Jack Tier; Or, The Florida Reef Read online

  CHAPTER II.

  “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, andthe master himself in great confusion of mind.

  A thorough seaman, this accident would never have happened, but for thesudden appearance of the boat and its passengers; one of whom appearedto be a source of great uneasiness to him. As might be expected,the circumstance of striking a place as dangerous as the Pot Rockin Hell-Gate, produced a great sensation on board the vessel. Thissensation betrayed itself in various ways, and according to thecharacters, habits, and native firmness of the parties. As for theship-master’s relict, she seized hold of the main-mast, and screamed soloud and perseveringly, as to cause the sensation to extend itself intothe adjacent and thriving village of Astoria, where it was distinctlyheard by divers of those who dwelt near the water. Biddy Noon hadher share in this clamour, lying down on the deck in order to preventrolling over, and possibly to scream more at her leisure, while Rosehad sufficient self-command to be silent, though her cheeks lost theircolour.

  Nor was there anything extraordinary in females betraying this alarm,when one remembers the somewhat astounding signs of danger by whichthese persons were surrounded. There is always something imposing in theswift movement of a considerable body of water. When this movement isaided by whirlpools and the other similar accessories of an interruptedcurrent, it frequently becomes startling, more especially to those whohappen to be on the element itself. This is peculiarly the case with thePot Rock, where, not only does the water roll and roar as if agitated bya mighty wind, but where it even breaks, the foam seeming to glance upstream, in the rapid succession of wave to wave. Had the Swash remainedin her terrific berth more than a second or two, she would have provedwhat is termed a “total loss;” but she did not. Happily, the Pot Rocklies so low that it is not apt to fetch up anything of a light draughtof 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 tothe place, when a succeeding swell lifted her clear, and away she wentdown stream, rolling as if scudding in a gale, and, for a moment, underno command whatever. There lay another danger ahead, or it would bebetter to say astern, for the brig was drifting stern foremost; and thatwas 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 theyhave passed all the more imposing and more visible dangers above. It wasin escaping this danger, and in recovering the command of his vessel,that Spike now manifested the sort of stuff of which he was reallymade, in emergencies of this sort. The yards were all sharp up when theaccident occurred, and springing to the lee braces, just as a man winkswhen his eye is menaced, he seized the weather fore-brace with his ownhands, and began to round in the yard, shouting out to the man at thewheel to “port his helm” at the same time. Some of the people flew tohis assistance, and the yards were not only squared, but braced a littleup on the other tack, in much less time than we have taken to relate theevolution. Mulford attended to the main-sheet, and succeeded in gettingthe boom out in the right direction. Although the wind was in truthvery light, the velocity of the drift filled the canvas, and taking thearrow-like current on her lee bow, the Swash, like a frantic steed thatis alarmed with the wreck made by his own madness, came under command,and sheered out into the stream again, where she could drift clear ofthe apprehended danger astern.

  “Sound the pumps!” called out Spike to Mulford, the instant he saw hehad regained his seat in the saddle. Harry sprang amidships to obey, andthe eye of every mariner in that vessel was on the young man, as, in themidst of a death-like silence, he performed this all-important duty.It was like the physician’s feeling the pulse of his patient before hepronounces on the degree of his danger.

  “Well, sir?” cried out Spike, impatiently, as the rod reappeared.

  “All right, sir,” answered Harry, cheerfully--“the well is nearlyempty.”

  “Hold on a moment longer, and give the water time to find its wayamidships, if there be any.”

  The mate remained perched up on the pump, in order to comply, whileSpike and his people, who now breathed more freely again, improved theleisure to brace up and haul aft, to the new course.

  “Biddy,” said Mrs. Budd considerately, during this pause in theincidents, “you need n’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. Thepumps have been sounded, and are found tight.”

  Biddy, like an obedient and respectful servant, did as directed, quitesatisfied 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 rodagain, and had the same cheering report to make.

  “The brig is as tight as a bottle, sir.”

  “So much the better,” answered Spike. “I never had such a whirl in herbefore in my life, and I thought she was going to stop and pass thenight there. That’s the very spot on which ‘The Hussar’ frigate waswrecked.”

  “So I have heard, sir. But she drew so much water that she hit slapagainst the rock, and started a butt. We merely touched on its top withour fore-foot, and slid off.”

  This was the simple explanation of the Swash’s escape, and, everybodybeing now well assured that no harm had been done, things fell intotheir old and regular train again. As for Spike, his gallantry,notwithstanding, was upset for some hours, and glad enough was he whenhe 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 godown 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 vesselsthan it was thirty years ago in the dwellings of the country.

  “There, Mulford,” growled Spike, pointing ahead of the brig, to anobject on the water that was about half a mile ahead of them, “there’sthat bloody boat--d’ye see? I should like of all things to give it theslip. There’s a chap in that boat I do n’t like.”

  “I do n’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 ofSandy Hook.”

  “That will never do. I’ve no wish to be parading the brig before thetown. You see, Mulford, nothing can be more innocent and proper than theMolly Swash, as you know from having sailed in her these twelve months.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 nursinginfant is not more innocent than the Molly Swash, or could have aclearer character if nothing but truth was said of her. But the world isso much given to lying, that one of the old saints, of whom we read inthe good book, such as Calvin and John Rogers, would be vilified if helived in these times. Then, it must be owned, Mr. Mulford, whatevermay be the raal innocence of the brig, she has a most desperate wickedlook.”

  “Why, yes, sir--it must be owned she is what we sailors call awicked-looking craft. But some of Uncle Sam’s cruisers have thatappearance, also.”

