Bloom’s wearing and attacking. She would attack any thing that came in her way, no matter who, and, as for wearing, I think he once told me shewouldwear just what she had a mind to, like any human being.”
Rose was a little mystified, but she looked vexed at the same time, as if she distrusted all was not right.
“I remember all my sea education,” continued the unsuspecting widow, “as if it had been learnt yesterday.Beating the wind and attacking ship, my poor Mr. Budd used to say, were nice manœuvres, and required most of his tactics, especially in heavy weather. Did you know, Rosy dear, that sailors weigh the weather, and know when it is heavy and when it is light?”
“I did not, aunt; nor do I understand now how it can very well be done.”
“Oh! child, before you have been at sea a week, you will learn so many things that are new, and get so many ideas of which you never had any notion before, that you’ll not be the same person. My captain had an instrument he called a thermometer, and with that he used to weigh the weather, and then he would write down in the log-book ‘to-day, heavy weather, or to-morrow, light weather,’ just as it happened, and that helped him mightily along in his voyages.”
“Mrs. Budd has merely mistaken the name of the instrument—the ‘barometer’ is what she wished to say,” put in Mulford, opportunely.
Rose looked grateful, as well as relieved. Though profoundly ignorant on these subjects herself she had always suspected her aunt’s knowledge. It was, consequently, grateful to her to ascertain that, in this instance, the old lady’s mistake had been so trifling.
“Well, it may have been the barometer, for I know he had them both,” resumed the aunt. “Barometer, or thermometer, it don’t make any great difference; or quadrant, or sextant. They are all instruments, and sometimes he used one, and sometimes another. Sailors take on board the sun, too, and have an instrument for that, as well as one to weigh the weather with. Sometimes they take on board the stars, and the moon, and ‘fill their ships with the heavenly bodies,’ as I’ve heard my dear husband say, again and again! But the most curious thing at sea, as all sailors tell me, is crossing the line, and I do hope we shall cross the line, Rosy, that you and I may see it.”
“What is the line, aunty, and how do vessels cross it?”
“The line, my dear, is a place in the ocean where the earth is divided into two parts, one part being called the North Pole, and the other part the South Pole. Neptune lives near this line, and he allows no vessel to go out of one pole into the other, without paying it a visit. Never! never!—he would as soon think of living on dry land, as think of letting even a canoe pass, without visiting it.”
“Do you suppose there is such a being, really, as Neptune, aunty?”
“To be sure I do; he is king of the sea. Why shouldn’t there be? The sea must have a king, as well as the land.”
“The sea may be a republic, aunty, like this country; then, no king is necessary. I have always supposed Neptune to be an imaginary being.”
“Oh! that’s impossible—the sea is no republic; there are but two republics, America and Texas. I’ve heard that the sea is a highway, it is true—the ‘highway of nations,’ I believe it is called, and that must mean something particular. But my poor Mr. Budd always told me that Neptune was king of the seas, andhewas always so accurate, you might depend on every thing he said. Why, he called his last Newfoundland dog Neptune, and do you think, Rosy, that your dear uncle would call his dog after an imaginary being?—and he a man to beat the wind, and attack ship, and take the sun, moon and stars aboard! No, no, child; fanciful folk may see imaginary beings, but solid folk see solid beings.”
Even Spike was dumfounded at this, and there is no knowing what he might have said, had not an old sea-dog, who had just come out of the fore-topmast cross-trees, come aft, and, hitching up his trowsers with one hand while he touched his hat with the other, said, with immovable gravity,
“The revenue-steamer has brought up just under the Fort, Capt. Spike.”
“How do you know that, Bill?” demanded the captain, with a rapidity that showed how completely Mrs. Budd and all her absurdities were momentarily forgotten.
“I was up on the fore-topgallant yard, sir, a bit ago, just to look to the strap of the jewel-block, which wants some sarvice on it, and I see’d her over the land, blowin’ off steam and takin’ in her kites. Afore I got out of the cross-trees, she was head to wind under bare poles, and if she hadn’t anchored, she was about to do so. I’m sartain ’twas she, sir, and that she was about to bring up.”
Spike gave a long, low whistle, after his fashion, and he walked away from the females, with the air of a man who wanted room to think in. Half a minute later, he called out—
“Stand by to shorten sail, boys. Man fore-clew-garnets, flying jib down-haul, topgallant sheets, and gaff-topsail gear. In with ’em all, my lads—in with every thing, with a will.”
An order to deal with the canvas in any way, on board ship, immediately commands the whole attention of all whose duty it is to attend to such matters, and there was an end of all discourse while the Swash was shortening sail. Every body understood, too, that it was to gain time, and prevent the brig from reaching Throg’s Neck sooner than was desirable.
