The Pilot (45 page)

"This, my lady."

Katharine started, and glanced her eyes, with a piercing look, at the
countenance of the boy, and then turned them uneasily from face to face,
with conscious timidity. Cecilia had effected her object, and had
resumed her seat in silent abstraction—Alice was listening to the
remarks of Captain Manual and the host, as they discussed the propriety
of certain military usages—Griffith seemed to hold communion with his
mistress, by imitating her silence; but Katharine, in her stolen
glances, met the keen look of Borroughcliffe, fastened on her face, in a
manner that did not fail instantly to suspend the scrutiny.

"Come, Cecilia," she cried, after a pause of a moment, "we trespass too
long on the patience of the gentlemen; not only to keep possession of
our seats, ten minutes after the cloth has been drawn! but even to
introduce our essences, and tapes, and needles, among the Madeira, and—
shall I add, cigars, colonel?"

"Not while we are favored with the company of Miss Plowden, certainly."

"Come, my coz; I perceive the colonel is growing particularly polite,
which is a never-failing sign that he tires of our presence."

Cecilia rose, and was leading the way to the door, when Katherine turned
to the lad, and added:

"You can follow us to the drawing-room, child, where we can make our
purchases, without exposing the mystery of our toilets."

"Miss Plowden has forgotten my hornbook, I believe," said
Borroughcliffe, advancing from the standing group who surrounded the
table; "possibly I can find some work in the basket of the boy, better
fitted for the improvement of a grown-up young gentleman than this
elementary treatise."

Cecilia, observing him to take the basket from the lad, resumed her
seat, and her example was necessarily followed by Katherine; though not
without some manifest indications of vexation.

"Come hither, boy, and explain the uses of your wares. This is soap, and
this a penknife, I know; but what name do you affix to this?"

"That? that is tape," returned the lad, with an impatience that might
very naturally be attributed to the interruption that was thus given to
his trade.

"And this?"

"That?" repeated the stripling, pausing, with a hesitation between
sulkiness and doubt; "that?—"

"Come, this is a little ungallant!" cried Katherine; "to keep three
ladies dying with impatience to possess themselves of their finery,
while you detain the boy, to ask the name of a tambouring-needle!"

"I should apologize for asking questions that are so easily answered;
but perhaps he will find the next more difficult to solve," returned
Borroughcliffe, placing the subject of his inquiries in the palm of his
hand, in such a manner as to conceal it from all but the boy and
himself, "This has a name too; what is it?"

"That?—that—is sometimes called—white-line."

"Perhaps you mean a white lie?"

"How, sir!" exclaimed the lad, a little fiercely, "a lie!"

"Only a white one," returned the captain. "What do you call this. Miss
Dunscombe?"

"We call it bobbin, sir, generally, in the north," said the placid
Alice.

"Ay, bobbin, or white-line; they are the same thing," added the young
trader.

"They are? I think, now, for a professional man, you know but little of
the terms of your art," observed Borroughcliffe, with an affectation of
irony; "I never have seen a youth of your years who knew less. What
names, now, would you affix to this, and this, and this?"

While the captain was speaking he drew from his pockets the several
instruments that the cockswain had made use of the preceding night to
secure his prisoner.

"That," exclaimed the lad, with the eagerness of one who would vindicate
his reputation, "is rattlin-stuff; and this is marline; and that is
sennit."

"Enough, enough," said Borroughcliffe; "you have exhibited sufficient
knowledge to convince me that you
do
know something of your
trade
, and nothing of these articles. Mr. Griffith, do you claim
this boy?"

"I believe I must, sir," said the young sea-officer, who had been
intently listening to the examination. "On whatever errand you have now
ventured here, Mr. Merry, it is useless to affect further concealment."

"Merry!" exclaimed Cecilia Howard; "is it you, then, my cousin? Are you,
too, fallen into the power of your enemies! was it not enough that—"

The young lady recovered her recollection in time to suppress the
remainder of the sentence, though the grateful expression of Griffith's
eye sufficiently indicated that he had, in his thoughts, filled the
sentence with expressions abundantly flattering to his own feelings.