  “I know it--I know it, sir, and think nothing of looks myself. Men areoften deceived in me, by my looks, which have none of your long-shoresoftness about ‘em, perhaps; but my mother used to say I was one of themost tender-hearted boys she had ever heard spoken of--like one ofthe babes in the woods, as it might be. But mankind go so much byappearances that I do n’t like to trust the brig too much afore theireyes. Now, should we be seen in the lower bay, waiting for a wind, orfor the ebb
tide to make, to carry us over the bar, ten to one butsome philotropic or other would be off with a complaint to the DistrictAttorney that we looked like a slaver, and have us all fetched up tobe tried for our lives as pirates. No, no--I like to keep the brig inout-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. Thatboat cannot bring us up.”

  “You forget, Mr. Mulford, the revenue-craft that steamed up, on theebb. That vessel must be off Sands’ Point by this time, and she may hearsomething to our disparagement from the feller in the boat, and take itinto her smoky head to walk us back to town. I wish we were well to theeastward of that steamer! But there’s no use in lamentations. If thereis 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 littlebustlin’ 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 hissteward had sailed with him for more than twenty years. Where he hadpicked up Josh no one could say, but Josh and himself, and neither choseto be very communicative on the subject. But Josh had certainly beenwith him as long as he had sailed the Swash, and that was from a timeactually anterior to the birth of Mulford. The mate soon had the negroin the council.

  “I say, Josh,” asked Spike, “do you happen to remember such a handaboard here as one Jack Tier?”

  “Lor’ bless you, yes sir--‘members he as well as I do the pea soupthat was burnt, and which you t’rowed all over him, to scald him forpunishment.”

  “I’ve had to do that so often, to one careless fellow or other, that thecircumstance does n’t recall the man. I remember him--but not as clearas 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 were obliged to shove off in a hurry. Yes, ‘members littleJack, right well I does.”

  “Did you see the man that spoke us from the wharf, and hailed for thisvery Jack Tier?”

  “I see’d a man, sir, dat was won’erful Jack Tier built like, sir, but Idid n’t hear the conwersation, habbin’ the ladies to ‘tend to. But Jackwas oncommon short in his floor timbers, sir, and had no length of keelat all. His beam was won’erful for his length, altogedder--what you calljolly-boat, or bum-boat build, and was only good afore’e wind, Cap’nSpike.”

  “Was he good for anything 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. Jack was handy in thecabin, and capital feller to carry soup from the gally, 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 heaviestwea’der. Yes, sir, Jack was right good for dat.”

  Spike mused a moment--then he rolled the tobacco over in his mouth, andadded, in the way a man speaks when his mind is made up--“Ay ay! I seeinto the fellow. He’ll make a handy lady’s maid, and we want such a chapjust 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 toand take him aboard. As for the steamer, if she will only pass out intothe Sound where there’s room, it shall go hard with us but I get to theeastward of her, without speaking. On the other hand, should she anchorthis side of the fort, I’ll not attempt to pass her. There is deep waterinside of most of the islands, I know, and we’ll try and dodge her inthat way, if no better offer. I’ve no more reason than another craftto fear a government vessel, but the sight of one of them makes meoncomfortable; that’s all.”

  Mulford shrugged his shoulders and remained silent, perceiving that hiscommander was not disposed to pursue the subject any further. In themean time, the brig had passed beyond the influence of the bluff, andwas beginning to feel a stronger breeze, that was coming down the wideopening of Flushing Bay. As the tide still continued strong in herfavour, and her motion through the water was getting to be four or fiveknots, there was every prospect of her soon reaching Whitestone, thepoint where the tides meet, and where it would become necessary toanchor; unless, indeed, the wind, which was now getting to the southwardand eastward, should come round more to the south. All this Spike andhis mate discussed together, while the people were clearing the decks,and making the preparations that are customary on board a vessel beforeshe gets into rough water.

  By this time it was ascertained that the brig had received no damageby her salute of the Pot Rock, and every trace of uneasiness on thataccount was removed. But Spike kept harping on the boat, and “thepilot-looking chap who was in her.” As they passed Riker’s Island, allhands 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 presentdangers, unless some might still be connected with the revenue steamer.To retard her advance, however, the wind came out a smart working breezefrom the southward and eastward, compelling her to make “long legs andshort 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 thischange had taken place. “Your respected uncle did a great deal of thisin his time, and was very successful in it. I have heard him say, thatin one of his voyages between Liverpool and New York, he beat the windby a whole fortnight, everybody 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’redesperate talkers in and about them there insurance offices in Wallstreet. Great gossips be they, and they think they know everything.Now just because this brig is a little old or so, and was built for aprivateer 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 wasin a loving mood. Captain Spike, did you ever beat the wind in a longvoyage?”

  “I can’t say I ever did, Mrs. Budd,” answered Spike, looking grimlyaround, to ascertain if any one dared to smile at his passenger’smistake; “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 andattacking. She would attack anything that came in her way, no matterwho, and as for wearing, I think he once told me she would wear justwhat she had a mind to, like any human being.”

  Rose was a little mystified, but she looked vexed at the same time, asif she distrusted all was not right.

  “I remember all my sea education,” continued the unsuspecting widow, “asif it had been learnt yesterday. Beating the wind and attacking ship,my poor Mr. Budd used to say, were nice manoeuvres, and required most ofhis tactics, especially in heavy weather. Did you know, Rosy dear, thatsailors weigh the weather, and know when it is heavy and when it islight?”