“Keep the brig off,” called out Spike, “and let her ware—we’re too busy to tack just now.”
The man at the wheel knew very well what was wanted, and he put his helm up, instead of putting it down, as he might have done without this injunction. As this change brought the brig before the wind, and Spike was in no hurry to luff up on the other tack, the Swash soon ran over a mile of the distance she had already made, putting her back that much on her way to the Neck. It is out of our power to say what the people of the different craft in sight thought of all this, but an opportunity soon offered of putting them on a wrong scent. A large coasting schooner, carrying every thing that woulddraw on a wind, came sweeping under the stern of the Swash, and hailed.
“Has any thing happened, on board that brig?” demanded her master.
“Man overboard,” answered Spike—“you havn’t seen his hat, have you?”
“No—no,” came back, just as the schooner, in her onward course, swept beyond the reach of the voice. Her people collected together, and one or two ran up the rigging a short distance, stretching their necks, on the lookout for the “poor fellow,” but they were soon called down to “’bout ship.” In less than five minutes, another vessel, a rakish coasting sloop, came within hail.
“Didn’t that brig strike the Pot Rock, in passing the Gate?” demanded her captain.
“Ay, ay!—and a devil of a rap she got, too.”
This satisfiedhim; there being nothing remarkable in a vessel’s acting strangely that had hit the Pot Rock, in passing Hell-Gate.
“I think we may get in our mainsail on the strength of this, Mr. Mulford,” said Spike. “There can be nothing oncommon in a craft’s shortening sail, that has a man overboard, and which has hit the Pot Rock. I wonder I never thought of all this before.”
“Here is a skiff trying to get alongside of us, Capt. Spike,” called out the boatswain.
“Skiff be d——d! I want no skiff here.”
“The man that called himself Jack Tier is in her, sir.”
“The d——l he is!” cried Spike, springing over to the opposite side of the deck to take a look for himself. To his infinite satisfaction he perceived that Tier was alone in the skiff, with the exception of a negro, who pulled its sculls, and that this was a very different boat from that which had glanced through Hell-Gate, like an arrow darting from its bow.
“Luff, and shake your topsail,” called out Spike. “Get a rope there to throw to this skiff.”
The orders were obeyed, and Jack Tier, with his clothes-bag, was soon on the deck of the Swash. As for the skiff and the negro, they were cast adrift the instant the latter had received his quarter. The meeting between Spike and his quondam steward’s mate was a little remarkable. Each stood looking intently at the other, as if to note the changes which time had made. We cannot say that Spike’s hard, red, selfish countenance betrayed any great feeling, though such was not the case with Jack Tier’s. The last, a lymphatic, puffy sort of a person at the best, seemed really a little touched, and he either actually brushed a tear from his eye, or he affected so to do.
“So, you are my old shipmate, Jack Tier, are ye?” exclaimed Spike, in a half-patronizing, half-hesitating way—“and you want to try the old craft ag’in. Give us a leaf of your log, and let me know where you have been this many a day, and what you have been about. Keep the brig off, Mr. Mulford. We are in no particular hurry to reach Throg’s, you’ll remember, sir.”
Tier gave an account of his proceedings, which could have no interest with the reader. His narrative was any thing but very clear, and it was delivered in a cracked, octave sort of a voice, such as little dapper people not unfrequently enjoy—tones between those of a man and a boy. The substance of the whole story was this. Tier had been left ashore, as sometimes happens to sailors, and, by necessary connection, was left to shift for himself. After making some vain endeavors to rejoin his brig, he had shipped in one vessel after another, until he accidentally found himself in the port of New York, at the same time as the Swash. He know’d he never should be truly happy ag’in until he could once more get aboard the old hussy, and had hurried up to the wharf, where he understood the brig was lying. As he came in sight, he saw she was about to cast off, and, dropping his clothes-bag, he had made the best of his way to the wharf, where the conversation passed that has been related.
“The gentleman on the wharf was about to take boat, to go through the Gate,” concluded Tier, “and so I begs a passage of him. He was good-natured enough to wait until I could find my bag, and as soon a’terwards as the men could get their grog we shoved off. The Molly was just getting in behind Blackwell’s as we left the wharf, and, having four good oars, and the shortest road, we come out into the Gate just ahead on you. My eye! what a place that is to go through in a boat, and on a strong flood! The gentleman, who watched the brig as a cat watches a mouse, says you struck on the Pot, as he called it, but I says, ‘no,’ for the Molly Swash was never know’d to hit rock or shoal in my time aboard her.”