"How's this, again!" cried the colonel; "my two wards embracing and
fondling a vagrant, vagabond peddler, before my eyes! Is this treason,
Mr. Griffith? Or what means the extraordinary visit of this young
gentleman?"

"Is it extraordinary, sir," said Merry himself, losing his assumed
awkwardness in the ease and confidence of one whose faculties had been
early exercised, "that a boy like myself, destitute of mother and
sisters, should take a like risk on himself, to visit the only two
female relatives he has in the world?"

"Why this disguise, then? surely, young gentleman, it was unnecessary to
enter the dwelling of old George Howard on such an errand clandestinely,
even though your tender years have been practised on, to lead you astray
from your allegiance. Mr. Griffith and Captain Manual must pardon me, if
I express sentiments, at my own table, that they may find unpleasant;
but this business requires us to be explicit."

"The hospitality of Colonel Howard is unquestionable," returned the boy;
"but he has a great reputation for his loyalty to the crown."

"Ay, young gentleman; and, I trust, with some justice."

"Would it, then, be safe, to entrust my person in the hands of one who
might think it his duty to detain me?"

"This is plausible enough, Captain Borroughcliffe, and I doubt not the
boy speaks with candor. I would, now, that my kinsman, Mr. Christopher
Dillon, were here, that I might learn if it would be misprision of
treason to permit this youth to depart, unmolested, and without
exchange?"

"Inquire of the young gentleman, after the Cacique," returned the
recruiting officer, who, apparently satisfied in producing the exposure
of Merry, had resumed his seat at the table; "perhaps he is, in verity,
an ambassador, empowered to treat on behalf of his highness."

"How say you?" demanded the colonel; "do you know anything of my
kinsman?"

The anxious eyes of the whole party were fastened on the boy for many
moments, witnessing the sudden change from careless freedom to deep
horror expressed in his countenance. At length he uttered in an
undertone the secret of Dillon's fate.

"He is dead."

"Dead!" repeated every voice in the room.

"Yes, dead!" said the boy, gazing at the pallid faces of those who
surrounded him.

A long and fearful silence succeeded the announcement of this
intelligence, which was only interrupted by Griffith, who said:

"Explain the manner of his death, sir, and where his body lies."

"His body lies interred in the sands," returned Merry, with a
deliberation that proceeded from an opening perception that, if he
uttered too much, he might betray the loss of the Ariel, and,
consequently, endanger the liberty of Barnstable.

"In the sands?" was echoed from every part of the room.

"Ay, in the sands; but how he died, I cannot explain."

"He has been murdered!" exclaimed Colonel Howard, whose command of
utterance was now amply restored to him; "he has been treacherously, and
dastardly, and basely murdered!"

"He has
not
been murdered," said the boy, firmly; "nor did he
meet his death among those who deserve the name either of traitors or of
dastards."

"Said you not that he was dead? that my kinsman was buried in the sands
of the seashore?"

"Both are true, sir—"

"And you refuse to explain how he met his death, and why he has been
thus ignominiously interred?"

"He received his interment by my orders, sir; and if there be ignominy
about his grave, his own acts have heaped it on him. As to the manner of
his death, I cannot, and will not speak."

"Be calm, my cousin," said Cecilia, in an imploring voice; "respect the
age of my uncle, and remember his strong attachment to Mr. Dillon."

The veteran had, however, so far mastered his feelings, as to continue
the dialogue with more recollection.

"Mr. Griffith," he said, "I shall not act hastily—you and your
companions will be pleased to retire to your several apartments. I will
so far respect the son of my brother Harry's friend as to believe your
parole will be sacred. Go, gentlemen; you are unguarded."

The two prisoners bowed low to the ladies and their host, and retired.
Griffith, however, lingered a moment on the threshold, to say:

"Colonel Howard, I leave the boy to your kindness and consideration. I
know you will not forget that his blood mingles with that of one who is
most dear to you."

"Enough, enough, sir," said the veteran, waving his hand to him to
retire: "and you, ladies; this is not a place for you, either."