  “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 manythings that are new, and get so many ideas of which you never had anynotion before, that you’ll not be the same person. My captain had aninstrument he called a thermometer, and with that he used to weigh theweather, and then he would write down in the log-book ‘today, heavyweather, or to-morrow, light weather,’ just as it happened, and thathelped 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 profou
ndly ignorant onthese subjects herself, she had always suspected her aunt’s knowledge.It was, consequently, grateful to her to ascertain that, in thisinstance, 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 do n’t make any greatdifference; or quadrant, or sextant. They are all instruments, andsometimes he used one, and sometimes another. Sailors take on board thesun, too, and have an instrument for that, as well as one to weigh theweather with. Sometimes they take on board the stars, and the moon,and ‘fill their ships with the heavenly bodies,’ as I’ve heard my dearhusband say, again and again! But the most curious thing at sea, as allsailors tell me, is crossing the line, and I do hope we shall cross theline, 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 dividedinto two parts, one part being called the North Pole, and the other partthe South Pole. Neptune lives near this line, and he allows no vesselto 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 lettingeven 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 should n’t there be? Thesea must have a king, as well as the land.”

  “The sea may be a republic, aunty, like this country; then, no king isnecessary. I have always supposed Neptune to be an imaginary being.”

  “Oh that’s impossible--the sea is no republic; there are but tworepublics, America and Texas. I’ve heard that the sea is a highway, itis true--the ‘highway of nations,’ I believe it is called, and thatmust mean something particular. But my poor Mr. Budd always told me thatNeptune was king of the seas, and he was always so accurate, you mightdepend on everything he said. Why, he called his last Newfoundland dogNeptune; and do you think, Rosy, that your dear uncle would call hisdog after an imaginary being?--and he a man to beat the wind, and attackship, and take the sun, moon and stars aboard! No, no, child; fancifulfolk may see imaginary beings, but solid folk see solid beings.”

  Even Spike was dumfounded at this, and there is no knowing what hemight have said, had not an old sea-dog, who had just come out of thefore-topmast cross-trees, come aft, and, hitching up his trowsers withone hand while he touched his hat with the other, said with immoveablegravity,

  “The revenue-steamer has brought up just under the fort, Capt. Spike.”

  “How do you know that, Bill?” demanded the captain, with a rapidity thatshowed how completely Mrs. Budd and all her absurdities were momentarilyforgotten.

  “I was up on the fore-topgallant yard, sir, a bit ago, just to lookto the strap of the jewel-block, which wants some sarvice on it, andI see’d her over the land, blowin’ off steam and takin’ in herkites. Afore I got out of the cross-trees, she was head to wind underbare-poles, and if she had n’t anchored, she was about to do so. I’msartin ‘t was she, sir, and that she was about to bring up.”

  Spike gave a long, low whistle, after his fashion, and he walked awayfrom 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, andgaff-topsail gear. In with ‘em all, my lads--in with everything, with awill.”

  An order to deal with the canvas in any way, on board ship, immediatelycommands the whole attention of all whose duty it is to attend to suchmatters, and there was an end of all discourse while the Swash wasshortening sail. Everybody understood, too, that it was to gaintime, and prevent the brig from reaching Throg’s Neck sooner than wasdesirable.

  “Keep the brig off,” called out Spike, “and let her ware--we’re too busyto tack just now.”

  The man at the wheel knew very well what was wanted, and he put hishelm up, instead of putting it down, as he might have done without thisinjunction. As this change brought the brig before the wind, and Spikewas in no hurry to luff up on the other tack, the Swash soon ran over amile of the distance she had already made, putting her back that muchon her way to the Neck. It is out of our power to say what the peopleof the different craft in sight thought of all this, but an opportunitysoon offered of putting them on a wrong scent. A large coastingschooner, carrying everything that would draw on a wind, came sweepingunder the stern of the Swash, and hailed.

  “Has anything happened, on board that brig?” demanded her master.

  “Man overboard,” answered Spike--“you hav’nt seen his hat, have you?”

  “No--no,” came back, just as the schooner, in her onward course, sweptbeyond the reach of the voice. Her people collected together, and one ortwo ran up the rigging a short distance, stretching their necks, on thelook-out for the “poor fellow,” but they were soon called down to “‘boutship.” In less than five minutes, another vessel, a rakish coastingsloop, came within hail.

  “Did n’t that brig strike the Pot Rock, in passing the Gate?” demandedher captain.

  “Ay, ay!--and a devil of a rap she got, too.”

  This satisfied him; there being nothing remarkable in a vessel’s actingstrangely 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’sshortening sail, that has a man overboard, and which has hit the PotRock. I wonder I never thought of all this before.”

  ‘Here is a skiff trying to get alongside of us, Capt. Spike,” called outthe 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 ofthe deck to take a look for himself. To his infinite satisfaction heperceived that Tier was alone in the skiff, with the exception of anegro, who pulled its sculls, and that this was a very different boatfrom that which had glanced through Hell Gate, like an arrow dartingfrom its bow.

  “Luff, and shake your topsail,” called out Spike. “Get a rope there tothrow to this skiff.”

  The orders were obeyed, and Jack Tier, with his clothes-bag, was soonon the deck of the Swash. As for the skiff and the negro, they werecast adrift the instant the latter had received his quarter. The meetingbetween Spike and his quondam steward’s mate was a little remarkable.Each stood looking intently at the other, as if to note the changeswhich time had made. We cannot say that Spike’s hard, red, selfishcountenance betrayed any great feeling, though such was not the casewith Jack Tier’s. The last, a lymphatic, puffy sort of a person at thebest, seemed really a little touched, and he either actually brushed atear from his eye, or he affected so to do.

  “So, you are my old shipmate, Jack Tier, are ye?” exclaimed Spike, ina half-patronizing, half-hesitating way--“and you want to try the oldcraft ag’in. Give us a leaf of your log, and let me know where you havebeen 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’llremember, sir.”

