The Pilot (54 page)

"I pretend not to reason on the right of the children of that soil to do
whatever they may deem most meet for their own welfare," returned Alice
—"but can men be born in such a land, and not know the feelings which
bind a human being to the place of his birth?"

"Can you doubt that they should be patriotic?" exclaimed the Pilot, in
surprise. "Do not their efforts in this sacred cause—their patient
sufferings—their long privations—speak loudly in their behalf?"

"And will they who know so well how to love home sing the praises of him
who has turned his ruthless hand against the land of his fathers?"

"Forever harping on that word home!" said the Pilot, who now detected
the timid approaches of Alice to her hidden meaning. "Is a man a stick
or a stone, that he must be cast into the fire, or buried in a wall,
wherever his fate may have doomed him to appear on the earth? The sound
of home is said to feed the vanity of an English man, let him go where
he will; but it would seem to have a still more powerful charm with
English women!"

"It is the dearest of all terms to every woman, John, for it embraces
the dearest of all ties! If your dames of America are ignorant of its
charm, all the favors which God has lavished on their land will avail
their happiness but little."

"Alice," said the Pilot, rising in his agitation, "I see but too well
the object of your allusions. But on this subject we can never agree;
for not even your powerful influence can draw me from the path of glory
in which I am now treading. But our time is growing brief; let us, then,
talk of other things.—This may be the last time I shall ever put foot
on the island of Britain."

Alice paused to struggle with the feelings excited by this remark,
before she pursued the discourse. But soon shaking off the weakness, she
added, with a rigid adherence to that course which she believed to be
her duty:

"And now, John, that you have landed, is the breaking up of a peaceful
family, and the violence ye have shown towards an aged man, a fit
exploit for one whose object is the glory of which ye have spoken?"

"Think you that I have landed, and placed my life in the hands of my
enemies, for so unworthy an object! No, Alice: my motive for this
undertaking has been disappointed, and therefore will ever remain a
secret from the world. But duty to my cause has prompted the step which
you so unthinkingly condemn. This Colonel Howard has some consideration
with those in power, and will answer to exchange for a better man. As
for his wards, you forget their home, their magical home is in America;
unless, indeed, they find them nearer at hand, under the proud flag of a
frigate that is now waiting for them in the offing."

"You talk of a frigate!" said Alice, with sudden interest in the
subject. "Is she your only means of escaping from your enemies?"

"Alice Dunscombe has taken but little heed of passing events, to ask
such a question of me!" returned the haughty Pilot. "The question would
have sounded more discreetly had it been, 'Is she the only vessel with
you that your enemies will have to escape from?'"

"Nay, I cannot measure my language at such a moment," continued Alice,
with a still stronger exhibition of anxiety. "It was my fortune to
overhear a part of a plan that was intended to destroy, by sudden means,
those vessels of America that were in our seas."

"That might be a plan more suddenly adopted than easily executed, my
good Alice. And who were these redoubtable schemers?"

"I know not but my duty to the king should cause me to suppress this
information," said Alice, hesitating.

"Well, be it so," returned the Pilot, coolly; "it may prove the means of
saving the persons of some of the royal officers from death or
captivity. I have already said, this may be the last of my visits to
this island, and consequently, Alice, the last of our interviews—"

"And yet," said Alice, still pursuing the train of her own thoughts,
"there can be but little harm in sparing human blood; and least of all
in serving those whom we have long known and regarded!"

"Ay, that is a simple doctrine, and one that is easily maintained," he
added, with much apparent indifference; "and yet King George might well
spare some of his servants—the list of his abject minions is so long!"

"There was a man named Dillon, who lately dwelt in the abbey, but who
has mysteriously disappeared," continued Alice; "or rather, who was
captured by your companions: know you aught of him, John?"