“And where did you quit that gentleman, and what has become of him?” asked Spike.
“He put me ashore on that point above us, where I see’d a nigger with his skiff, who I thought would be willin’ to ’arn his quarter by giving me a cast along side. So here I am, and a long pull I’ve had to get here.”
As this was said, Jack removed his hat and wiped his brow with a handkerchief, which, if it had never seen better days, had doubtless been cleaner. After this, he looked about him, with an air not entirely free from exultation.
This conversation had taken place in the gangway, a somewhat public place, and Spike beckoned to his recruit to walk aft, where he might be questioned without being overheard.
“What became of the gentleman in the boat, as you call him?” demanded Spike.
“He pulled ahead, seeming to be in a hurry.”
“Do you know who he was?”
“Not a bit of it. I never saw the man before, and he didn’t tell me his business, sir.”
“Had he any thing like a silver oar about him?”
“I saw nothing of the sort, Capt. Spike, and knows nothing consarning him.”
“What sort of a boat was he in, and where did he get it?”
“Well, as to the boat, sir, Icansay a word, seein’ it was so much to my mind, and pulled so wonderful smart. It was a light ship’s yawl, with four oars, and came round the Hook just a’ter you had got the brig’s head round to the eastward. You must have seen it, I should think, though it kept close in with the wharves, as if it wished to be snug.”
“Then the gentleman, as you call him, expectedthatvery boat to come and take him off?”
“I suppose so, sir, because itdidcome and take him off. That’s all I knows about it.”
“Had you no jaw with the gentleman? You wasn’t mum the whole time you was in the boat with him?”
“Not a bit of it, sir. Silence and I doesn’t agree together long, so we talked most of the time.”
“And what did the stranger say of the brig?”
“Lord, sir, he catechised me like as if I had been a child at Sunday-school. He asked me how long I had sailed in her; what ports we’d visited, and what trade we’d been in. You can’t think the sight of questions he put, and how cur’ous he was for the answers.”
“And what did you tell him in your answers? You said nothin’ about our call down on the Spanish Main, the time you were left ashore, I hope, Jack?”
“Not I, sir. I played him off surprisin’ly. He got nothin’ to count upon out of me. Though Idoowe the Molly Swash a grudge, I’m not goin’ to betray her.”
“You owe the Molly Swash a grudge! Have I taken an enemy on board her, then?”
Jack started, and seemed sorry he had said so much; while Spike eyed him keenly. But the answer set all right. It was not given, however, without a moment for recollection.
“Oh, you knows what I mean, sir. I owe the old hussy a grudge for having desarted me like; but it’s only a love quarrel atween us. The old Molly will never come to harm by my means.”
“I hope not, Jack. The man that wrongs the craft he sails in can never be a true-hearted sailor. Stick by your ship in all weathers is my rule, and a good rule it is to go by. But what did you tell the stranger?”
“Oh! I told him I’d been six v’y’ges in the brig. The first was to Madagascar—”
“The d—l you did! Was he soft enough to believe that?”
“That’s more than I know, sir. I can only tell you what Isaid; I don’t pretend to know how much hebelieved.”
“Heave ahead—what next?”
“Then I told him we went to Kamschatka for gold-dust and ivory.”
“Whe-e-e-w! What did the man say to that?”
“Why, he smiled a bit, and a’ter that he seemed more curious than ever to hear all about it. I told him my third v’y’ge was to Canton, with a cargo of broom-corn, where we took in salmon and dun-fish for home. A’ter that we went to Norway with ice, and brought back silks and money. Our next run was to the Havana, with salt and ’nips—”
“’Nips! what the devil be they?”
“Turnips, you knows, sir. We always calls ’em ’nips in cargo. At the Havana I told him we took in leather and jerked beef, and came home. Oh! he got nothin’ from me, Capt. Spike, that’ll ever do the brig a morsel of harm!”
“I am glad of that, Jack. You must know enough of the seas to understand that a close mouth is sometimes better for a vessel than a clean bill of health. Was there nothing said about the revenue-steamer?”
“Now you name her, sir, I believe there was—ay, ay, sir, the gentlemandidsay, if the steamer fetched up to the westward of the Fort, that he should overhaul her without difficulty, on this flood.”
“That’ll do, Jack; that’ll do, my honest fellow. Go below, and tell Josh to take you into the cabin again, as steward’s mate. You’re rather too Dutch built, in your old age, to do much aloft.”
One can hardly say whether Jack received this remark as complimentary, or not. He looked a little glum, for a man may be as round as a barrel, and wish to be thought genteel and slender; but he went below, in quest of Josh, without making any reply.