  Tier gave an account of his proceedings, which could have no interestwith the reader. His narrative was anything but very clear, and it wasdelivered in a cracked, octave sort of a voice, such as little dapperpeople 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, assometimes happens to sailors, and, by necessary connection, was left toshift for himself. After making some vain endeavours to rejoin his brig,he had shipped in one vessel after another, until he accidentally foundhimself in the port of New York, at the same time as the Swash. Heknow’d he never should be truly happy ag’in until he could once moreget aboard the old hussy, and had hurried up to the wharf, where heunderstood the brig was lying. As he came in sight, he saw she was aboutto cast off, and, dropping his clothes-
bag, he had made the best of hisway to the wharf, where the conversation passed that has been related.

  “The gentleman on the wharf was about to take boat, to go throughthe Gate,” concluded Tier, “and so I begs a passage of him. He wasgood-natured enough to wait until I could find my bag, and as soona’terwards as the men could get their grog we shoved off. The Molly wasjust getting in behind Blackwell’s as we left the wharf, and, havingfour good oars, and the shortest road, we come out into the Gate justahead on you. My eye! what a place that is to go through in a boat, andon a strong flood! The gentleman, who watched the brig as a cat watchesa 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 timeaboard 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 withhis skiff, who I thought would be willin’ to ‘arn his quarter by givingme a cast alongside. So here I am, and a long pull I’ve had to gethere.”

  As this was said, Jack removed his hat and wiped his brow with ahandkerchief, which, if it had never seen better days, had doubtlessbeen cleaner. After this, he looked about him, with an air not entirelyfree from exultation.

  This conversation had taken place in the gangway, a somewhat publicplace, and Spike beckoned to his recruit to walk aft, where he might bequestioned without being overheard.

  “What became of the gentleman in the boat, as you call him?” demandedSpike.

  “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 did n’t tell me hisbusiness, sir.”

  “Had he anything like a silver oar about him.”

  “I saw nothing of the sort, Capt. Spike, and knows nothing consarninghim.”

  “What sort of a boat was he in, and where did he get it?”

  “Well, as to the boat, sir, I can say a word, seein’ it was so much tomy mind, and pulled so wonderful smart. It was a light ship’s yawl, withfour oars, and came round the Hook just a’ter you had got the brig’shead 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, expected that very boat to comeand take him off?”

  “I suppose so, sir, because it did come and take him off. That’s all Iknows about it.”

  “Had you no jaw with the gentleman? You was n’t mnm the whole time youwas in the boat with him?”

  “Not a bit of it, sir. Silence and I does n’t agree together long, andso 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 atSunday-school. He asked me how long I had sailed in her; what portswe’d visited, and what trade we’d been in. You can’t think the sight ofquestions he put, and how cur’ous he was for the answers.”

  “And what did you tell him in your answers? You said nothin’ about ourcall 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 uponout of me. Though I do owe the Molly Swash a grudge, I’m not goin’ tobetray 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 himkeenly. But the answer set all right. It was not given, however, withouta moment for recollection.

  “Oh, you knows what I mean, sir. I owe the old hussy a grudge for havingdesarted me like; but it’s only a love quarrel atween us. The old Mollywill never come to harm by my means.”

  “I hope not, Jack. The man that wrongs the craft he sails in can neverbe 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 toMadagascar--”

  “The d--l you did? Was he soft enough to believe that?”

  “That’s more than I knows, sir. I can only tell you what I said; I don’t pretend to know how much he believed.”

  “Heave ahead--what next?”

  “Then I told him we went to Kamschatka for gold dust and ivory.”

  “Whe-e-ew! What did the man say to that?”

  “Why, he smiled a bit, and a’ter that he seemed more cur’ous than everto hear all about it. I told him my third v’y’ge was to Canton, witha 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 theHavana 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 morselof harm!”

  “I am glad of that, Jack. You must know enough of the seas to understandthat a close mouth is sometimes better for a vessel than a clean bill ofhealth. Was there nothing said about the revenue-steamer?”

  “Now you name her, sir, I believe there was--ay, ay, sir, the gentlemandid say, if the steamer fetched up to the westward of the fort, that heshould overhaul her without difficulty, on this flood.

  “That’ll do, Jack; that’ll do, my honest fellow. Go below, and tell Joshto take you into the cabin again, as steward’s mate. You’re rather tooDutch 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 questof Josh, without making any reply.

  The succeeding movements of Spike appeared to be much influenced bywhat he had just heard. He kept the brig under short canvas for near twohours, sheering about in the same place, taking care to tell everythingwhich spoke him that he had lost a man overboard. In this way, notonly the tide, but the day itself, was nearly spent. About the timethe former began to lose its strength, however, the fore-course and themain-sail were got on the brigantine, with the intention of workingher up toward Whitestone, where the tides meet, and near which therevenue-steamer was known to be anchored. We say near, though it was, infact, a mile or two more to the eastward, and close to the extremity ofthe 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 thesteamer in the dark, if possible, and the night promised to favour him;but, in order to do this, it might be necessary not to come in sight ofher at all; or, at least, not until the obscurity should in some measureconceal his rig and character. In consequence of this plan, the Swashmade no great progress, even after she had got sail on her, on her oldcourse. The wind lessened, too, after the sun went down, though it stillhung to the eastward, or nearly ahead. As the tide gradually lost itsforce, moreover, the set to windward became less and less, until itfinally disappeared altogether.