"Never will I quit this child," said Katherine, "while such a horrid
imputation lies on him. Colonel Howard, act your pleasure on us both,
for I suppose you have the power; but his fate shall be my fate."

"There is, I trust, some misconception in this melancholy affair," said
Borroughcliffe, advancing into the centre of the agitated group; "and I
should hope, by calmness and moderation, all may yet be explained; young
gentleman, you have borne arms, and must know, notwithstanding your
youth, what it is to be in the power of your enemies?"

"Never," returned the proud boy; "I am a captive for the first time."

"I speak, sir, in reference to our power."

"You may order me to a dungeon; or, as I have entered the abbey in
disguise, possibly to a gibbet."

"And is that a fate to be met so calmly by one so young?"

"You dare not do it, Captain Borroughcliffe," cried Katherine,
involuntarily throwing an arm around the boy, as if to shield him from
harm; "you would blush to think of such a cold-blooded act of vengeance,
Colonel Howard."

"If we could examine the young man, where the warmth of feeling which
these ladies exhibit might not be excited," said the captain, apart to
his host, "we should gain important intelligence."

"Miss Howard, and you, Miss Plowden," said the veteran, in a manner that
long habit had taught his wards to respect, "your young kinsman is not
in the keeping of savages, and you can safely confide him to my custody.
I am sorry that we have so long kept Miss Alice standing, but she will
find relief on the couches of your drawing-room, Cecilia."

Cecilia and Katherine permitted themselves to be conducted to the door
by their polite but determined guardian, where he bowed to their
retiring persons, with the exceeding courtesy that he never failed to
use, when in the least excited.

"You appear to know your danger, Mr. Merry," said Borroughcliffe, after
the door was closed; "I trust you also know what duty would dictate to
one in my situation."

"Do it, sir," returned the boy; "you have a king to render an account
to, and I have a country."

"I may have a country also," said Borroughcliffe, with a calmness that
was not in the least disturbed by the taunting air with which the youth
delivered himself. "It is possible for me, however, to be lenient, even
merciful, when the interests of that prince, to whom you allude, are
served—you came not on this enterprise alone, sir?"

"Had I come better attended, Captain Borroughcliffe might have heard
these questions, instead of putting them."

"I am happy, sir, that your retinue has been so small: and yet even the
rebel schooner called the Ariel might have furnished you with a more
becoming attendance. I cannot but think that you are not far distant
from your friends."

"He is near his enemies, your honor," said Sergeant Drill, who had
entered the room unobserved; "for here is a boy who says he has been
seized in the old ruin, and robbed of his goods and clothes; and, by his
description, this lad should be the thief."

Borroughcliffe signed to the boy, who stood in the background, to
advance; and he was instantly obeyed, with all that eagerness which a
sense of injury on the part of the sufferer could excite. The tale of
this unexpected intruder was soon told, and was briefly this:

He had been assaulted by a man and a boy (the latter was in presence),
while arranging his effects, in the ruin, preparatory to exhibiting them
to the ladies of the abbey, and had been robbed of such part of his
attire as the boy had found necessary for his disguise, together with
his basket of valuables. He had been put into an apartment of an old
tower, by the man, for safe keeping; but as the latter frequently
ascended to its turret, to survey the country, he had availed himself of
this remissness, to escape; and, to conclude, he demanded a restoration
of his property, and vengeance for his wrongs.

Merry heard his loud and angry details with scornful composure, and
before the offended peddler was through his narrative, he had divested
himself of the borrowed garments, which he threw to the other with
singular disdain.

"We are beleaguered, mine host! beset! besieged!" cried Borroughcliffe,
when the other had ended. "Here is a rare plan to rob us of our laurels!
ay, and of our rewards! but, hark ye, Drill! they have old soldiers to
deal with, and we shall look into the matter. One would wish to triumph
on foot; you understand me?—there was no horse in the battle. Go,
fellow, I see you grow wiser; take this young gentleman—and remember
he is
a young gentleman—put him in safe keeping, but see him
supplied with all he wants."