The Pirate

“But who told you all this?” said Cleveland, without using his spy-glass, or seeming so much interested in the news as his comrade had expected.

“Why,” replied Bunce, “I made a trip ashore this morning to the village, and had a can with an old acquaintance, who had been sent by Master Troil to look after matters, and I fished it all out of him, and more, too, than I am desirous of telling you, noble Captain.”

“And who is your intelligencer?” said Cleveland; “has he got no name?”

“Why, he is an old, fiddling, foppish acquaintance of mine, called Halcro, if you must know,” said Bunce.

“Halcro!” echoed Cleveland, his eyes sparkling with surprise – “Claud Halcro? – why, he went ashore at Inganess with Minna and her sister – Where are they?”

“Why, that is just what I did not want to tell you,” replied the confidant – “yet hang me if I can help it, for I cannot baulk a fine situation. – That start had a fine effect – O ay, and the spy-glass is turned on the House of Stennis now! – Well, yonder they are, it must be confessed – indifferently well guarded, too. Some of the old witch’s people are come over from that mountain of an island – Hoy, as they call it; and the old gentleman has got some fellows under arms himself. But what of all that, noble Captain! – give you but the word, and we snap up the wenches to-night – clap them under hatches – man the capstern by daybreak – up topsails – and sail with the morning tide.”

“You sicken me with your villainy,” said Cleveland, turning away from him.

“Umph! – villainy, and sicken you!” said Bunce – “Now, pray, what have I said but what has been done a thousand times by gentlemen of fortune like ourselves?”

“Mention it not again,” said Cleveland; then took a turn along the deck, in deep meditation, and, coming back to Bunce, took him by the hand, and said, “Jack, I will see her once more.”

“With all my heart,” said Bunce, sullenly.

“Once more will I see her, and it may be to abjure at her feet this cursed trade, and expiate my offences” —

“At the gallows!” said Bunce, completing the sentence – “With all my heart! – confess and be hanged is a most reverend proverb.”

“Nay – but, dear Jack!” said Cleveland.

“Dear Jack!” answered Bunce, in the same sullen tone – “a dear sight you have been to dear Jack. But hold your own course – I have done with caring for you for ever – I should but sicken you with my villainous counsels.”

“Now, must I soothe this silly fellow as if he were a spoiled child,” said Cleveland, speaking at Bunce, but not to him; “and yet he has sense enough, and bravery enough, too; and, one would think, kindness enough to know that men don’t pick their words during a gale of wind.”

“Why, that’s true, Clement,” said Bunce, “and there is my hand upon it – And, now I think upon’t, you shall have your last interview, for it’s out of my line to prevent a parting scene; and what signifies a tide – we can sail by to-morrow’s ebb as well as by this.”

Cleveland sighed, for Norna’s prediction rushed on his mind; but the opportunity of a last meeting with Minna was too tempting to be resigned either for presentiment or prediction.

“I will go presently ashore to the place where they all are,” said Bunce; “and the payment of these stores shall serve me for a pretext; and I will carry any letters or message from you to Minna with the dexterity of a valet de chambre.”

“But they have armed men – you may be in danger,” said Cleveland.

“Not a whit – not a whit,” replied Bunce. “I protected the wenches when they were in my power; I warrant their father will neither wrong me, nor see me wronged.”

“You say true,” said Cleveland, “it is not in his nature. I will instantly write a note to Minna.” And he ran down to the cabin for that purpose, where he wasted much paper, ere, with a trembling hand, and throbbing heart, he achieved such a letter as he hoped might prevail on Minna to permit him a farewell meeting on the succeeding morning.

His adherent, Bunce, in the meanwhile, sought out Fletcher, of whose support to second any motion whatever, he accounted himself perfectly sure; and, followed by this trusty satellite, he intruded himself on the awful presence of Hawkins the boatswain, and Derrick the quarter-master, who were regaling themselves with a can of rumbo, after the fatiguing duty of the day.

“Here comes he can tell us,” said Derrick. – “So, Master Lieutenant, for so we must call you now, I think, let us have a peep into your counsels – When will the anchor be a-trip?”

“When it pleases heaven, Master Quarter-master,” answered Bunce, “for I know no more than the stern-post.”

“Why, d – n my buttons,” said Derrick, “do we not weigh this tide?”

“Or to-morrow’s tide, at farthest?” said the Boatswain – “Why, what have we been slaving the whole company for, to get all these stores aboard?”

“Gentlemen,” said Bunce, “you are to know that Cupid has laid our Captain on board, carried the vessel, and nailed down his wits under hatches.”