  There is necessarily a short reach in this passage, where it is alwaysslack water, so far as current is concerned. This is precisely where thetides meet, or, as has been intimated, at Whitestone, which is somewhatmore than a mile to the westward of Throgmorton’s Neck, near the pointof which stands Fort Schuyler, one of the works recently erected for thedefence of New York. Off the pitch of the point, nearly mid-channel, hadthe steamer anchored, a fact of which Spike had made certain, by goingaloft himself, and reconnoitering her over the land, before it had gotto be too dark to do so. He entertained no manner of doubt that thisvessel was in waiting for him, and he well knew there was good reasonfor it; but he would not return and attempt the passage to sea by wayof Sandy Hook. His manner of regarding the whole matter was cool andjudicious. The distance to the Hook was
too great to be made in suchshort nights ere the return of day, and he had no manner of doubt hewas watched for in that direction, as well as in this. Then he wasparticularly 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 hispurposes, 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 handsomeniece were making preparations for passing the night, aided by BiddyNoon. The old lady was factotum, or factota, as it might be mostclassical to call her, though we are entirely without authorities on thesubject, and was just as self-complacent and ambitious of seawomanshipbelow decks, as she had been above board. The effect, however, gaveSpike great satisfaction, since it kept her out of sight, and left himmore at liberty to carry out his own plans. About nine, however, thegood woman came on deck, intending to take a look at the weather, likea skilful marineress as she was, before she turned in. Not a little wasshe astonished at what she then and there beheld, as she whispered toRose and Biddy, both of whom stuck close to her side, feeling the wantof good pilotage, no doubt, in strange waters.

  The Molly Swash was still under her canvas, though very little sufficedfor her present purposes. She was directly off Whitestone, and wasmaking 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 shetravelled too fast for his purposes, the night air having thickened thecanvas as usual, until it “held the wind as a bottle holds water.” Therewas nothing in this, however, to attract the particular attention ofthe ship-master’s widow, a sail, more or less, being connected withobservation much too critical for her schooling, nice as the last hadbeen. She was surprised to find the men stripping the brig forward,and converting her into a schooner. Nor was this done in a loose andslovenly manner, under favour of the obscurity. On the contrary, itwas so well executed that it might have deceived even a seaman under anoon-day sun, provided the vessel were a mile or two distant. The mannerin which the metamorphosis was made was as follows: the studding-sailbooms had been taken off the topsail-yard, in order to shorten it to theeye, and the yard itself was swayed up about half-mast, to give it theappearance of a schooner’s fore-yard. The brig’s real lower yard waslowered on the bulwarks, while her royal yard was sent down altogether,and the topgallant-mast was lowered until the heel rested on the topsailyard, all of which, in the night, gave the gear forward very much theappearance of that of a fore-topsail schooner, instead of that of ahalf-rigged brig, as the craft really was. As the vessel carrieda try-sail on her foremast, it answered very well, in the dark, torepresent a schooner’s foresail. Several other little dispositions ofthis nature were made, about which it might weary the uninitiated toread, but which will readily suggest themselves to the mind of a sailor.

  These alterations were far advanced when the females re-appeared ondeck. They at once attracted their attention, and the captain’s widowfelt the imperative necessity, as connected with her professionalcharacter, of proving the same. She soon found Spike, who was bustlingaround the deck, now looking around to see that his brig was kept in thechannel, now and then issuing an order to complete her disguise.

  “Captain Spike, what can be the meaning of all these changes? The tamperof your vessel is so much altered that I declare I should not have knownher!”

  “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 undressingherself--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, andher clothes off, just as if she was a born woman! But do n’t you mean tonavigate at all in the night, Captain Spike? Or will the brig navigatewithout sails?”

  “That’s it--she’s just as good in the dark, under one sort of canvas, asunder 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 moreship-shape and Brister fashion--then I think she’ll do, as the night isgetting to be rather darkish.”

  “Captain Spike,” said the boatswain, who had been set to look-out forthat particular change--“the brig begins to feel the new tide, and setsto windward.”

  “Let her go, then--now is as good a time as another. We’ve got to runthe 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, thoughnot very clear at that. Objects on the water, however, were more visiblethan those on the land, while those on the last could be seen wellenough, even from the brig, though in confused and somewhat shapelesspiles. When the Swash was brought close by the wind, she had just gotinto the last reach of the “river,” or that which runs parallel withthe Neck for near a mile, doubling where the Sound expands itself,gradually, to a breadth of many leagues. Still the navigation at theentrance of this end of the Sound was intricate and somewhat dangerous,rendering it indispensable for a vessel of any size to make a crookedcourse. The wind stood at south-east, and was very scant to lay throughthe reach with, while the tide was so slack as barely to possess avisible current at that place. The steamer lay directly off the Point,mid-channel, as mentioned, showing lights, to mark her position toanything which might be passing in or out. The great thing was to getby her without exciting her suspicion. As all on board, the femalesexcepted, knew what their captain was at, the attempt was made amid ananxious and profound silence; or, if any one spoke at all, it was onlyto give an order in a low tone, or its answer in a simple monosyllable.

  Although her aunt assured her that everything which had been donealready, and which was now doing, was quite in rule, the quick-eyed andquick-witted Rose noted these unusual proceedings, and had an opinionof her own on the subject. Spike had gone forward, and posted himself onthe weather-side of the forecastle, where he could get the clearest lookahead, and there he remained most of the time, leaving Mulford on thequarter-deck, to work the vessel, Perceiving this, she managed to getnear the mate, without attracting her aunt’s attention, and at the sametime out of ear-shot.

  “Why is everybody so still and seemingly so anxious, Harry Mulford?” sheasked, speaking in a low tone herself, as if desirous of conforming to acommon necessity. “Is there any new danger here? I thought the Gate hadbeen 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 arevenue-steamer which came out of York a few hours before us. We wish toget past her without being troubled by any of her questions.”

  “And what do any in this brig care about her questions? They can beanswered, surely.”

  “Ay, ay, Rose--they may be answered, as you say, but the answerssometimes are unsatisfactory. Captain Spike, for some reason or other,is uneasy, and would rather not have anything to say to her. He has thegreatest aversion to speaking the smallest craft when on a coast.”

  “And that’s the reason he has undressed his Molly, as he calls her, thathe might not be known.”

