Chapter 7

_The Raker in a Calm._

A long calm, usually so tiresome to sailors, but considered most fortunate by Lieutenant Morris, succeeded the events just narrated. He was constantly in the society of the beautiful Julia Williams, and the impression first made upon him by her surpassing beauty rapidly deepened into a devoted love. Wholly absorbed in his passion, he cared not how long his little brig lay with flapping sails upon the water waiting for the wind. Julia was by no means indifferent to his addresses, so ardent and yet so respectful. She already loved the gallant young sailor, though she hardly even suspected it herself, yet why did she so love the long evening walk with him upon the deck of the brig? Why did her eye grow brighter, and her heart beat faster, whenever he entered the little cabin? Such feelings she had for him as she had never felt before, though one of her beauty could hardly have been without lovers in her native land. She loved to hear him talk of his own home in the far west--of the clear blue skies of America. She even began to think that her country was wrong in the quarrel then existing between the two nations, though the young officer touched but lightly upon the subject, not deeming it matter of interest to a lady's ears. Yes, Lieutenant Morris had a strange influence over Julia, and she wondered why it was, but she could not be in love with him, O, no!

The disastrous events which had so effectually prevented Mr. Williams from prosecuting his voyage to the Indies were matters of deep regret to the worthy merchant, and his brow was continually clouded with care. Julia was not so much engrossed with her passion for the young lieutenant that she did not perceive this, but as she saw no way to console her father, she only strove by her own cheerfulness to impart a greater degree of contentment to him. As for John, he seemed both happy and proud. He was once more in safety, and he bore honorable wounds to show in proof of his valor. His stories of his own achievements when he so gallantly made his escape from the pirate each day grew more and more marvelous. He was especially fond of narrating this exploit to his friend Dick Halyard, to whom he endeavored to convey the impression that he had fought his way overboard from the deck of the pirate, and for want of a boat had boldly set sail upon a plank over the dangerous deep.

"Crikey! Dick, if ever I get back to old Lonnon agin, how the women will love me when I tell 'em how I fought them bloody pirates."

John had never read Shakspeare, or he might have said with Othello, that they would love him,

"For the dangers I have passed."

Dick, who as the reader already knows was somewhat of a wag in his way, was not at all disposed to allow John to retain this self-conceited idea of his own valor, and determined to convince him before the belief got too strongly settled in his mind, that he was as much a coward as ever.

With this praiseworthy intention he waited till the middle watch of the night, when John was comfortably snoozing in his hammock, to which he had become somewhat accustomed. Dick suddenly awoke him.

"John, roll out, the pirates are on us again."

John jumped from his hammock, thoroughly awakened by the dreadful word.

"O lud! Dick, where can I hide myself?"

"Why, we must fight them off, John. You have now a chance to get another wound to show the girls in Lonnon. Come, be lively.

"O! Dick, here's a box, let me get in here."

"Nonsense, man! take this cutlas, and here's a pair of pistols; come, we shall be too late for them."

"O! Dick, I can't fight."

"Can't fight! What was that yarn you told me this morning, how you killed two pirates on their own deck, and jumped overboard followed by a shower of balls."

"Dick, that was all a lie."

"Ha! ha! ha!"

"I never fought in my life; I always run when any body tried to lick me, ever since I was a little boy."

"Well, I thought so, John. You can turn in again, and snooze till daylight."

"What, aint there no pirates on board us?"

"Not a one, ha! ha! ha! I only wanted to see how brave a fellow you were, so turn in."

"Thunder and lightning! Dick," said John, picking up the cutlas and brandishing it heroically, "you don't think I 'm afraid of pirates do you?"

"O! no, not a bit of it."

"Of course I aint."

"I don't think you are--I only know you are."

"Well now, you see, Dick, taint our business to fight 'em if they was here; this ship belongs to the 'Mericans, and we haint got to fight for them, it's their own look out."

"Turn in, John."

"Thunder! if this 'ere was an English ship you'd a seen me going into 'em."

"John, I say, don't you tell me any thing more about your fighting the pirates, 'cause if you do, I'll tell the whole crew how I frightened you."

"Say nothing, Dick, and I wont lie to you any more."

"Ha! ha! ha!"

Dick left John to his repose, and returned to the deck much pleased with the success of his stratagem.

"Confounded mean, that 'are, in Dick Halyard," thought John, as he tumbled into his hammock again. "Now I never would a served him so--there aint nothing like true friendship in this world--at any rate there aint none out to sea--but never mind, I can tell the story to the girls in Lonnon, if I ever get there, and there wont be nobody to make a fool of me then--pirates, crikey! who cares, I aint afraid of 'em."