“What sort of play-stuff is all this?” said the Boatswain, gruffly. “If you have any thing to tell us, say it in a word, like a man.”

“Howsomdever,” said Fletcher, “I always think Jack Bunce speaks like a man, and acts like a man too – and so, d’ye see” —

“Hold your peace, dear Dick, best of bullybacks, be silent,” said Bunce – “Gentlemen, in one word, the Captain is in love.”

“Why, now, only think of that!” said the Boatswain; “not but that I have been in love as often as any man, when the ship was laid up.”

“Well, but,” continued Bunce, “Captain Cleveland is in love – Yes – Prince Volscius is in love; and, though that’s the cue for laughing on the stage, it is no laughing matter here. He expects to meet the girl to-morrow, for the last time; and that, we all know, leads to another meeting, and another, and so on till the Halcyon is down on us, and then we may look for more kicks than halfpence.”

“By – ,” said the Boatswain, with a sounding oath, “we’ll have a mutiny, and not allow him to go ashore, – eh, Derrick?”

“And the best way, too,” said Derrick.

“What d’ye think of it, Jack Bunce?” said Fletcher, in whose ears this counsel sounded very sagely, but who still bent a wistful look upon his companion.

“Why, look ye, gentlemen,” said Bunce, “I will mutiny none, and stap my vitals if any of you shall!”

“Why, then I won’t, for one,” said Fletcher; “but what are we to do, since howsomdever” —

“Stopper your jaw, Dick, will you?” said Bunce. – “Now, Boatswain, I am partly of your mind, that the Captain must be brought to reason by a little wholesome force. But you all know he has the spirit of a lion, and will do nothing unless he is allowed to hold on his own course. Well, I’ll go ashore and make this appointment. The girl comes to the rendezvous in the morning, and the Captain goes ashore – we take a good boat’s crew with us, to row against tide and current, and we will be ready at the signal, to jump ashore and bring off the Captain and the girl, whether they will or no. The pet-child will not quarrel with us, since we bring off his whirligig along with him; and if he is still fractious, why, we will weigh anchor without his orders, and let him come to his senses at leisure, and know his friends another time.”

“Why, this has a face with it, Master Derrick,” said Hawkins.

“Jack Bunce is always right,” said Fletcher; “howsomdever, the Captain will shoot some of us, that is certain.”

“Hold your jaw, Dick,” said Bunce; “pray, who the devil cares, do you think, whether you are shot or hanged?”

“Why, it don’t much argufy for the matter of that,” replied Dick; “howsomdever” —

“Be quiet, I tell you,” said his inexorable patron, “and hear me out. – We will take him at unawares, so that he shall neither have time to use cutlass nor pops; and I myself, for the dear love I bear him, will be the first to lay him on his back. There is a nice tight-going bit of a pinnace, that is a consort of this chase of the Captain’s, – if I have an opportunity, I’ll snap her up on my own account.”

“Yes, yes,” said Derrick, “let you alone for keeping on the look-out for your own comforts.”

“Faith, nay,” said Bunce, “I only snatch at them when they come fairly in my way, or are purchased by dint of my own wit; and none of you could have fallen on such a plan as this. We shall have the Captain with us, head, hand, and heart and all, besides making a scene fit to finish a comedy. So I will go ashore to make the appointment, and do you possess some of the gentlemen who are still sober, and fit to be trusted, with the knowledge of our intentions.”

Bunce, with his friend Fletcher, departed accordingly, and the two veteran pirates remained looking at each other in silence, until the Boatswain spoke at last. “Blow me, Derrick, if I like these two daffadandilly young fellows; they are not the true breed. Why, they are no more like the rovers I have known, than this sloop is to a first-rate. Why, there was old Sharpe that read prayers to his ship’s company every Sunday, what would he have said to have heard it proposed to bring two wenches on board?”

“And what would tough old Black Beard have said,” answered his companion, “if they had expected to keep them to themselves? They deserve to be made to walk the plank for their impudence; or to be tied back to back and set a-diving, and I care not how soon.”

“Ay, but who is to command the ship, then?” said Hawkins.

“Why, what ails you at old Goffe?” answered Derrick.

“Why, he has sucked the monkey so long and so often,” said the Boatswain, “that the best of him is buffed. He is little better than an old woman when he is sober, and he is roaring mad when he is drunk – we have had enough of Goffe.”

“Why, then, what d’ye say to yourself, or to me, Boatswain?” demanded the Quarter-master. “I am content to toss up for it.”