The succeeding movements of Spike appeared to be much influenced by what he had just heard. He kept the brig under short canvas for near two hours, sheering about in the same place, taking care to tell every thing which spoke him that he had lost a man overboard. In this way, not only the tide, but the day itself, was nearly spent. About the time the former began to lose its strength, however, the fore-course and the main-sail were got on the brigantine, with the intention of working her up toward Whitestone, where the tides meet, and near which the revenue-steamer was known to be anchored. We say near, though it was, in fact, a mile or two more to the eastward, and close to the extremity of the Point.
Notwithstanding these demonstrations of a wish to work to windward, Spike was really in no hurry. He had made up his mind to pass the steamer in the dark, if possible, and the night promised to favor him; but, in order to do this, it might be necessary not to come in sight of her at all; or, at least, not until the obscurity should in some measure conceal his rig and character. In consequence of this plan, the Swash made no great progress, even after she had got sail on her, on her old course. The wind lessened, too, after the sun went down, though it still hung to the eastward, or nearly ahead. As the tide gradually lost its force, moreover, the set to windward became less and less, until it finally disappeared altogether.
There is necessarily a short reach in this passage, where it is always slack water, so far as current is concerned. This is precisely where the tides meet, or, as has been intimated, at Whitestone, which is somewhat more than a mile to the westward of Throgmorton’s Neck, near the point of which stands Fort Schuyler, one of the works recently erected for the defence of New York. Off the pitch of the point, nearly mid-channel, had the steamer anchored, a fact of which Spike had made certain, by going aloft himself, and reconnoitering her over the land, before it had got to be too dark to do so. He entertained no manner of doubt that this vessel was in waiting for him, and he well knew there was good reason for it; but he would not return and attempt the passage to sea by way of Sandy Hook. His manner of regarding the whole matter was cool and judicious. The distance to the Hook was too great to be made in such short nights ere the return of day, and he had no manner of doubt he was watched for in that direction, as well as in this. Then he was particularly unwilling to show his craft at all in front of the town, even in the night. Moreover, he had ways of his own for effecting his purposes, and this was the very spot and time to put them in execution.
While these things were floating in his mind, Mrs. Budd and her handsome niece were making preparations for passing the night, aided by Biddy Noon. The old lady was factotum, or factota, as it might be most classical to call her, though we are entirely without authorities on the subject, and was just as self-complacent and ambitious of seawomanship below decks, as she had been above board. The effect, however, gave Spike great satisfaction, since it kept her out of sight, and left him more at liberty to carry out his own plans. About nine, however, the good woman came on deck, intending to take a look at the weather, like a skilful marineress as she was, before she turned in. Not a little was she astonished at what she then and there beheld, as she whispered to Rose and Biddy, both of whom stuck close to her side, feeling the want of good pilotage, no doubt, in strange waters.
The Molly Swash was still under her canvas, though very little sufficed for her present purposes. She was directly off Whitestone, and was making easy stretches across the passage, or river, as it is called, having nothing set but her huge fore-and-aft mainsail and the jib. Under this sail she worked like a top, and Spike sometimes fancied she traveled too fast for his purposes, the night air having thickened the canvas as usual, until it “held the wind as a bottle holds water.” There was nothing in this, however, to attract the particular attention of the ship-master’s widow, a sail, more or less, being connected with observation much too critical for her schooling, nice as the last had been. She was surprised to find the men stripping the brig forward, and converting her into a schooner. Nor was this done in a loose and slovenly manner, under favor of the obscurity. On the contrary, it was so well executed that it might have deceived even a seaman under a noon-day sun, provided the vessel were a mile or two distant. The manner in which the metamorphosis was made was as follows. The studding-sail booms had been taken off the topsail yard, in order to shorten it to the eye, and the yard itself was swayed up about half mast, to give it the appearance of a schooner’s fore-yard. The brig’s real lower yard was lowered on the bulwarks, while her royal yard was sent down altogether, and the topgallant-mast was lowered until the heel rested on the topsail yard, all of which, in the night, gave the gear forward very much the appearance of that of a fore-topsail schooner, instead of that of a half rigged brig, as the craft really was. As the vessel carried a try-sail on her foremast, it answered very well, in the dark, to represent a schooner’s foresail. Several other little dispositions of this nature were made, about which it might weary the uninitiated to read, but which will readily suggest themselves to the mind of a sailor.
These alterations were far advanced when the females re-appeared on deck. They at once attracted their attention, and the captain’s widow felt the imperative necessity, as connected with her professional character, of proving the same. She soon found Spike, who was bustling around the deck, now looking around to see that his brig was kept in the channel, now and then issuing an order to complete her disguise.