"I have heard there was a miscreant of that name, but we have never met.
Alice, if it please Heaven that this should be the last—"

"He was a captive in the schooner called the Ariel," she added, still
unheeding his affected indifference to her communication; "and when
permitted to return to St. Ruth, he lost sight of his solemn promise,
and of his plighted honor, to wreak his malice. Instead of effecting the
exchange that he had conditioned to see made, he plotted treason against
his captors. Yes, it was most foul treason! for his treatment was
generous and kind, and his liberation certain."

"He was a most unworthy scoundrel! But, Alice—"

"Nay, listen, John," she continued, urged to even a keener interest in
his behalf by his apparent inattention; "and yet I should speak tenderly
of his failings, for he is already numbered with the dead! One part of
his scheme must have been frustrated; for he intended to destroy that
schooner which you call the Ariel, and to have taken the person of the
young Barnstable."

"In both of which he has failed! The person of Barnstable I have
rescued, and the Ariel has been stricken by a hand far mightier than any
of this world!—she is wrecked."

"Then is the frigate your only means of escape! Hasten, John, and seem
not so proud and heedless; for the hour may come when all your daring
will not profit ye against the machinations of secret enemies. This
Dillon had also planned that expresses should journey to a seaport at
the south, with the intelligence that your vessels were in these seas,
in order that ships might be dispatched to intercept your retreat."

The Pilot lost his affected indifference as she proceeded; and before
she ceased speaking, his eye was endeavoring to anticipate her words, by
reading her countenance through the dusky medium of the starlight.

"How know you this, Alice?" he asked quickly—"and what vessel did he
name?"

"Chance made me an unseen listener to their plan, and—I know not but I
forget my duty to my prince! but, John, 'tis asking too much of a weak
woman, to require that she shall see the man whom she once viewed with
eyes of favor sacrificed, when a word of caution, given in season, might
enable him to avoid the danger!"

"Once viewed with an eye of favor! Is it then so?" said the Pilot,
speaking in a vacant manner. "But, Alice, heard ye the force of the
ships, or their names? Give me their names, and the first lord of your
British admiralty shall not give so true an account of their force as I
will furnish from this list of my own."

"Their names were certainly mentioned," said Alice, with tender
melancholy; "but the name of one far nearer to me was ringing in my
ears, and has driven them from my mind."

"You are the same good Alice I once knew! And my name was mentioned?
What said they of the Pirate? Had his arm stricken a blow that made them
tremble in their abbey? Did they call him coward, girl?"

"It was mentioned in terms that pained my heart as I listened; for it is
never too easy a task to forget the lapse of years, nor are the feelings
of youth to be easily eradicated."

"Ay, there is luxury in knowing that, with all their affected abuse, the
slaves dread me in their secret holds!" exclaimed the Pilot, pacing in
front of his listener with quick steps. "This it is to be marked, among
men, above all others in your calling! I hope yet to see the day when
the third George shall start at the sound of that name, even within the
walls of his palace."

Alice Dunscombe heard him in deep and mortified silence. It was too
evident that a link in the chain of their sympathies was broken, and
that the weakness in which she had been unconsciously indulging was met
by no correspondent emotions in him. After sinking her head for a moment
on her bosom, she arose with a little more than her usual air of
meekness, and recalled the Pilot to a sense of her presence, by saying,
in a yet milder voice:

"I have now communicated all that it can profit you to know, and it is
meet that we separate."

"What, thus soon?" he cried, starting and taking her hand. "This is but
a short interview, Alice, to precede so long a separation."

"Be it short, or be it long, it must now end," she replied. Your
companions are on the eve of departure, and I trust you would be one of
the last who would wish to be deserted. If ye do visit England again, I
hope it may be with altered sentiments, so far as regards her interests.
I wish ye peace, John, and the blessings of God, as ye may be found to
deserve them."

"I ask no farther, unless it may be the aid of your gentle prayers! But
the night is gloomy, and I will see you in safety to the abbey."