“Rot it, no,” answered the Boatswain, after a moment’s consideration; “if we were within reach of the trade-winds, we might either of us make a shift; but it will take all Cleveland’s navigation to get us there; and so, I think, there is nothing like Bunce’s project for the present. Hark, he calls for the boat – I must go on deck and have her lowered for his honour, d – n his eyes.”

The boat was lowered accordingly, made its voyage up the lake with safety, and landed Bunce within a few hundred yards of the old mansion-house of Stennis. Upon arriving in front of the house, he found that hasty measures had been taken to put it in a state of defence, the lower windows being barricaded, with places left for use of musketry, and a ship-gun being placed so as to command the entrance, which was besides guarded by two sentinels. Bunce demanded admission at the gate, which was briefly and unceremoniously refused, with an exhortation to him, at the same time, to be gone about his business before worse came of it. As he continued, however, importunately to insist on seeing some one of the family, and stated his business to be of the most urgent nature, Claud Halcro at length appeared, and, with more peevishness than belonged to his usual manner, that admirer of glorious John expostulated with his old acquaintance upon his pertinacious folly.

“You are,” he said, “like foolish moths fluttering about a candle, which is sure at last to consume you.”

“And you,” said Bunce, “are a set of stingless drones, whom we can smoke out of your defences at our pleasure, with half-a-dozen of hand-grenades.”

“Smoke a fool’s head!” said Halcro; “take my advice, and mind your own matters, or there will be those upon you will smoke you to purpose. Either begone, or tell me in two words what you want; for you are like to receive no welcome here save from a blunderbuss. We are men enough of ourselves; and here is young Mordaunt Mertoun come from Hoy, whom your Captain so nearly murdered.”

“Tush, man,” said Bunce, “he did but let out a little malapert blood.”

“We want no such phlebotomy here,” said Claud Halcro; “and, besides, your patient turns out to be nearer allied to us than either you or we thought of; so you may think how little welcome the Captain or any of his crew are like to be here.”

“Well; but what if I bring money for the stores sent on board?”

“Keep it till it is asked of you,” said Halcro. “There are two bad paymasters – he that pays too soon, and he that does not pay at all.”

“Well, then, let me at least give our thanks to the donor,” said Bunce.

“Keep them, too, till they are asked for,” answered the poet.

“So this is all the welcome I have of you for old acquaintance’ sake?” said Bunce.

“Why, what can I do for you, Master Altamont?” said Halcro, somewhat moved. – “If young Mordaunt had had his own will, he would have welcomed you with ‘the red Burgundy, Number a thousand.’ For God’s sake begone, else the stage direction will be, Enter guard, and seize Altamont.”

“I will not give you the trouble,” said Bunce, “but will make my exit instantly. – Stay a moment – I had almost forgot that I have a slip of paper for the tallest of your girls there – Minna, ay, Minna is her name. It is a farewell from Captain Cleveland – you cannot refuse to give it her?”

“Ah, poor fellow!” said Halcro – “I comprehend – I comprehend – Farewell, fair Armida —

‘’Mid pikes and ’mid bullets, ’mid tempests and fire,The danger is less than in hopeless desire!’

Tell me but this – is there poetry in it?”

“Chokeful to the seal, with song, sonnet, and elegy,” answered Bunce; “but let her have it cautiously and secretly.”

“Tush, man! – teach me to deliver a billet-doux! – me, who have been in the Wits’ Coffee-house, and have seen all the toasts of the Kit-Cat Club! – Minna shall have it, then, for old acquaintance’ sake, Mr. Altamont, and for your Captain’s sake, too, who has less of the core of devil about him than his trade requires. There can be no harm in a farewell letter.”

“Farewell, then, old boy, for ever and a day!” said Bunce; and seizing the poet’s hand, gave it so hearty a gripe, that he left him roaring, and shaking his fist, like a dog when a hot cinder has fallen on his foot.

Leaving the rover to return on board the vessel, we remain with the family of Magnus Troil, assembled at their kinsman’s mansion of Stennis, where they maintained a constant and careful watch against surprise.

