“Now; the business!”
Othello.
Three hours later, and every noise
was hushed on board the royal cruiser. The toil
of repairing damages had ceased, and most of the living,
with the dead, lay alike in common silence. The
watchfulness necessary to the situation of the fatigued
mariners, however, was not forgotten, and though so
many slept, a few eyes were still open, and affecting
to be alert. Here and there, some drowsy seaman
paced the deck, or a solitary young officer endeavored
to keep himself awake, by humming a low air, in his
narrow bounds. The mass of the crew slept heavily,
with pistols in their belts and cutlasses at their
sides, between the guns. There was one figure-extended
upon the quarter-deck, with the head resting on a
shot-box. The deep breathing of this person denoted
the unquiet slumbers of a powerful frame, in which
weariness contended with suffering. It was the
wounded and feverish master, who had placed himself
in that position to catch an hour of the repose that
was necessary to his situation. Oh an arm-chest,
which had been emptied of its contents, lay another
but a motionless human form, with the limbs composed
in decent order, and with the face turned towards
the melancholy stars. This was the body of the
young Dumont, which had been kept, with the intention
of consigning it to consecrated earth, when the ship
should return to port. Ludlow, with the delicacy
of a generous and chivalrous enemy had with his own
hands spread the stainless ensign of his country over
the remains of the inexperienced but gallant young
Frenchman.
There was one little group on the
raised deck in the stern of the vessel, in which the
ordinary interests of life still seemed to exercise
their influence. Hither Ludlow had led Alida
and her companions, after the duties of the day were
over, in order that they might breathe an air fresher
than that of the interior of the vessel. The negress
nodded near her young mistress; the tired Alderman
sate with his back supported against the mizen-mast,
giving audible evidence of his situation; and Ludlow
stood erect, occasionally throwing an earnest look
on the surrounding and unruffled waters, and then
lending his attention to the discourse of his companions.
Alida and Seadrift were seated near each other, on
chairs. The conversation was low, while the melancholy
and the tremor in the voice of la belle Barberie denoted
how much the events of the day had shaken her usually
firm and spirited mind.
“There is a mingling of the
terrific and the beautiful, of the grand and the seducing,
in this unquiet profession of yours!” observed,
or rather continued Alida, replying to a previous
remark of the young sailor. “That tranquil
sea the hollow sound of the surf on the
shore and this soft canopy above us form
objects on which even a girl might dwell in admiration,
were not her ears still ringing with the roar and cries
of the combat. Did you say the commander of the
Frenchman was but a youth?”
“A mere boy in appearance, and
one who doubtless owed his rank to the advantages
of birth and family. We know it to be the captain,
by his dress, no less than by the desperate effort
he made to recover the false step taken in the earlier
part of the action.”
“Perhaps he has a mother, Ludlow! a
sister a wife or ”
Alida paused, for, with maiden diffidence,
she hesitated to pronounce the tie which was uppermost
in her thoughts.
“He may have had one, or all!
Such are the sailor’s hazards, and ”
“Such the hazards of those who
feel an interest in their safety!” uttered the
low but expressive voice of Seadrift.
A deep and eloquent silence succeeded.
Then the voice of Myndert was heard muttering indistinctly,
“twenty of beaver, and three of marten as
per invoice.” The smile which, spite of
the train of his thoughts, rose on the lips of Ludlow,
had scarcely passed away, when the hoarse tones of
Trysail, rendered still hoarser by his sleep, were
plainly heard in a stifled cry, saying, “Bear
a hand, there, with your stoppers! the
Frenchman is coming round upon us, again.”
“That is prophetic!” said
one, aloud, behind the listening group. Ludlow
turned, quick as the flag fluttering on its vane, and
through the darkness he recognized, in the motionless
but manly form that stood near him on the poop, the
fine person of the ‘Skimmer of the Seas.’
“Call away !”