"It is unnecessary," she returned, with womanly reserve. "The innocent
can be as fearless, on occasion, as the most valiant among your
warriors. But here is no cause for fear. I shall take a path that will
conduct me in a different way from that which is occupied by your
soldiers, and where I shall find none but Him who is ever ready to
protect the helpless. Once more, John, I bid ye adieu." Her voice
faltered as she continued—"Ye will share the lot of humanity, and have
your hours of care and weakness; at such moments ye can remember those
ye leave on this despised island, and perhaps among them ye may think of
some whose interest in your welfare has been far removed from
selfishness."

"God be with you, Alice!" he said, touched with her emotion, and losing
all vain images in more worthy feelings—"but I cannot permit you to go
alone."

"Here we part, John," she said firmly, "and forever! 'Tis for the
happiness of both, for I fear we have but little in common." She gently
wrested her hand from his grasp, and once more bidding him adieu, in a
voice that was nearly inaudible, she turned and slowly disappeared,
moving, with lingering steps, in the direction of the abbey.

The first impulse of the pilot was certainly to follow, and insist on
seeing her on the way; but the music of the guard on the cliffs at that
moment sent forth its martial strains, and the whistle of the boatswain
was heard winding Its shrill call among the rocks, in those notes that
his practised ear well understood to be the last signal for embarking.

Obedient to the summons, this singular man, in whose breast the natural
feelings, that were now on the eve of a violent eruption, had so long
been smothered by the visionary expectations of a wild ambition, and
perhaps of fierce resentments, pursued his course, in deep abstraction,
towards the boats. He was soon met by the soldiers of Borroughcliffe,
deprived of their arms, it is true, but unguarded, and returning
peacefully to their quarters. The mind of the Pilot, happily for the
liberty of these men, was too much absorbed in his peculiar reflections,
to note this act of Griffith's generosity, nor did he arouse from his
musing until his steps were arrested by suddenly encountering a human
figure in the pathway. A light tap on his shoulder was the first mark of
recognition he received, when Borroughcliffe, who stood before him,
said:

"It is evident, sir, from what has passed this evening, that you are not
what you seem. You may be some rebel admiral or general, for aught that
I know, the right to command having been strangely contested among ye
this night. But let who will own the chief authority, I take the liberty
of whispering in your ear that I have been scurvily treated by you—I
repeat, most scurvily treated by you all, generally, and by you in
particular."

The Pilot started at this strange address, which was uttered with all
the bitterness that could be imparted to it by a disappointed man; but
he motioned with his hand for the captain to depart, and turned aside to
pursue his own way.

"Perhaps I am not properly understood," continued the obstinate soldier:
"I say, sir, you have treated me scurvily: and I would not be thought to
say this to any gentleman, without wishing to give him an opportunity to
vent his anger."

The eye of the Pilot, as he moved forward, glanced at the pistols which
Borroughcliffe held in his hands, the one by the handle, and the other
by its barrel, and the soldier even fancied that his footsteps were
quickened by the sight. After gazing at him until his form was lost in
the darkness, the captain muttered to himself:

"He is no more than a common pilot, after all! No true gentleman would
have received so palpable a hint with such a start. Ah! here comes the
party of my worthy friend whose palate knows a grape of the north side
of Madeira from one of the south. The dog has the throat of a gentleman;
we will see how he can swallow a delicate allusion to his faults!"

Borroughcliffe stepped aside to allow the marines, who were also in
motion for the boats, to pass, and watched with keen looks for the
person of the commander. Manual, who had been previously apprised of the
intention of Griffith to release the prisoners, had halted to see that
none but those who had been liberated by authority were marching into
the country. This accidental circumstance gave Borroughcliffe an
opportunity of meeting the other at some little distance from either of
their respective parties.

"I greet you, sir," said Borroughcliffe, "with all affection. This has
been a pleasant forage for you, Captain Manual."

The marine was far from being disposed to wrangle, but there was that in
the voice of the other which caused him to answer: