The Pilot (38 page)

"Harkye, friend," said the cockswain, "may the Lord forgive you, as I
do, for wishing to make a soldier of a seafaring man, and one who has
followed the waters since he was an hour old, and one who hopes to die
off soundings, and to be buried in brine. I wish you no harm, friend;
but you'll have to keep a stopper on your conversation till such time as
some of your messmates call in this way, which I hope will be as soon
after I get an offing as may be."

With these amicable wishes, the cockswain departed, leaving
Borroughcliffe the light, and the undisturbed possession of his
apartment, though not in the most easy or the most enviable situation
imaginable. The captain heard the bolt of his lock turn, and the key
rattle as the cockswain withdrew it from the door—two precautionary
steps, which clearly indicated that the vanquisher deemed it prudent to
secure his retreat, by insuring the detention of the vanquished for at
least a time.

"Whilst vengeance, in the lurid air,
Lifts her red arm, exposed and bare—
Who, Fear, this ghastly train can see;
And look not madly wild, like thee!"
Collins
.

It is certain that Tom Coffin had devised no settled plan of
operations, when he issued from the apartment of Borroughcliffe, if we
except a most resolute determination to make the best of his way to the
Ariel, and to share her fate, let it be either to sink or swim. But this
was a resolution much easier formed by the honest seaman than executed,
in his present situation. He would have found it less difficult to
extricate a vessel from the dangerous shoals of the "Devil's Grip," than
to thread the mazes of the labyrinth of passages, galleries, and
apartments, in which he found himself involved. He remembered, as he
expressed it to himself, in a low soliloquy, "to have run into a narrow
passage from the main channel, but whether he had sheered to the
starboard or larboard hand" was a material fact that had entirely
escaped his memory. Tom was in that part of the building that Colonel
Howard had designated as the "cloisters," and in which, luckily for him,
he was but little liable to encounter any foe, the room occupied by
Borroughcliffe being the only one in the entire wing that was not
exclusively devoted to the service of the ladies. The circumstance of
the soldier's being permitted to invade this sanctuary was owing to the
necessity, on the part of Colonel Howard, of placing either Griffith,
Manual, or the recruiting officer, in the vicinity of his wards, or of
subjecting his prisoners to a treatment that the veteran would have
thought unworthy of his name and character. This recent change in the
quarters of Borroughcliffe operated doubly to the advantage of Tom, by
lessening the chance of the speedy release of his uneasy captive, as
well as by diminishing his own danger. Of the former circumstance he
was, however, not aware: and the consideration of the latter was a sort
of reflection to which the cockswain was, in no degree, addicted.

Following, necessarily, the line of the wall, he soon emerged from the
dark and narrow passage in which he had first found himself, and entered
the principal gallery, that communicated with all the lower apartments
of that wing, as well as with the main body of the edifice. An open
door, through which a strong light was glaring, at a distant end of this
gallery, instantly caught his eye, and the old seaman had not advanced
many steps towards it, before he discovered that he was approaching the
very room which had so much excited his curiosity, and by the identical
passage through which he had entered the abbey. To turn, and retrace his
steps, was the most obvious course for any man to take who felt anxious
to escape; but the sounds of high conviviality, bursting from the
cheerful apartment, among which the cockswain thought he distinguished
the name of Griffith, determined Tom to advance and reconnoitre the
scene more closely. The reader will anticipate that when he paused in
the shadow, the doubting old seaman stood once more near the threshold
which he had so lately crossed, when conducted to the room of
Borroughcliffe. The seat of that gentleman was now occupied by Dillon,
and Colonel Howard had resumed his wonted station at the foot of the
table. The noise was chiefly made by the latter, who had evidently been
enjoying a more minute relation of the means by which his kinsman had
entrapped his unwary enemy.

"A noble ruse!" cried the veteran, as Tom assumed his post, in ambush;
"a most noble and ingenious ruse, and such a one as would have baffled
Caesar! He must have been a cunning dog, that Caesar; but I do think,
Kit, you would have been too much for him; hang me, if I don't think you
would have puzzled Wolfe himself, had you held Quebec, instead of
Montcalm! Ah, boy, we want you in the colonies, with the ermine over
your shoulders; such men as you, cousin Christopher, are sadly, sadly
wanted there to defend his majesty's rights."

"Indeed, dear sir, your partiality gives me credit for qualities I do
not possess," said Dillon, dropping his eyes, perhaps with a feeling of
conscious unworthiness, but with an air of much humility; "the little
justifiable artifice—"

"Ay! there lies the beauty of the transaction," interrupted the colonel,
shoving the bottle from him, with the free, open air of a man who never
harbored disguise; "you told no lie; no mean deception, that any dog,
however base and unworthy, might invent; but you practised a neat, a
military, a—a—yes, a classical deception on your enemy; a classical
deception, that is the very term for it! such a deception as Pompey, or
Mark Antony, or—or—you know those old fellows' names, better than I
do, Kit; but name the cleverest fellow that ever lived in Greece or
Rome, and I shall say he is a dunce compared to you. 'Twas a real
Spartan trick, both simple and honest."

It was extremely fortunate for Dillon, that the animation of his aged
kinsman kept his head and body in such constant motion, during this
apostrophe, as to intercept the aim that the cockswain was deliberately
taking at his head with one of Borroughcliffe's pistols; and perhaps the
sense of shame which induced him to sink his face on his hands was
another means of saving his life, by giving the indignant old seaman
time for reflection.

"But you have not spoken of the ladies," said Dillon, after a moment's
pause; "I should hope they have borne the alarm of the day like
kinswomen of the family of Howard."

The colonel glanced his eyes around him, as if to assure himself they
were alone, and dropped his voice, as he answered:

"Ah, Kit! they have come to, since this rebel scoundrel, Griffith, has
been brought into the abbey; we were favored with the company of even
Miss Howard, in the dining-room, to-day. There was a good deal of 'dear
uncleing,' and 'fears that my life might be exposed by the quarrels and
skirmishes of these desperadoes who have landed;' as if an old fellow,
who served through the whole war, from '56 to '63, was afraid to let his
nose smell gunpowder any more than if it were snuff! But it will be a
hard matter to wheedle an old soldier out of his allegiance! This
Griffith goes to the Tower, at least, Mr. Dillon."

"It would be advisable to commit his person to the civil authority,
without delay."

"To the constable of the Tower, the Earl Cornwallis, a good and loyal
nobleman, who is, at this moment, fighting the rebels in my own native
province, Christopher," interrupted the colonel; "that will be what I
call retributive justice; but," continued the veteran, rising with an
air of gentlemanly dignity, "it will not do to permit even the constable
of the Tower of London to surpass the master of St. Ruth in hospitality
and kindness to his prisoners. I have ordered suitable refreshments to
their apartments, and it is incumbent on me to see that my commands have
been properly obeyed. Arrangements must also be made for the reception
of this Captain Barnstable, who will, doubtless, soon be here."

"Within the hour, at farthest," said Dillon, looking uneasily at his
watch.

"We must be stirring, boy," continued the colonel, moving towards the
door that led to the apartments of his prisoners; "but there is a
courtesy due to the ladies, as well as to those unfortunate violators of
the laws—go, Christopher, convey my kindest wishes to Cecilia; she
don't deserve them, the obstinate vixen, but then she is my brother
Harry's child! and while there, you arch dog, plead your own cause. Mark
Antony was a fool to you at a 'ruse,' and yet Mark was one of your
successful suitors, too; there was that Queen of the Pyramids—"

The door closed on the excited veteran, at these words, and Dillon was
left standing by himself, at the side of the table, musing, as if in
doubt, whether to venture on the step that his kinsman had proposed, or
not.

The greater part of the preceding discourse was unintelligible to the
cockswain, who had waited its termination with extraordinary patience,
in hopes he might obtain some information that he could render of
service to the captives. Before he had time to decide on what was now
best for him to do, Dillon suddenly determined to venture himself in the
cloisters; and, swallowing a couple of glasses of wine in a breath, he
passed the hesitating cockswain, who was concealed by the opening door,
so closely as to brush his person, and moved down the gallery with those
rapid strides which men who act under the impulse of forced resolutions
are very apt to assume, as if to conceal their weakness from
themselves.—Tom hesitated no longer; but aiding the impulse given to
the door by Dillon, as he passed, so as to darken the passage, he
followed the sounds of the other's footsteps, while he trod in the
manner already described, the stone pavement of the gallery. Dillon
paused an instant at the turning that led to the room of Borroughcliffe,
but whether irresolute which way to urge his steps, or listening to the
incautious and heavy tread of the cockswain, is not known; if the
latter, he mistook them for the echoes of his own footsteps, and moved
forward again without making any discovery.