“Call none!” interrupted
Tiller, stopping the hurried order which involuntarily
broke from the lips of Ludlow. “Let thy
ship feign the silence of a wreck, but, in truth,
let there be watchfulness and preparation even to
her store-rooms! You have done well, Captain Ludlow,
to be on the alert, though I have known sharper eyes
than those of some of your look-outs.”
“Whence come you, audacious
man, and what mad errand has brought you again on
the deck of my ship?”
“I come from my habitation on
the sea. My business here is warning!”
“The sea!” echoed Ludlow,
gazing about him at the narrow and empty view.
“The hour for mockery is past, and you would
do well to trifle no more with those who have serious
duties to discharge.”
“The hour is indeed one for
serious duties duties, more serious than
any you apprehend. But before I enter on explanation,
there must be conditions between us. You have
one of the sea-green lady’s servitors, here;
I claim his liberty, for my secret.”
“The error into which I had
fallen exists no longer;” returned Ludlow, looking
for an instant towards the shrinking form of Seadrift.
“My conquest is worthless, unless you come to
supply his place.”
“I come for other purposes here
is one who knows I do not trifle when urgent affairs
are on hand. Let thy companions retire, that I
may speak openly.”
Ludlow hesitated, for he had not yet
recovered from the surprise of finding the redoubtable
free-trader so unexpectedly on the deck of his ship.
But Alida and her companion arose, like those who had
more confidence in their visiter, and, arousing
the negress from her sleep, they descended the ladder
and entered the cabin. When Ludlow found himself
alone with Tiller, he demanded an explanation.
“It shall not be withheld, for
time presses, and that which is to be done must be
done with a seaman’s care and coolness;”
returned the other. “You have had
a close brush with one of Louis’s rovers, Captain
Ludlow, and prettily was the ship of Queen Anne handled!
Have your people suffered, and are you still strong
enough to make good a defence worthy of your conduct
this morning?”
“These are facts you would have
me utter to the ear of one who may be false; even
a spy!”
“Captain Ludlow but
circumstances warrant thy suspicions!”
“One whose vessel and life I have threatened an
outlaw!”
“This is too true,” returned
the ‘Skimmer of the Seas,’ suppressing
a sudden impulse of pride and resentment. “I
am threatened and pursued I am a smuggler
and an outlaw: still am I human! You see
that dusky object, which borders the sea to the northward!”
“It is too plainly land, to be mistaken.”
“Land, and the land of my birth! the
earliest, perhaps I may say the happiest of my days,
were passed on that long and narrow island.”
“Had I known it earlier, there
would have been a closer look among its bays and inlets.”
“The search might have been
rewarded. A cannon would easily throw its shot
from this deck to the spot where my brigantine now
lies, snug at a single anchor.”
“Unless you have swept her near
since the setting of the sun, that is impossible!
When the night drew on, nothing was in view but the
frigate and corvette of the enemy.”
“We have not stirred a fathom;
and yet, true as the word of a fearless man, there
lies the vessel of the sea-green lady. You see
the place where the beach falls here, at
the nearest point of the land the island
is nearly severed by the water at that spot, and the
Water-Witch is safe in the depths of the bay which
enters from the northward. There is not a mile
between us. From the eastern hill, I witnessed
your spirit this day, Captain Ludlow, and though condemned
in person, I felt that the heart could never be outlawed.
There is a fealty here, that can survive even the
persécutions of the custom-houses!”
“You are happy in your terms,
Sir. I will not conceal that I think a seaman,
even as skilful as yourself, must allow that the Coquette
was kept prettily in command!”
“No pilot-boat could have been
more sure, or more lively. I knew your weakness,
for the absence of all your boats was no secret to
me; and I confess I could have spared some of the
profits of the voyage, to have been on your decks
this day with a dozen of my truest fellows!”
“A man who can feel this loyalty
to the flag, should find a more honorable occupation
for his usual life.”
“A country that can inspire
it, should be cautious not to estrange the affections
of its children, by monopolies and injustice.
But these are discussions unsuited to the moment.