  Mulford turned his head quickly toward his companion, as if surprised byher quickness of apprehension, but he had too just a sense of hisduty to make any reply. Instead of pursuing the discourse, he adroitlycontrived to change it, by pointing out to Rose the manner in which theywere getting on, which seemed to be very successfully.

  Although the Swash was under much reduced canvas, she glided along withgreat ease and with considerable rapidity of motion. The heavy night airkept her canvas distended, and the weatherly set of the tide, triflingas it yet was, pressed her up against the breeze, so as to turn all toaccount. It was apparent enough, by the manner in which objects on theland were passed, that the crisis was fast approaching. R
oserejoined her aunt, in order to await the result, in nearly breathlessexpectation. At that moment, she would have given the world to besafe on shore. This wish was not the consequence of any constitutionaltimidity, for Rose was much the reverse from timid, but it was the fruitof a newly-awakened and painful, though still vague, suspicion. Happy,thrice happy was it for one of her naturally confiding and guilelessnature, that distrust was thus opportunely awakened, for she was withouta guardian competent to advise and guide her youth, as circumstancesrequired.

  The brig was not long in reaching the passage that opened to the Sound.It is probable she did this so much the sooner because Spike kept her alittle off the wind, with a view of not passing too near the steamer.At this point, the direction of the passage changes at nearly a rightangle, the revenue-steamer lying on a line with the Neck, and leaving asort of bay, in the angle, for the Swash to enter. The land was somewhatlow in all directions but one, and that was by drawing a straight linefrom the Point, through the steamer, to the Long Island shore. On thelatter, and in that quarter, rose a bluff of considerable elevation,with deep water quite near it; and, under the shadows of that bluff,Spike intended to perform his nicest evolutions. He saw that the revenuevessel had let her fires go down, and that she was entirely withoutsteam. Under canvas, he had no doubt of beating her hand over hand,could he once fairly get to windward; and then she was at anchor, andwould lose some time in getting under way, should she even commence apursuit. It was all important, therefore, to gain as much to windward aspossible, before the people of the government vessel took the alarm.

  There can be no doubt that the alterations made on board the Swashserved her a very good turn on this occasion. Although the night couldnot be called positively dark, there was sufficient obscurity to renderher hull confused and indistinct at any distance, and this so much themore when seen from the steamer outside, or between her and the land.All this Spike very well understood, and largely calculated on. Ineffect he was not deceived; the look-outs on board the revenue craftcould trace little of the vessel that was approaching beyond the sparsand sails which rose above the shores, and these seemed to be the sparsand sails of a common foretopsail schooner. As this was not the sort ofcraft for which they were on the watch, no suspicion was awakened, nordid any reports go from the quarter-deck to the cabin. The steamer hadher quarter watches, and officers of the deck, like a vessel of war, thediscipline of which was fairly enough imitated, but even a man-of-warmay be overreached on an occasion.

  Spike was only great in a crisis, and then merely as a seaman. Heunderstood his calling to its minutiæ, and he understood the Molly Swashbetter than he understood any other craft that floated. For more thantwenty years had he sailed her, and the careful parent does not betterunderstand the humours of the child, than he understood exactly whatmight be expected from his brig. His satisfaction sensibly increased,therefore, as she stole along the land, toward the angle mentioned,without a sound audible but the gentle gurgling of the water, stirred bythe stem, and which sounded like the ripple of the gentlest wave, as itwashes the shingle of some placid beach.

  As the brig drew nearer to the bluff, the latter brought the wind moreahead, as respected the desired course. This was unfavourable, but itdid not disconcert her watchful commander.

  “Let her come round, Mr. Mulford,” said this pilot-captain, in a lowvoice--“we are as near in as we ought to go.”

  The helm was put down, the head sheets started, and away into the windshot the Molly Swash, fore-reaching famously in stays, and, of course,gaining so much on her true course. In a minute she was round, andfilled on the other tack. Spike was now so near the land, that he couldperceive the tide was beginning to aid him, and that his weatherly setwas getting to be considerable. Delighted at this, he walked aft, andtold Mulford to go about again as soon as the vessel had sufficient wayto make sure of her in stays. The mate inquired if he did not think therevenue people might suspect something, unless they stood further outtoward mid-channel, but Spike reminded him that they would be apt tothink the schooner was working up under the southern shore, because theebb first made there. This reason satisfied Mulford, and, as soon asthey were half-way between the bluff and the steamer, the Swash wasagain tacked, with her head to the former. This manoeuvre was executedwhen the brig was about two hundred yards from the steamer, a distancethat was sufficient to preserve, under all the circumstances, thedisguise she had assumed.

  “They do not suspect us, Harry!” whispered Spike to his mate. “We shallget to windward of ‘em, as sartain as the breeze stands. That boatin’gentleman might as well have staid at home, as for any good his hurrydone him or his employers!”

  “Whom do you suppose him to be, Captain Spike?”

  “Who,--a feller that lives by his own wicked deeds. No matter who he is.An informer, perhaps. At any rate, he is not the man to outwit the MollySwash, and her old, stupid, foolish master and owner, Stephen Spike.Luff, Mr. Mulford, luff. Now’s the time to make the most of yourleg--Luff her up and shake her. She is setting to windward fast, the ebbis sucking along that bluff like a boy at a molasses hogshead. All shecan drift on this tack is clear gain; there is no hurry, so long as theyare asleep aboard the steamer. That’s it--make a half-board at once,but take care and not come round. As soon as we are fairly clear of thebluff, and open the bay that makes up behind it, we shall get the windmore to the southward, and have a fine long leg for the next stretch.”