The light tap which Dillon gave on the door of the withdrawing-room of
the cloisters was answered by the soft voice of Cecilia Howard herself,
who bid the applicant enter. There was a slight confusion evident in the
manner of the gentleman as he complied with the bidding, and in its
hesitancy, the door was, for an instant, neglected.

"I come, Miss Howard," said Dillon, "by the commands of your uncle, and,
permit me to add, by my own—"

"May Heaven shield us!" exclaimed Cecilia, clasping her hands in
affright, and rising involuntarily from her couch, "are we, too, to be
imprisoned and murdered?"

"Surely Miss Howard will not impute to me—" Dillon paused, observing
that the wild looks, not only of Cecilia, but of Katherine and Alice
Dunscombe, also, were directed at some other object, and turning, to his
manifest terror he beheld the gigantic frame of the cockswain,
surmounted by an iron visage fixed in settled hostility, in possession
of the only passage from the apartment.

"If there's murder to be done," said Tom, after surveying the astonished
group with a stern eye, "it's as likely this here liar will be the one
to do it, as another; but you have nothing to fear from a man who has
followed the seas too long, and has grappled with too many monsters,
both fish and flesh, not to know how to treat a helpless woman. None,
who know him, will say that Thomas Coffin ever used uncivil language, or
unseamanlike conduct, to any of his mother's kind."

"Coffin!" exclaimed Katherine, advancing with a more confident air, from
the corner into which terror had driven her with her companions.

"Ay, Coffin," continued the old sailor, his grim features gradually
relaxing, as he gazed on her bright looks; "'tis a solemn word, but it's
a word that passes over the shoals, among the islands, and along the
cape, oftener than any other. My father was a Coffin, and my mother was
a Joy; and the two names can count more flukes than all the rest in the
island together; though the Worths, and the Gar'ners, and the Swaines,
dart better harpoons, and set truer lances, than any men who come from
the weather-side of the Atlantic."

Katherine listened to this digression in honor of the whalers of
Nantucket, with marked complacency; and, when he concluded, she repeated
slowly:

"Coffin! this, then, is long Tom!"

"Ay, ay, long Tom, and no sham in the name either," returned the
cockswain, suffering the stern indignation that had lowered around his
hard visage to relax into a low laugh as he gazed on her animated
features; "the Lord bless your smiling face and bright black eyes, young
madam! you have heard of old long Tom, then? Most likely, 'twas
something about the blow he strikes at the fish—ah! I'm old and I'm
stiff, now, young madam, but afore I was nineteen, I stood at the head
of the dance, at a ball on the cape, and that with a partner almost as
handsome as yourself—ay! and this was after I had three broad flukes
logg'd against my name."

"No," said Katherine, advancing in her eagerness a step or two nigher to
the old tar, her cheeks flushing while she spoke, "I had heard of you as
an instructor in a seaman's duty, as the faithful cockswain, nay, I may
say, as the devoted companion and friend, of Mr. Richard Barnstable—
but, perhaps, you come now as the bearer of some message or letter from
that gentleman."

The sound of his commander's name suddenly revived the recollection of
Coffin, and with it all the fierce sternness of his manner returned.
Bending his eyes keenly on the cowering form of Dillon, he said, in
those deep, harsh tones, that seem peculiar to men who have braved the
elements, until they appear to have imbided some of their roughest
qualities:

"Liar! how now? what brought old Tom Coffin into these shoals and narrow
channels? was it a letter? Ha! but by the Lord that maketh the winds to
blow, and teacheth the lost mariner how to steer over the wide waters,
you shall sleep this night, villain, on the planks of the Ariel; and if
it be the will of God that beautiful piece of handicraft is to sink at
her moorings, like a worthless hulk, ye shall still sleep in her; ay,
and a sleep that shall not end, till they call all hands, to foot up the
day's work of this life, at the close of man's longest voyage."