I am doubly your countryman in this strait, and all
the past is no more than the rough liberties which
friends take with each other. Captain Ludlow,
there is danger brooding in that dark void which lies
to seaward!”
“On what authority do you speak thus?”
“Sight. I have been
among your enemies, and have seen their deadly preparations.
I know the caution is given to a brave man, and nothing
shall be extenuated. You have need of all your
resolution and of every arm for they will
be upon you, in overwhelming numbers!”
“True or false, thy warning shall not be neglected.”
“Hold!” said the Skimmer,
arresting a forward movement of his companion, with
his hand. “Let them sleep to the last moment.
You have yet an hour, and rest will renew their strength.
You may trust the experience of a seaman who has passed
half of the life of man on the ocean, and who has
witnessed all its most stirring scenes, from the conflict
of the elements to every variety of strife that man
has invented to destroy his fellows. For another
hour, you will be secure. After that hour,
God protect the unprepared! and God be merciful to
him whose minutes are numbered!”
“Thy language and manner are
those of one who deals honestly;” returned Ludlow,
struck by the apparent sincerity of the free-trader’s
communication “In every event, we shall be ready,
though the manner of your having gained this knowledge
is as great a mystery as your appearance on the deck
of my ship.”
“Both can be explained,”
returned the Skimmer, motioning to his companion to
follow to the tanrail. Here he pointed to a small
and nearly imperceptible skiff, which floated at the
bottom of a stern-ladder, and continued “One
who so often pays secret visits to the land, can never
be in want of the means. This nut-shell was easily
transported across the narrow slip of land that separates
the bay from the ocean, and though the surf moans
so hoarsely, it is easily passed by a steady and dexterous
oarsman. I have been under the martingale of the
Frenchman, and you see that I am here. If your
look-outs are less alert than usual, you will remember
that a low gunwale, a dusky side, and a muffled oar,
are not readily detected, when the eye is heavy and
the body wearied. I must now quit you unless
you think it more prudent to send those who can be
of no service, out of the ship, before the trial shall
come?”
Ludlow hesitated. A strong desire
to put Alida in a place of safety, was met by his
distrust of the smuggler’s faith. He reflected
a moment, ere he answered.
“Your cockle-shell is not sufficiently
secure for more than its owner. Go, and
as you prove loyal, may you prosper!”
“Abide the blow!” said
the Skimmer, grasping his hand. He then stepped
carelessly on the dangling ropes, and descended into
the boat beneath. Ludlow watched his movements,
with an intense and possibly with a distrustful curiosity.
When seated at the sculls, the person of the free-trader
was nearly indistinct; and as the boat glided noiselessly
away, the young commander no longer felt disposed to
censure those who had permitted its approach without
a warning. In less than a minute, the dusky object
was confounded with the surface of the sea.
Left to himself, the young commander
of the Coquette seriously reflected on what had passed.
The manner of the Skimmer, the voluntary character
of his communication, its probability, and the means
by which his knowledge had been obtained, united to
confirm his truth. Instances of similar attachment
to their flag, in seamen whose ordinary pursuits were
opposed to its interests, were not uncommon.
Their misdeeds resemble the errors of passion, and
temptation, while the momentary return to better things
is like the inextinguishable impulses of nature.
The admonition of the free-trader,
who had enjoined the captain to allow his people to
sleep, was remembered. Twenty times, within as
many minutes, did our young sailor examine his watch,
to note the tardy passage of the time; and as often
did he return it to his pocket, with a determination
to forbear. At length he descended to the quarter-deck,
and drew near the only form that was erect. The
watch was commanded by a youth of sixteen, whose regular
period of probationary service had not passed, but
who, in the absence of his superiors, was intrusted
with this delicate and important duty. He stood
leaning against the capstan, one hand supporting his
cheek, while the elbow rested against the drum, and
the body was without motion. Ludlow regarded
him a moment, and then lifting a lighted battle-lantern
to his face, he saw that he slept. Without disturbing
the delinquent, the captain replaced the lantern and
passed forward. In the gangway there stood a
marine, with his musket shouldered, in an attitude
of attention. As Ludlow brushed within a few inches
of his eyes, it was easy to be seen that they opened
and shut involuntarily, and without consciousness
of what lay before them. On the top-gallant-forecastle
was a short, square, and well-balanced figure, that
stood without support of any kind, with both arms
thrust into the bosom of a jacket, and a head that
turned slowly to the west and south, as if it were
examining the ocean in those directions.