  Of course Mulford obeyed, throwing the brig up into the wind, andallowing her to set to windward, but filling again on the same tack,as ordered. This, of course, delayed her progress toward the land, andprotracted the agony, but it carried the vessel in the direction shemost wished to go, while it kept her not only end on to the steamer,but in a line with the bluff, and consequently in the position mostfavourable to conceal her true character. Presently, the bay mentioned,which was several miles deep, opened darkly toward the south, and thewind came directly out of it, or more to the southward. At this momentthe Swash was near a quarter of a mile from the steamer, and all thatdistance dead to windward of her, as the breeze came out of the bay.Spike tacked his vessel himself now, and got her head up so high thatshe brought the steamer on her lee quarter, and looked away toward theisland which lies northwardly from the Point, and quite near to whichall vessels of any draught of water are compelled to pass, even with thefairest winds.

  “Shake the reef out of the mainsail, Mr. Mulford,” said Spike, when theSwash was fairly in motion again on this advantageous tack. “We shallpass well to windward of the steamer, and may as well begin to open ourcloth again.”

  “Is it not a little too soon, sir?” Mulford ventured to remonstrate;“the reef is a large one, and will make a great difference in the sizeof the sail.”

  “They’ll not see it at this distance. No, no, sir, shake out the reef,and sway away on the topgallant-mast rope; I’m for bringing the MollySwash into her old shape again, and make her look handsome once more.”

  “Do you dress the brig, as well as undress her, o’mights; CaptainSpike?” inquired the ship-master’s reliet, a little puzzled with thisfickleness of purpose. “I do not believe my poor Mr. Budd ever didthat.”

  “Fashions change, madam, with the times--ay, ay, sir--shake out thereef, and sway away on that mast-rope, boys, as soon as you have mannedit. We’ll convart our schooner into a brig again.”

  As these orders were obeyed, of course, a general bustle now took place.Mulford soon had the reef out, and the sail distended to the utmost,while the topgallant-mast was soon up and fidded. The next thing was tosway upon the fore-yard, and get that into its place. The people werebusied at this duty, when a hoarse hail came across the water on theheavy night air.

  “Brig ahoy!” was the call.

  “Sway upon that fore-yard,” said Spike, unmoved by this summons--“startit, start it at once.”

  “The steamer hails us, sir,” said the mate.

  “Not she. She is hailing a brig; we are a schooner yet.” />
  A moment of active exertion succeeded, during which the fore-yard wentinto its place. Then came a second hail.

  “Schooner, ahoy!” was the summons this time.

  “The steamer hails us again, Captain Spike.”

  “The devil a bit. We’re a brig now, and she hails a schooner. Comeboys, bestir yourselves, and get the canvas on Molly for’ard. Loose thefore-course before you quit the yard there, then up aloft and looseneverything you can find.”

  All was done as ordered, and done rapidly, as is ever the case on boarda well-ordered vessel when there is occasion for exertion. That occasionnow appeared to exist in earnest, for while the men were sheeting homethe topsail, a flash of light illuminated the scene, when the roar ofa gun came booming across the water, succeeded by the very distinctwhistling of its shot. We regret that the relict of the late CaptainBudd did not behave exactly as became a shipmaster’s widow, under fire.Instead of remaining silent and passive, even while frightened, as wasthe case with Rose, she screamed quite as loud as she had previouslydone that very day in Hell-Gate. It appeared to Spike, indeed, thatpractice was making her perfect; and, as for Biddy, the spirit ofemulation became so powerful in her bosom, that, if anything, sheactually outshrieked her mistress. Hearing this, the widow made a secondeffort, and fairly recovered the ground some might have fancied she hadlost.

  “Oh! Captain Spike,” exclaimed the agitated widow, “do not--do not, ifyou love me, do not let them fire again!”

  “How am I to help it!” asked the captain, a good deal to the point,though he overlooked the essential fact, that, by heaving-to, andwaiting for the steamer’s boat to board him, he might have preventeda second shot, as completely as if he had the ordering of the wholeaffair. No second shot was fired, however. As it afterward appeared,the screams of Mrs. Budd and Biddy were heard on board the steamer, thecaptain of which, naturally enough, supposing that the slaughter must beterrible where such cries had arisen, was satisfied with the mischief hehad already done, and directed his people to secure their gun and goto the capstan-bars, in order to help lift the anchor. In a word, therevenue vessel was getting under way, man-of-war fashion, which meanssomewhat expeditiously.

  Spike understood the sounds that reached him, among which was the callof the boatswain, and he bestirred himself accordingly. Experienced ashe was in chases and all sorts of nautical artifices, he very well knewthat his situation was sufficiently critical. It would have been so,with a steamer at his heels, in the open ocean; but, situated as he was,he was compelled to steer but one course, and to accept the wind on thatcourse as it might offer. If he varied at all in his direction it wasonly in a trifling way, though he did make some of these variations.Every moment was now precious, however, and he endeavoured to improvethe time to the utmost. He knew that he could greatly outsail therevenue vessel, under canvas, and some time would be necessary to enableher to get up her steam; half an hour at the very least. On that halfhour, then, depended the fate of the Molly Swash.

  “Send the booms on the yards, and set stun’sails at once, Mr. Mulford,” said Spike, the instant the more regular canvas was spread forward.“This wind will be free enough for all but the lower stun’sail, and wemust drive the brig on.”

  “Are we not looking up too high, Captain Spike? The Stepping-Stones areahead of us, sir.”

  “I know that very well, Mulford. But it’s nearly high water, and thebrig’s in light trim, and we may rub and go. By making a short cut here,we shall gain a full mile on the steamer; that mile may save us.”

  “Do you really think it possible to get away from that craft, which canalways make a fair wind of it, in these narrow waters, Captain Spike?”

  “One don’t know, sir. Nothin’ is done without tryin’, and by tryin’more is often done than was hoped for. I have a scheme in my head, andProvidence may favour me in bringing it about.”