Mordaunt Mertoun had been received with much kindness by Magnus Troil, when he came to his assistance, with a small party of Norna’s dependants, placed by her under his command. The Udaller was easily satisfied that the reports instilled into his ears by the Jagger, zealous to augment his favour towards his more profitable customer Cleveland, by diminishing that of Mertoun, were without foundation. They had, indeed, been confirmed by the good Lady Glowrowrum, and by common fame, both of whom were pleased to represent Mordaunt Mertoun as an arrogant pretender to the favour of the sisters of Burgh-Westra, who only hesitated, sultan-like, on whom he should bestow the handkerchief. But common fame, Magnus considered, was a common liar, and he was sometimes disposed (where scandal was concerned) to regard the good Lady Glowrowrum as rather an uncommon specimen of the same genus. He therefore received Mordaunt once more into full favour, listened with much surprise to the claim which Norna laid to the young man’s duty, and with no less interest to her intention of surrendering to him the considerable property which she had inherited from her father. Nay, it is even probable that, though he gave no immediate answer to her hints concerning an union betwixt his eldest daughter and her heir, he might think such an alliance recommended, as well by the young man’s personal merits, as by the chance it gave of reuniting the very large estate which had been divided betwixt his own father and that of Norna. At all events, the Udaller received his young friend with much kindness, and he and the proprietor of the mansion joined in intrusting to him, as the youngest and most active of the party, the charge of commanding the night-watch, and relieving the sentinels around the House of Stennis.

CHAPTER XX

Of an outlawe, this is the lawe —That men him take and bind,Without pitie hang’d to be,And waive with the wind.The Ballad of the Nut Brown Maid.

Mordaunt had caused the sentinels who had been on duty since midnight to be relieved ere the peep of day, and having given directions that the guard should be again changed at sunrise, he had retired to a small parlour, and, placing his arms beside him, was slumbering in an easy-chair, when he felt himself pulled by the watch-cloak in which he was enveloped.

“Is it sunrise,” said he, “already?” as, starting up, he discovered the first beams lying level upon the horizon.

“Mordaunt!” said a voice, every note of which thrilled to his heart.

He turned his eyes on the speaker, and Brenda Troil, to his joyful astonishment, stood before him. As he was about to address her eagerly, he was checked by observing the signs of sorrow and discomposure in her pale cheeks, trembling lips, and brimful eyes.

“Mordaunt,” she said, “you must do Minna and me a favour – you must allow us to leave the house quietly, and without alarming any one, in order to go as far as the Standing Stones of Stennis.”

“What freak can this be, dearest Brenda?” said Mordaunt, much amazed at the request – “some Orcadian observance of superstition, perhaps; but the time is too dangerous, and my charge from your father too strict, that I should permit you to pass without his consent. Consider, dearest Brenda, I am a soldier on duty, and must obey orders.”

“Mordaunt,” said Brenda, “this is no jesting matter – Minna’s reason, nay, Minna’s life, depends on your giving us this permission.”

“And for what purpose?” said Mordaunt; “let me at least know that.”

“For a wild and a desperate purpose,” replied Brenda – “It is that she may meet Cleveland.”

“Cleveland!” said Mordaunt – “Should the villain come ashore, he shall be welcomed with a shower of rifle-balls. Let me within a hundred yards of him,” he added, grasping his piece, “and all the mischief he has done me shall be balanced with an ounce bullet!”

“His death will drive Minna frantic,” said Brenda; “and him who injures Minna, Brenda will never again look upon.”

“This is madness – raving madness!” said Mordaunt – “Consider your honour – consider your duty.”

“I can consider nothing but Minna’s danger,” said Brenda, breaking into a flood of tears; “her former illness was nothing to the state she has been in all night. She holds in her hand his letter, written in characters of fire, rather than of ink, imploring her to see him, for a last farewell, as she would save a mortal body, and an immortal soul; pledging himself for her safety; and declaring no power shall force him from the coast till he has seen her. – You must let us pass.”

“It is impossible!” replied Mordaunt, in great perplexity – “This ruffian has imprecations enough, doubtless, at his fingers’ ends – but what better pledge has he to offer? – I cannot permit Minna to go.”

“I suppose,” said Brenda, somewhat reproachfully, while she dried her tears, yet still continued sobbing, “that there is something in what Norna spoke of betwixt Minna and you; and that you are too jealous of this poor wretch, to allow him even to speak with her an instant before his departure.”

“You are unjust,” said Mordaunt, hurt, and yet somewhat flattered by her suspicions, – “you are as unjust as you are imprudent. You know – you cannot but know – that Minna is chiefly dear to me as your sister. Tell me, Brenda – and tell me truly – if I aid you in this folly, have you no suspicion of the Pirate’s faith!”

“No, none,” said Brenda; “if I had any, do you think I would urge you thus? He is wild and unhappy, but I think we may in this trust him.”

“Is the appointed place the Standing Stones, and the time daybreak?” again demanded Mordaunt.

“It is, and the time is come,” said Brenda, – “for Heaven’s sake let us depart!”