Stepping lightly up the ladder, Ludlow
saw that it was the veteran seaman who was rated as
the captain of the forecastle.
“I am glad, at last, to find
one pair of eyes open, in my ship,” said the
captain. “Of the whole watch, you alone
are alert.”
“I have doubled cape fifty,
your Honor, and the seaman who has made that voyage,
rarely wants the second call of the boatswain.
Young heads have young eyes, and sleep is next to
food, after a heavy drag at gun-tackles and lanyards.”
“And what draws your attention
so steadily in that quarter? There is nothing
visible but the haze of the sea.”
“’Tis the direction of
the Frenchmen, Sir does your Honor hear
nothing?”
“Nothing;” said Ludlow,
after intently listening for half a minute. “Nothing,
unless it be the wash of the surf on the beach.”
“It may be only fancy, but there
came a sound like the fall of an oar-blade on a thwart,
and ’tis but natural, your Honor, to expect the
mounsheer will be out, in this smooth water, to see
what has become of us. There went the flash
of a light, or my name is not Bob Cleet!”
Ludlow was silent. A light was
certainly visible in the quarter where the enemy was
known to be anchored, and it came and disappeared like
a moving lantern. At length it was seen to descend
slowly, and vanish as if it were extinguished in the
water.
“That lantern went into a boat,
Captain Ludlow, though a lubber carried it!”
said the positive old forecastle-man, shaking his head
and beginning to pace across the deck, with the air
of a man who needed no further confirmation of his
suspicions.
Ludlow returned towards the quarter-deck,
thoughtful but calm. He passed among his sleeping
crew, without awaking a man, and even forbearing to
touch the still motionless midshipman, he entered his
cabin without speaking.
The commander of the Coquette was
absent but a few minutes. When he again appeared
on deck, there was more of decision and of preparation
in his manner.
“’Tis time to call the
watch, Mr. Reef;” he whispered at the elbow of
the drowsy officer of the deck, without betraying
his consciousness of the youth’s forgetfulness
of duty. “The glass is out.”
“Ay, ay, Sir. Bear
a hand, and turn the glass!” muttered the young
man. “A fine night, Sir, and very smooth
water. I was just thinking of ”
“Home and thy mother! ’Tis
the way with us all in youth. Well, we have now
something else to occupy the thoughts. Muster
all the gentlemen, here, on the quarter-deck, Sir.”
“When the half-sleeping midshipman
quitted his captain to obey this order, the latter
drew near the spot where Trysail still lay in an unquiet
sleep. A light touch of a single finger was sufficient
to raise the master on his feet. The first look
of the veteran tar was aloft, the second at the heavens,
and the last at his captain.
“I fear thy wound stiffens,
and that the night air has added to the pain?”
observed the latter, speaking in a kind and considerate
tone.
“The wounded spar cannot be
trusted like a sound stick, Captain Ludlow; but as
I am no foot-soldier on a march, the duty of the ship
may go on without my calling for a horse.”
“I rejoice in thy cheerful spirit,
my old friend, for here is serious work likely to
fall upon our hands. The Frenchmen are in their
boats, and we shall shortly be brought to close quarters,
or prognostics are false.”
“Boats!” repeated the
master. “I had rather it were under our
canvas, with a stiff breeze! The play of this
ship is a lively foot, and a touching leech but, when,
it comes to boats, a marine is nearly as good a man
as a quarter-master!”
“We must take fortune as it
offers. Here is our council! It
is composed of young heads, but of hearts that might
do credit to gray hairs.”