  Providence! The religionist quarrels with the philosopher if thelatter happen to remove this interposition of a higher power, evenso triflingly as by the intervention of secondary agencies, whilethe biggest rascal dignifies even his success by such phrases asProvidential aid! But it is not surprising men should misunderstandterms, when they make such sad confusion in the acts which these termsare merely meant to represent. Spike had his Providence as well as apriest, and we dare say he often counted on its succour, with quiteas rational grounds of dependence as many of the pharisees who areconstantly exclaiming, “The Temple of the Lord, the Temple of the Lordare these.”

  Sail was made on board the Swash with great rapidity, and the brigmade a bold push at the Stepping-Stones. Spike was a capital pilot.He insisted if he could once gain sight of the spar that was moored onthose rocks for a buoy, he should run with great confidence. The twolights were of great assistance, of course; but the revenue vesselcould see these lights as well as the brig, and she, doubtless, had anexcellent pilot on board. By the time the studding-sails were set onboard the Swash, the steamer was aweigh, and her long line of peculiarsails became visible. Unfortunately for men who were in a hurry, shelay so much within the bluff as to get the wind scant, and her commanderthought it necessary to make a stretch over to the southern shore,before he attempted to lay his course. When he was ready to tack, anoperation of some time with a vessel of her great length, the Swash wasbarely visible in the obscurity, gliding off upon a slack bowline, ata rate which nothing but the damp night air, the ballast-trim of thevessel, united to her excellent sailing qualities, could have producedwith so light a breeze.

  The first half hour took the Swash completely out of sight of thesteamer. In that time, in truth, by actual superiority in sailing, byher greater state of preparation, and by the distance saved by a boldnavigation, she had gained fully a league on her pursuer. But, while thesteamer had lost sight of the Swash, the latter kept the former in view,and that by means of a signal that was very portentous. She saw thelight of the steamer’s chimneys, and could form some opinion of herdistance and position.

  It was about eleven o’clock when the Swash passed the light at Sands’Point, close in with the land. The wind stood much as it had been. Ifthere was a change at all, it was half a point more to the southward,and it was a little fresher. Such as it was, Spike saw he was getting,in that smooth water, quite eight knots out of his craft, and he madehis calculations thereon. As yet, and possibly for half an hour longer,he was gaining, and might hope to continue to gain on the steamer.Then her turn would come. Though no great traveller, it was not to beexpected that, favoured by smooth water and the breeze, her speed wouldbe less than ten knots, while there was no hope of increasing his ownwithout an increase of the wind. He might be five miles in advance, orsix at the most; these six miles would be overcome in three hours ofsteaming, to a dead certainty, and they might possibly be overcome muchsooner. It was obviously necessary to resort to some other experimentthan that of dead sailing, if an escape was to be effected.

  The Sound was now several miles in width, and Spike, at first, proposedto his mate, to keep off dead before the wind, and by crossing over tothe north shore, let the steamer pass ahead, and continue a bootlesschase to the eastward. Several vessels, however, were visible in themiddle of the passage, at distances varying from one to three miles, andMulford pointed out the hopelessness of attempting to cross the sheet ofopen water, and expect to go unseen by the watchful eyes of the revenuepeople.

  “What you say is true enough, Mr. Mulford,” answered Spike, after amoment of profound reflection, “and every foot that they come nearer,the less will be our chance. But here is Hempstead Harbour a few leaguesahead; if we can reach that before the blackguards close, we may do wellenough. It is a deep bay, and has high land to darken the view. I don’tthink the brig could be seen at midnight by anything outside; if she wasonce fairly up that water a mile or two.”

  “That is our chance, sir!” exclaimed Mulford cheerfully. “Ay, ay, I knowthe spot; and everything is favourable--try that, Captain Spike; I’llanswer for it that we go clear.”

/>   Spike did try it. For a considerable time longer he stood on, keeping asclose to the land as he thought it safe to run, and carrying everythingthat would draw. But the steamer was on his heels, evidently gainingfast. Her chimneys gave out flames, and there was every sign that herpeople were in earnest. To those on board the Swash these flames seemedto draw nearer each instant, as indeed was the fact, and just asthe breeze came fresher out of the opening in the hills, or the lowmountains, which surround the place of refuge in which they designedto enter, Mulford announced that by aid of the night-glass he coulddistinguish both sails and hull of their pursuer. Spike took a look, andthrowing down the instrument, in a way to endanger it, he ordered thestudding-sails taken in. The men went aloft like cats, and worked asif they could stand in air. In a minute or two the Swash was under whatMrs. Budd might have called her “attacking” canvas, and was close by thewind, looking on a good leg well up the harbour. The brig seemed to beconscious of the emergency, and glided ahead at capital speed. In fiveminutes she had shut in the flaming chimneys of the steamer. In fiveminutes more Spike tacked, to keep under the western side of theharbour, and out of sight as long as possible, and because he thoughtthe breeze drew down fresher where he was than more out in the bay.

  All now depended on the single fact whether the brig had been seen fromthe steamer or not, before she hauled into the bay. If seen, she hadprobably been watched; if not seen, there were strong grounds for hopingthat she might still escape. About a quarter of an hour after Spikehauled up, the burning chimneys came again into view. The brig was thenhalf a league within the bay, with a fine dark background of hillsto throw her into shadow. Spike ordered everything taken in but thetrysail, under which the brig was left to set slowly over toward thewestern side of the harbour. He now rubbed his hands with delight, andpointed out to Mulford the circumstance that the steamer kept on hercourse directly athwart the harbour’s mouth! Had she seen the Swash, nodoubt she would have turned into the bay also. Nevertheless, an anxiousten minutes succeeded, during which the revenue vessel steamed fairlypast, and shut in her flaming chimneys again by the eastern headlands ofthe estuary.