“Captain Spike, whatcanbe the meaning of all these changes? The tamper of your vessel is so much altered that I declare I should not have known her!”
“Is it, by George! Then, she is just in the state I want her to be in.”
“But why have you done it—and what does it all mean?”
“Oh, Molly’s going to bed for the night, and she’s only undressing herself—that’s all.”
“Yes, Rosy dear, Captain Spike is right. I remember that my poor Mr. Budd used to talk about the Rose In Bloom having her clothes on, and her clothes off, just as if she was a born woman! But don’t you mean to navigate at all in the night, Captain Spike? Or will the brig navigate without sails?”
“That’s it—she’s just as good in the dark, under one sort of canvas, as under another. So, Mr. Mulford, we’ll take a reef in that mainsail; it will bring it nearer to the size of our new foresail, and seem more ship-shape and Brister fashion—then I think she’ll do, as the night is getting to be rather darkish.”
“Captain Spike,” said the boatswain, who had been sent to look-out for that particular change—“the brig begins to feel the new tide, and sets to windward.”
“Let her go, then—now is as good a time as another. We’ve got to run the gantlet, and the sooner it is done the better.”
As the moment seemed propitious, not only Mulford, but all the people, heard this order with satisfaction. The night was star-light, though not very clear at that. Objects on the water, however, were more visible than those on the land, while those on the last could be seen well enough, even from the brig, though in confused and somewhat shapeless piles. When the Swash was brought close by the wind, she had just got into the last reach of the “river,” or that which runs parallel with The Neck for near a mile, doubling where the Sound expands itself, gradually, to a breadth of many leagues. Still the navigation at the entrance of this end of the Sound was intricate and somewhat dangerous, rendering it indispensable for a vessel of any size to make a crooked course. The wind stood at south-east, and was very scant to lay through the reach with, while the tide was so slack as barely to possess a visible current at that place. The steamer lay directly off the Point, mid-channel, as mentioned, showing lights, to mark her position to any thing which might be passing in or out. The great thing was to get by her without exciting her suspicion. As all on board, the females excepted, knew what their captain was at, the attempt was made amid an anxious and profound silence; or, if any one spoke at all, it was only to give an order in a low tone, or its answer in a simple monosyllable.
Although her aunt assured her that every thing which had been done already, and which was now doing, was quite in rule, the quick-eyed and quick-witted Rose noted these unusual proceedings, and had an opinion of her own on the subject. Spike had gone forward, and posted himself on the weather-side of the forecastle, where he could get the clearest look ahead, and there he remained most of the time, leaving Mulford on the quarter-deck, to work the vessel. Perceiving this, she managed to get near the mate, without attracting her aunt’s attention, and at the same time out of ear-shot.
“Why is every body so still and seemingly so anxious, Harry Mulford?” she asked, speaking in a low tone herself as if desirous of conforming to a common necessity. “Is there any new danger here? I thought the Gate had been passed altogether, some hours ago?”
“So it has. D’ye see that large dark mass on the water, off the Point, which seems almost as huge as the Fort, with lights above it? That is a revenue steamer which came out of York a few hours before us. We wish to get past her without being troubled by any of her questions.”
“And what do any in this brig care about her questions? They can be answered, surely.”
“Ay, ay, Rose—theymaybe answered, as you say, but the answers sometimes are unsatisfactory. Capt. Spike, for some reason or other, is uneasy, and would rather not have any thing to say to her. He has the greatest aversion to speaking the smallest craft when on a coast.”
“And that’s the reason he has undressed his Molly, as he calls her, that he might not be known.”
Mulford turned his head quickly toward his companion, as if surprised by her quickness of apprehension, but he had too just a sense of his duty to make any reply. Instead of pursuing the discourse, he adroitly contrived to change it, by pointing out to Rose the manner in which they were getting on, which seemed to be very successfully.
Although the Swash was under much reduced canvas, she glided along with great ease and with considerable rapidity of motion. The heavy night air kept her canvas distended, and the weatherly set of the tide, trifling as it yet was, pressed her up against the breeze, so as to turn all to account. It was apparent enough, by the manner in which objects on the land were passed, that the crisis was fast approaching. Rose rejoined her aunt, in order to await the result, in nearly breathless expectation. At that moment, she would have given the world to be safe on shore. This wish was not the consequence of any constitutional timidity, for Rose was much the reverse from timid, but it was the fruit of a newly awakened and painful, though still vague, suspicion. Happy, thrice happy was it for one of her naturally confiding and guileless nature, that distrust was thus opportunely awakened, for she was without a guardian competent to advise and guide her youth, as circumstances required.