“I will myself,” said Mordaunt, “relieve the sentinel at the front door for a few minutes, and suffer you to pass. – You will not protract this interview, so full of danger?”

“We will not,” said Brenda; “and you, on your part, will not avail yourself of this unhappy man’s venturing hither, to harm or to seize him?”

“Rely on my honour,” said Mordaunt – “He shall have no harm, unless he offers any.”

“Then I go to call my sister,” said Brenda, and quickly left the apartment.

Mordaunt considered the matter for an instant, and then going to the sentinel at the front door, he desired him to run instantly to the main-guard, and order the whole to turn out with their arms – to see the order obeyed, and to return when they were in readiness. Meantime, he himself, he said, would remain upon the post.

During the interval of the sentinel’s absence, the front door was slowly opened, and Minna and Brenda appeared, muffled in their mantles. The former leaned on her sister, and kept her face bent on the ground, as one who felt ashamed of the step she was about to take. Brenda also passed her lover in silence, but threw back upon him a look of gratitude and affection, which doubled, if possible, his anxiety for their safety.

The sisters, in the meanwhile, passed out of sight of the house; when Minna, whose step, till that time, had been faint and feeble, began to erect her person, and to walk with a pace so firm and so swift, that Brenda, who had some difficulty to keep up with her, could not forbear remonstrating on the imprudence of hurrying her spirits, and exhausting her force, by such unnecessary haste.

“Fear not, my dearest sister,” said Minna; “the spirit which I now feel will, and must, sustain me through the dreadful interview. I could not but move with a drooping head, and dejected pace, while I was in view of one who must necessarily deem me deserving of his pity, or his scorn. But you know, my dearest Brenda, and Mordaunt shall also know, that the love I bore to that unhappy man, was as pure as the rays of that sun, that is now reflected on the waves. And I dare attest that glorious sun, and yonder blue heaven, to bear me witness, that, but to urge him to change his unhappy course of life, I had not, for all the temptations this round world holds, ever consented to see him more.”

As she spoke thus, in a tone which afforded much confidence to Brenda, the sisters attained the summit of a rising ground, whence they commanded a full view of the Orcadian Stonehenge, consisting of a huge circle and semicircle of the Standing Stones, as they are called, which already glimmered a greyish white in the rising sun, and projected far to the westward their long gigantic shadows. At another time, the scene would have operated powerfully on the imaginative mind of Minna, and interested the curiosity at least of her less sensitive sister. But, at this moment, neither was at leisure to receive the impressions which this stupendous monument of antiquity is so well calculated to impress on the feelings of those who behold it; for they saw, in the lower lake, beneath what is termed the Bridge of Broisgar, a boat well manned and armed, which had disembarked one of its crew, who advanced alone, and wrapped in a naval cloak, towards that monumental circle which they themselves were about to reach from another quarter.

“They are many, and they are armed,” said the startled Brenda, in a whisper to her sister.

“It is for precaution’s sake,” answered Minna, “which, alas, their condition renders but too necessary. Fear no treachery from him – that, at least, is not his vice.”

As she spoke, or shortly afterwards, she attained the centre of the circle, on which, in the midst of the tall erect pillars of rude stone that are raised around, lies one flat and prostrate, supported by short stone pillars, of which some relics are still visible, that had once served, perhaps, the purpose of an altar.

“Here,” she said, “in heathen times (if we may believe legends, which have cost me but too dear) our ancestors offered sacrifices to heathen deities – and here will I, from my soul, renounce, abjure, and offer up to a better and a more merciful God than was known to them, the vain ideas with which my youthful imagination has been seduced.”

She stood by the prostrate table of stone, and saw Cleveland advance towards her, with a timid pace, and a downcast look, as different from his usual character and bearing, as Minna’s high air and lofty demeanour, and calm contemplative posture, were distant from those of the love-lorn and broken-hearted maiden, whose weight had almost borne down the support of her sister as she left the House of Stennis. If the belief of those is true, who assign these singular monuments exclusively to the Druids, Minna might have seemed the Haxa, or high priestess of the order, from whom some champion of the tribe expected inauguration. Or, if we hold the circles of Gothic and Scandinavian origin, she might have seemed a descended Vision of Freya, the spouse of the Thundering Deity, before whom some bold Sea-King or champion bent with an awe, which no mere mortal terror could have inflicted upon him. Brenda, overwhelmed with inexpressible fear and doubt, remained a pace or two behind, anxiously observing the motions of Cleveland, and attending to nothing around, save to him and to her sister.