Ludlow joined the little group of
officers that was by this time assembled near the
capstan. Here, in a few words, he explained the
reason why he had summoned them from their sleep.
When each of the youths understood his orders, and
the nature of the new danger that threatened the ship,
they separated, and began to enter with activity,
but in guarded silence, on the necessary preparations.
The sound of footsteps awoke a dozen of the older
seamen, who immediately joined their officers.
Half an hour passed like a moment,
in such an occupation. At the end of that time,
Ludlow deemed his ship ready. The two forward
guns had been run in, and the shot having been drawn,
their places were supplied with double charges of
grape and canister. Several Swivels, a species
of armament much used in that age, were loaded to
the muzzles, and placed in situations to rake the
deck, while the fore-top was plentifully stored with
arms and ammunition. The matches were prepared,
and then the whole of the crew was mustered, by a
particular call of each man. Five minutes sufficed
to issue the necessary orders, and to see each post
occupied. After this, the low hum ceased in the
ship, and the silence again became so deep and general,
that the wash of the receding surf was nearly as audible
as the plunge of the wave on the sands.
Ludlow stood on the forecastle, accompanied
by the master. Here he lent all his senses to
the appearance of the elements, and to the signs of
the moment. Wind there was none, though occasionally
a breath of hot air came from the land, like the first
efforts of the night-breeze. The heavens were
clouded, though a few thoughtful stars glimmered between
the masses of vapor.
“A calmer night never shut in
the Americas!” said the veteran Trysail, shaking
his head doubtingly and speaking in a suppressed and
cautious tone. “I am one of those, Captain
Ludlow, who think more than half the virtue is out
of a ship when her anchor is down!”
“With a weakened crew, it may
be better for us that the people have no yards to
handle, nor any bowlines to steady. All our care
can be given to defence.”
“This is much like telling the
hawk he can fight the better with a clipped wing,
since he has not the trouble of flying! The nature
of a ship is motion, and the merit of a seaman is
judicious and lively handling; but of what
use is complaining, since it will neither lift an
anchor nor fill a sail? What is your opinion,
Captain Ludlow, concerning an after life, and of all
those matters one occasionally hears of it he happens
to drift in the way of a church?”
“The question is broad as the
ocean, my good friend, and a fitting answer might
lead us into abstrusities deeper than any problem in
our trigonometry. Was that the stroke of
an oar?”
“’Twas a land noise.
Well, I am no great navigator among the crooked channels
of religion. Every new argument is a sand-bar,
or a shoal, that obliges me to tack and stand off
again; else I might have been a bishop, for any thing
the world knows to the contrary. ’Tis a
gloomy night, Captain Ludlow, and one that is sparing
of its stars. I never knew luck come of an expedition
on which a natural light did not fall!”
“So much the worse for those
who seek to harm us. I surely heard an oar
in the row-lock!”
“It came from the shore, and
had the sound of the land about it;” quietly
returned the master, who still kept his look riveted
on the heavens. “This world, in which we
live, Captain Ludlow, is one of extraordinary uses;
but that, to which we are steering, is still more
unaccountable. They say that worlds are sailing
above us, like ships in a clear sea; and there are
people who believe, that when we take our departure
from this planet, we are only bound to another, in
which we are to be rated according to our own deeds
here; which is much the same as being drafted for a
new ship, with a certificate of service in one’s
pocket.”
“The resemblance is perfect;”
returned the other leaning far over a timber-head,
to catch the smallest sound that might come from the
ocean. “That was no more than the blowing
of a porpoise!”
“It was strong enough for the
puff of a whale. There is no scarcity of big
fish on the coast of this island, and bold harpooners
are the men who are scattered about on the sandy downs,
here-away, to the northward. I once sailed with
an officer who knew the name, of every star in the
heavens, and often have I passed hours in listening
to his history of their magnitude and character, during
the middle watches. It was his opinion, that
there is but one navigator for all the rovers of the
air, whether meteors, comets, or planets.”
“No doubt he must be right, having been there.”
“No, that is more than I can
say for him, though few men have gone deeper into
the high latitudes on both sides of our own equator,
than he. One surely spoke here, in
a line with yonder low star!”
“Was it not a water-fowl?”
“No gull ha! here
we have the object, just within the starboard jib-boom-guy.
There comes the Frenchman in his pride, and ’twill
be lucky for him who lives to count the slain, or
to boast of his deeds!”
The master descended from the forecastle,
and passed among the crew, with every thought recalled
from its excursive flight to the duty of the moment.
Ludlow continued on the forecastle, alone. There
was a low, whispering sound in the ship, like that
which is made by the murmuring of a rising breeze, and
then all was still as death.
The Coquette lay with her head to
seaward, the stern necessarily pointing towards the
land. The distance from the latter was less than
a mile, and the direction of the ship’s hull
was caused by the course of the heavy ground-swell,
which incessantly rolled the waters on the wide beach
of the island. The head-gear lay in the way of
the dim view, and Ludlow walked out on the
bowsprit, in order that nothing should lie between
him and the part of the ocean he wished to study.
Here he had not stood a minute, when he caught, first
a confused and then a more distinct glimpse of a line
of dark objects, advancing slowly towards the ship.
Assured of the position of his enemy, he returned
in-board, and descended among his people. In
another moment he was again on the forecastle, across
which he paced leisurely, and, to all appearance,
with the calmness of one who enjoyed the refreshing
coolness of the night.
At the distance of a hundred fathoms,
the dusky line of boats paused, and began to change
its order. At that instant the first puffs of
the land breeze were felt, and the stern of the ship
made a gentle inclination seaward.
“Help her with the mizen!
Let fall the top-sail!” whispered the young
captain to those beneath him. Ere another moment,
the flap of the loosened sail was heard. The
ship swung still further, and Ludlow stamped on the
deck.
A round fiery light shot beyond the
martingale, and the smoke rolled along the sea, outstripped
by a crowd of missiles that were hissing across the
water. A shout, in which command was mingled with
shrieks, followed, and then oar-blades were heard
dashing the water aside, regardless of concealment.
The ocean lighted, and three or four boat-guns returned
the fatal discharge from the ship. Ludlow had
not spoken. Still alone on his elevated and exposed
post, he watched the effects of both fires, with a
commander’s coolness. The smile that struggled
about his compressed mouth, when the momentary confusion
among the boats betrayed the success of his own attack,
had been wild and exulting; but when he heard the rending
of the plank beneath him, the heavy groans that succeeded,
and the rattling of lighter objects that were scattered
by the shot, as it passed with lessened force along
the deck of his ship, it became fierce and resentful.
“Let them have it!” he
shouted, in a clear animating voice, that assured
the people of his presence and his care. “Show
them the humor of an Englishman’s sleep, my
lads! Speak to them, tops and decks!”
The order was obeyed. The remaining
bow-gun was fired, and the discharge of all the Coquette’s
musketry and blunderbusses followed. A crowd of
boats came sweeping under the bowsprit of the ship
at the same moment, and then arose the clamor and
shouts of the boarders.
The succeeding minutes were full of
confusion, and of devoted exertion. Twice were
the head and bowsprit of the ship filled with dark
groups of men, whose grim visages were only visible
by the pistol’s flash, and as often were they
cleared by the pike and bayonet. A third effort
was more successful, and the tread of the assailants
was heard on the deck of the forecastle. The
struggle was but momentary, though many fell, and the
narrow arena was soon slippery with blood. The
Boulognese mariner was foremost among his countrymen,
and at that desperate emergency Ludlow and Trysail
fought in the common herd. Numbers prevailed,
and it was fortunate for the commander of the Coquette,
that the sudden recoil of a human body that fell upon
him, drove him from his footing to the deck beneath.
Recovering from the fall, the young
captain cheered his men by his voice, and was answered
by the deep-mouthed shouts, which an excited seaman
is ever ready to deliver, even to the death.
“Rally in the gangways, and
defy them!” was the animated cry “Rally
in the gangways, hearts of oak.” was returned
by Trysail, in a ready but weakened voice. The
men obeyed, and Ludlow saw that he could still muster
a force capable of resistance.
Both parties for a moment paused.
The fire of the top annoyed the boarders, and the
defendants hesitated to advance. But the rush
from both was common, and a fierce encounter occurred
at the foot of the fore-mast. The crowd thickened
in the rear of the French, and one of their number
no sooner fell than another filled his place.
The English receded, and Ludlow, extricating himself
from the mass, retired to the quarter-deck.
“Give way, men!” he again
shouted, so clear and steady, as to be heard above
the cries and exécrations of the fight. “Into
the wings; down, between the guns down to
your covers!”
The English disappeared, as if by
magic. Some leaped upon the ridge-ropes, others
sought the protection of the guns, and many went through
the hatches. At that moment Ludlow made his most
desperate effort. Aided by the gunner, he applied
matches to the two swivels, which had been placed
in readiness for a last resort. The deck was enveloped
in smoke, and, when the vapor lifted, the forward
part of the ship was as clear as if man had never
trod it. All who had not fallen, had vanished.
A shout, and a loud hurrah! brought
back the defendants, and Ludlow headed a charge upon
the top-gallant-forecastle, again, in person.
A few of the assailants showed themselves from behind
covers on the deck, and the struggle was renewed.
Glaring balls of fire sailed over the heads of the
combatants, and fell among the throng in the rear.
Ludlow saw the danger, and he endeavored to urge his
people on to regain the bow-guns, one of which was
known to be loaded. But the explosion of a grenade
on deck, and in his rear, was followed by a shock
in the hold, that threatened to force the bottom out
of the vessel. The alarmed and weakened crew began
to waver, and as a fresh attack of grenades was followed
by a fierce rally, in which the assailants brought
up fifty men in a body from their boats, Ludlow found
himself compelled to retire amid the retreating mass
of his own crew.
The defence now assumed the character
of hopeless but desperate resistance. The cries
of the enemy were more and more clamorous; and they
succeeded in nearly silencing the top, by a heavy fire
of musketry established on the bowsprit and sprit-sail-yard.
Events passed much faster than they
can be related. The enemy were in possession
of all the forward part of the ship to her fore-hatches,
but into these young Hopper had thrown himself, with
half-a-dozen men, and, aided by a brother midshipman
in the launch, backed by a few followers, they still
held the assailants at bay. Ludlow cast an eye
behind him, and began to think of selling his life
as dearly as possible in the cabins. That glance
was arrested by the sight of the malign smile of the
sea-green lady, as the gleaming face rose above the
taffrail. A dozen dark forms leaped upon the
poop, and then arose a voice that sent every tone it
uttered to his heart.
“Abide the shock!” was
the shout of those who came to the succor; and “abide
the shock!” was echoed by the crew. The
mysterious image glided along the deck, and Ludlow
knew the athletic frame that brushed through the throng
at its side.
There was little noise in the onset,
save the groans of the sufferers. It endured
but a moment, but it was a moment that resembled the
passage of a whirlwind. The defendants knew that
they were succored, and the assailants recoiled before
so unexpected a foe. The few that were caught
beneath the forecastle were mercilessly slain, and
those above were swept from their post like chaff
drifting in a gale. The living and the dead were
heard falling alike into the sea, and in an unconceivably
short space of time, the decks of the Coquette were
free. A solitary enemy still hesitated on the
bowsprit. A powerful and active frame leaped along
the spar, and though the blow was not seen, its effects
were visible, as the victim tumbled helplessly into
the ocean.
The hurried dash of oars followed,
and before the defendants had time to assure themselves
of the completeness of their success, the gloomy void
of the surrounding ocean had swallowed up the boats.