Borne with the invisible and creeping winds,
Draw the huge bottoms through the furrowed sea,
— Shakspeare,It has been already explained to the reader, that there was something threatening in the appearance of the weather to create serious forebodings of evil in the breast of a seaman. When removed from the shadows of the cliffs, the night was not so dark but objects could be discerned at some little distance, and in the eastern horizon there was a streak of fearful light impending over the gloomy waters, in which the swelling outline formed by the rising waves, was becoming each moment more distinct, and consequently more alarming. Several dark clouds overhung the vessel, whose towering masts apparently propped the black vapour, while a few stars were seen twinkling, with a sickly flame, in the streak of clear sky that skirted the ocean. Still, light currents of air, occasionally, swept across the bay, bringing with them the fresh odour from the shore, but their flitting irregularity too surely foretold them to be the expiring breath of the land breeze. The roaring of the surf, as itrolled on the margin of the bay, produced a dull, monotonous sound, that was only interrupted, at times, by a hollow bellowing, as a larger wave than usual broke violently against some cavity in the rocks. Every thing, in short, united to render the scene gloomy and portentous, without creating instant terror, for the ship rose easily on the long billows, without even straightening the heavy cable that held her to her anchor.
The higher officers were collected around the capstern, engaged in earnest discourse about their situation and prospects, while some of the oldest and most favoured seamen would extend their short walk to the hallowed precincts of the quarter-deck, to catch, with greedy ears, the opinions that fell from their superiors. Numberless were the uneasy glances that were thrown from both officers and men at their commander and the pilot, who still continued their secret communion in a distant part of the vessel. Once, an ungovernable curiosity, or the heedlessness of his years, led one of the youthful midshipmen near them, but a stern rebuke from his captain sent the boy, abashed and cowering, to hide his mortification among his fellows. This reprimand was received by the elder officers as an intimation that the consultation which they beheld, was to be strictly inviolate; and, though it by no means suppressed the repeated expressions of their impatience, it effectually prevented an interruption to the communications, which all thought were unreasonably protracted for the occasion.
"This is no time to be talking over bearings and distances," observed the officer next in rank to Griffith. "But we should call the hands up, and try to kedge her off while the sea will suffer a boat to live."
"'Twould be a tedious and bootless job to attemptto warp a ship for miles against a head-beating sea," returned the first lieutenant; "but the land-breeze yet flutters aloft, and if our light sails would draw, with the aid of this ebb tide we might be able to shove her from the shore."
"Hail the tops, Griffith," said the other, "and ask if they feel the air move; 'twill be a hint at least to set the old man and that lubberly pilot in motion."
Griffith laughed, as he complied with the request, and when he received the customary reply to his call, he demanded, in a loud voice—
"Which way have you the wind, aloft?"
"We feel a light cat's-paw, now and then, from the land," returned the sturdy captain of the top; "but our topsail hangs in the clewlines, sir, without winking."
Captain Munson and his companion suspended their discourse, while this question and answer were exchanged, and then resumed their dialogue as earnestly as if it had received no interruption.
"If it did wink, the hint would be lost on our betters," said the officer of the marines, whose ignorance of seamanship added greatly to his perception of the danger, but who, from pure idleness, made more jokes than any other man in the ship. "That pilot will not receive a delicate intimation through his ears, Mr. Griffith; suppose you try him by the nose."
"Faith, there was a flash of gunpowder between us in the barge," returned the first lieutenant, "and he does not seem a man to stomach such hints as you advise. Although he looks so meek and quiet, I doubt whether he has paid much attention to the book of Job."
"Why should he!" exclaimed the chaplain, whose apprehensions at least equalled those of the marine, and with a much more disheartening effect; "I'm sure it would have been a great waste of time; there are so many charts of the coast, and books on the navigation of these seas, for him to study, that I sincerely hope he has been much better employed."
A loud laugh was created at this speech, among the listeners, and it apparently produced the effect that was so long anxiously desired, by putting an end to the mysterious conference between their captain and the pilot. As the former came forward towards his expecting crew, he said, in the composed, steady manner, that formed the principal trait in his character—
"Get the anchor, Mr. Griffith, and make sail on the ship; the hour has arrived when we must be moving."
The cheerful "ay! ay! sir!" of the young lieutenant was hardly uttered, before the cries of half a dozen midshipmen were heard summoning the boatswain and his mates to their duty.
There was a general movement in the living masses that clustered around the mainmast, on the booms, and in the gangways, though their habits of discipline held the crew a moment longer in suspense. The silence was first broken by the sounds of the boatswain's whistle, followed by the hoarse cry of "all hands, up anchor, ahoy!"—the former rising on the night air, from its first low, mellow notes, to a piercing shrillness, that again gradually died away on the waters; and the latter, bellowing through every cranny of the ship, like the hollow murmurs of distant thunder.
The change produced by this customary summons was magical. Human beings sprung out from between the guns, rushed up the hatches, threw themselves with careless activity from the booms, and gathered from every quarterso rapidly, that, in an instant, the deck of the frigate was alive with men. The profound silence, that had hitherto been only interrupted by the low dialogue of the officers, was now exchanged for the stern orders of the lieutenants, mingled with the shriller cries of the midshipmen, and the hoarse bawling of the boatswain's crew, rising above the tumult of preparation and general bustle.
The captain and the pilot alone remained passive, in this scene of general exertion; for their apprehensions had even stimulated that class of officers which is called "idlers," to attempt something, though frequently reminded by their more experienced messmates, that they retarded, instead of forwarded, the duty of the vessel. The bustle, however, gradually ceased, and in a few minutes the same silence pervaded the ship as before.
"We are brought-to, sir," said Griffith, who stood overlooking the scene, holding in one hand a short speaking trumpet, and grasping, with the other, one of the shrouds of the ship, to steady himself in the position he had taken on a gun.
"Heave round, sir," was the calm reply.
"Heave round!" repeated Griffith, aloud.
"Heave round!" echoed a dozen eager voices at once, and the lively strains of a fife struck up a brisk air, to enliven the gloomy scene. The capstern was instantly set in motion, and the measured tread of the seamen was heard, as they stamped the deck in the circle of their march. For a few minutes, no other sounds were heard, if we except the voice of an officer, occasionally, cheering the sailors, when it was announced that they "were short," or, in other words, that the ship was nearly over her anchor.
"Heave and pall," cried Griffith; when thequavering notes of the whistle were again succeeded by a general stillness in the vessel.
"What is to be done now, sir?" continued the lieutenant; "shall we trip the anchor? There seems not a breath of air, and as the tide runs slack, I doubt whether the sea do not heave the ship ashore."
There was so much obvious truth in this conjecture, that all eyes turned from the light and animation afforded by the decks of the frigate, to look abroad on the waters, in a vain desire to pierce the darkness, as if to read the fate of their apparently devoted ship, from the aspect of nature.
"I leave all to the pilot," said the captain, after he had stood a short time by the side of Griffith, anxiously studying the heavens and the ocean. "What say you, Mr. Gray?"
The man who was, thus, first addressed by name, was leaning over the bulwarks, with his eyes bent in the same direction as the others; but as he answered, he turned his face towards the speaker, and the light from the deck fell full upon his quiet features, which exhibited a calmness bordering on the supernatural, considering his station and responsibility.
"There is much to fear from this heavy ground-swell," he said, in the same unmoved tones as before; "but there is certain destruction to us, if the gale that is brewing in the east, finds us waiting its fury in this wild anchorage. All the hemp that was ever spun into cordage would not hold a ship an hour, chafing on these rocks, with a north-easter pouring its fury on her. If the powers of man can compass it, gentlemen, we must get an offing, and that speedily."
"You say no more, sir, than the youngest boyin the ship can see for himself," said Griffith— "ha! here comes the schooner!"
The dashing of the long sweeps in the water, was now plainly audible, and the little Ariel was seen through the gloom, moving heavily under their inadequate impulse. As she passed slowly under the stern of the frigate, the cheerful voice of Barnstable was first heard, opening the communications between them.
"Here's a night for spectacles, Captain Munson!" he cried; "but I thought I heard your fife, sir; I trust in God, you do not mean to ride it out here till morning?"
"I like the birth as little as yourself, Mr. Barnstable," returned the veteran seaman, in his calm manner, in which anxiety was however beginning to grow evident. "We are short, but are afraid to let go our hold of the bottom, lest the sea cast us ashore. How make you out the wind?"
"Wind!" echoed the other; "there is not enough to blow a lady's curl aside. If you wait, sir, till the land breeze fill your sails, you will wait another moon, I believe. I've got my egg-shell out of that nest of gray-caps, but how it has been done in the dark, a better man than myself must explain."
"Take your directions from the pilot, Mr. Barnstable," returned his commanding officer, "and follow them strictly and to the letter."
A death-like silence, in both vessels, succeeded this order, for all seemed to listen eagerly to catch the words that fell from the man, on whom, all now felt, depended their only hopes for safety. A short time was suffered to elapse, before his voice was heard, in the same low, but distinct tones as before—
"Your sweeps will soon be of no service to you," he said, "against the sea that begins to heave in; but your light sails will help them to get you out. So long as you can head east-and-by-north, you are doing well, and you can stand on till you open the light from that northern headland, when you can heave to, and fire a gun; but if, as I dread, you are struck aback, before you open the light, you may trust to your lead on the larboard tack, but beware, with your head to the southward, for no lead will serve you there."
"I can walk over the same ground on one tack as on the other," said Barnstable, "and make both legs of a length."
"It will not do," returned the pilot. "If you fall off a point to starboard from east-and-by-north, in going large, you will find both rocks and points of shoals to bring you up; and beware, as I tell you, of the starboard tack."
"And how shall I find my way; you will let me trust to neither time, lead, nor log."
"You must trust to a quick eye and a ready hand. The breakers only will show you the dangers, when you are not able to make out the bearings of the land. Tack in season, sir, and don't spare the lead, when you head to port."
"Ay, ay," returned Barnstable, in a low, muttering voice. "This is a sort of blind navigation with a vengeance, and all for no purpose that I can see—see! damme, eyesight is of about as much use now, as a man's nose would be in reading the bible."
"Softly, softly, Mr. Barnstable," interrupted his commander, for such was the anxious stillness in both vessels, that even the rattling of the schooner's rigging was heard, as she rolled in the trough of the sea—"the duty on which Congresshas sent us must be performed at the hazard of our lives."
"I don't mind my life, Captain Munson," said Barnstable; "but there is a great want of conscience in trusting a vessel in such a place as this. However, it is a time to do, and not to talk. But if there be such danger to an easy draught of water, what will become of the frigate? had I not better play jackall, and try and feel the way for you."
"I thank you," said the pilot; "the offer is generous, but would avail us nothing. I have the advantage of knowing the ground well, and must trust to my memory and God's good favour. Make sail, make sail, sir, and if you succeed, we will venture to break ground."
The order was promptly obeyed, and in a very short time, the Ariel was covered with canvass. Though no air was perceptible on the decks of the frigate, the little schooner was so light, that she succeeded in stemming her way over the rising waves, aided a little by the tide, and in a few minutes, her low hull was just discernible in the streak of light along the horizon; the dark outline of her sails rising above the sea, until their fanciful summits were lost in the shadows of the clouds.
Griffith had listened to the foregoing dialogue, like the rest of the junior officers, in profound silence; but when the Ariel began to grow indistinct to the eye, he jumped lightly from the gun to the deck, and cried—
"She slips off, like a vessel from the stocks! shall I trip the anchor, sir, and follow?"
"We have no choice," replied his captain. "You hear the question, Mr. Gray? shall we let go the bottom?"
"It must be done, Captain Munson; we maywant more than the rest of this tide to get us to a place of safety," said the pilot; "I would give five years from a life, that I know will be short, if the ship lay one mile further seaward."
This remark was unheard by all, excepting the commander of the frigate, who again walked aside with the pilot, where they resumed their mysterious communications. The words of assent were no sooner uttered, however, than Griffith gave forth from his trumpet the command to "heave away!" Again the strains of the fife were followed by the tread of the men at the capstern. At the same time that the anchor was heaving up, the sails were loosened from the yards, and opened to invite the breeze. In effecting this duty, orders were thundered through the trumpet of the first lieutenant, and executed with the rapidity of thought. Men were to be seen, like spots in the dim light from the heavens, lying on every yard, or hanging as in air, while strange cries were heard issuing from every part of the rigging, and each spar of the vessel. "Ready the fore-royal," cried a shrill voice, as if from the clouds; "ready the fore yard," uttered the hoarse tones of a seaman beneath him; "all ready aft, sir," cried a third, from another quarter; and in a few moments, the order was given to "let fall."
The little light which fell from the sky, was now excluded by the falling canvass, and a deeper gloom was cast athwart the decks of the ship, that served to render the brilliancy of the lanterns even vivid, while it gave to objects outboard a more appalling and dreary appearance than before.
Every individual, excepting the commander and his associate, was now earnestly engaged in getting the ship under way. The sounds of "we're away," were repeated by a burst fromfifty voices, and the rapid evolutions of the capstern announced that nothing but the weight of the anchor was to be lifted. The howling of cordage, the rattling of blocks, blended with the shrill calls of the boatswain and his mates, succeeded; and though to a landsman all would have appeared confusion and hurry, long practice and strict discipline enabled the crew to exhibit their ship under a cloud of canvass, from the deck to the trucks, in less time than we have consumed in relating it.
For a few minutes, the officers were not disappointed by the result, for though the heavy sails flapped lazily against the masts, the light duck on the loftier spars swelled outwardly, and the ship began sensibly to yield to their influence.
"She travels! she travels!" exclaimed Griffith, joyously; "ah! the hussy! she has as much antipathy to the land as any fish that swims! it blows a little gale aloft, yet!"
"We feel its dying breath," said the pilot, in low, soothing tones, but in a manner so sudden as to startle Griffith, at whose elbow they were unexpectedly uttered. "Let us forget, young man, every thing but the number of lives that depend, this night, on your exertions and my knowledge."
"If you be but half as able to exhibit the one, as I am willing to make the other, we shall do well," returned the lieutenant, in the same tone. "Remember, whatever may be your feelings, that we are on an enemy's coast, and love it not enough to wish to lay our bones there."
With this brief explanation, they separated, the vessel requiring the constant and close attention of the officer to her movements.
The exultation produced in the crew by the progress of their ship through the water, was of short duration; for the breeze that had seemed toawait their motions, after forcing the vessel for a quarter of a mile, fluttered for a few minutes amid their light canvass, and then left them entirely. The quarter-master, whose duty it was to superintend the helm, soon announced that he was losing the command of the vessel, as she was no longer obedient to her rudder. This ungrateful intelligence was promptly communicated to his commander, by Griffith, who suggested the propriety of again dropping an anchor.
"I refer you to Mr. Gray," returned the captain; "he is the pilot, sir, and with him rests the safety of the vessel."
"Pilots sometimes lose ships, as well as save them," said Griffith; "know you the man well, Captain Munson, who holds all our lives in his keeping, and so coolly as if he cared but little for the venture?"
"Mr. Griffith, I do know him; he is, in my opinion, both competent and faithful. Thus much I tell you, to relieve your anxiety; more you must not ask;—but is there not a shift of wind?"
"God forbid!" exclaimed his lieutenant; "if that north-easter catches us within the shoals, our case will be desperate indeed!"
The heavy rolling of the vessel caused an occasional expansion, and as sudden a re-action, in their sails, which left the oldest seamen in the ship in doubt which way the currents of air were passing, or whether there existed any that were not created by the flapping of their own canvass. The head of the ship, however, began to fall off from the sea, and notwithstanding the darkness, it soon became apparent that she was driving in, bodily, towards the shore.
During these few minutes of gloomy doubt, Griffith, by one of those sudden revulsions of themind, that connect the opposite extremes of feeling, lost his animated anxiety, and relapsed into the listless apathy that so often came over him, even in the most critical moments of trial and danger. He was standing, with one elbow resting on the capstern, shading his eyes from the light of the battle-lantern that stood near him, with one hand, when he felt a gentle pressure of the other, that recalled his recollection. Looking affectionately, though still recklessly, at the boy who stood at his side, he said—
"So dull, sir, that I can't dance to it," returned the midshipman. "Nor do I believe there is a man in the ship who would not rather hear 'The girl I left behind me,' than those execrable sounds."
"What sounds, boy! The ship is as quiet as the quaker meeting in the Jerseys, before your good old grandfather used to break the charm of silence with his sonorous voice."
"Ah! laugh at my peaceable blood, if thou wilt, Mr. Griffith," said the arch youngster; "but remember, there is a mixture of it in all sorts of veins. I wish I could hear one of the old gentleman's chants now, sir; I could always sleep to them, like a gull in a surf. But he that sleeps to night, with that lullaby, will make a nap of it."
"Sounds! I hear no sounds, boy, but the flapping aloft; even that pilot, who struts the quarter-deck like an admiral, has nothing to say."
"Is not that a sound to open a seaman's ear?"
"It is in truth a heavy roll of the surf, lad, but the night air carries it heavily to our ears. Know you not the sounds of the surf yet, younker?"
"I know it too well, Mr. Griffith, and do notwish to know it better. How fast are we tumbling in towards that surf, sir?"
"I think we hold our own," said Griffith, rousing again; "though we had better anchor. Luff, fellow, luff, you are broadside to the sea!"
The man at the wheel repeated his former intelligence, adding a suggestion that he thought the ship "was gathering stern-way."
"Haul up your courses, Mr. Griffith," said Captain Munson, "and let us feel the wind."
The rattling of the blocks was soon heard, and the enormous sheets of canvass that hung from the lower yards were instantly suspended "in the brails." When this change was effected, all on board stood silent and breathless, as if expecting to learn their fate by the result. Several contradictory opinions were, at length, hazarded among the officers, when Griffith seized a candle from the lantern, and springing on one of the guns, held it on high, exposed to the action of the air. The little flame waved, with uncertain glimmering, for a moment, and then burned steadily, in a line with the masts. Griffith was about to lower his extended arm, when, feeling a slight sensation of coolness on his hand, he paused, and the light turned slowly towards the land, flared, flickered, and finally deserted the wick.
"Lose not a moment, Mr. Griffith," cried the pilot, aloud; "clew up and furl every thing but your three topsails, and let them be double-reefed. Now is the time to fulfil your promise."
The young man paused one moment, in astonishment, as the clear, distinct tones of the stranger struck his ears so unexpectedly; but turning his eyes to seaward, he sprang on the deck, and proceeded to obey the order, as if life and death depended on his despatch.