And John went to sleep, dreaming that he was sailing on a plank again, with any quantity of sharks following in his wake.

After several days a fine breeze filled the sails of the Raker; it did not come in consequence of the vast amount of grumbling, and perhaps of swearing, which the uneasy tars had given vent to, but from whatever cause it filled them with joy, and every countenance among them was lighted with pleasure. Captain Greene had so far recovered as to be able to reach the deck of his brig, and as his smart little craft walked off before the wind, he sat on the quarter-deck with a pleasant smile upon his weather-beaten countenance, conversing with Captain Horton and Mr. Williams. Each of the three old gentlemen held a short pipe in his mouth, and all seemed to be decidedly enjoying themselves.

"I say, Captain Greene," exclaimed the commander of the lost merchantman, "nobody would think our two countries were at war to see us now," and the worthy tar blew a long column of smoke from his mouth and laughed merrily.

"Truly not, and it don't seem more than half natural that we should be."

"Why, we English all think that the Americans cherish feelings of hatred toward us."

"Not a bit of it sir--there is, on the contrary, a strong feeling of attachment among us all for our mother country."

"Well, what are you fighting us for now then?"

"Because we think we have been wronged; your naval officers have time and again impressed our free-born American citizens, on board their own craft, though it was clearly shown that they owed no allegiance to the king."

"Well, if that is so, it looks wrong to be sure; I don't know much about the war, but as an Englishman, I am bound to believe my country is in the right, some way or other, even if it looks otherwise."

"Of course, captain--at any rate, I don't believe we shall quarrel about it. Fill up again, captain, I see your pipe is out."

"Thank you, I believe I will. Mr. Williams, you don't seem to feel as well as usual, you look a little gloomy."

"My thoughts just then were running upon my great disappointment, in being so unfortunately prevented from proceeding to the Indies."

"The fortune of war, Mr. Williams," said Capt. Horton, as he lit his pipe from the American commander's. "It's bad, I know, and I've lost as nice a little brig as ever sailed out of London, and don't know as I shall ever get another, even if I ever get home to old England again. Speaking of that, Captain Greene, do you hold us prisoners of war, or how?"

"Not at all, sir," replied the captain. "If I'd overhauled your brig before that pirate fell a-foul of you, why, then, it would have been a different thing; but, shiver my timbers, if I ever make war against a ship's crew in distress. No, no--I picked you up at sea, and I don't consider you at all in the light of enemies. I will set you adrift again the first chance I have."

"Not on a raft, I hope, Captain Greene, ha! ha! ha!"

"No, but I shall lay the Raker alongside of the first craft I see that sports a British flag; and after I have taken it, why I'll put you and your crew aboard, and you may make the best of your way back to England."

"Suppose you should run a-foul of one of our frigates."

"Never fear that--the little Raker will take care of herself. She can outsail any thing that floats, now that we have sunk that bloody pirate. I do think that he could sail away from her. I always run up to a vessel or run off from her, just as my spy-glass tells me I'd better do. You may depend on seeing old England again before a great while, Captain Horton, or I'm much mistaken."

"I shant be sorry to come within hail of her white cliffs again, though I did not expect, two weeks ago, that I should see them for many a long month."

Julia and Florette were seated in the little cabin below; the French girl was weeping bitterly. She had done little else since she had been removed to the privateer. Julia had in vain endeavored to console her; and rightly judging that it would be better to allow her grief to have full vent, she had for several days done little but to see to all her wants, and whisper an occasional word of cheerfulness and encouragement. She determined, however, on this morning to make another attempt to console the unfortunate girl.

"My dear Florette," said she, "why do you so continually mourn; all that has happened cannot now be remedied."

"I know it, lady."

"Then do not weep, Florette, you shall once more see your native France; and you will be happy again."

"O, never, never! I have lost all that could make me happy!"

"You have been unfortunate, Florette, but you have not been guilty."

"Alas! I have been guilty; it is that which grieves me now more than aught else. No, I should have died rather than have suffered myself to become the pirate's mistress."

"Yet you were compelled, Florette."

"Ah! lady, _you_ would not have been compelled; you would have sooner died--would you not?"

The flashing eye of Julia, and the warm flush that covered her cheek and neck, answered the poor girl. She would not trust herself to answer in words.

"I see you would, dear lady--and so should I have done. No, I am guilty. I could have saved my honor in the arms of death; the pirate's dirk lay on the table in my cabin--that would have saved me; the deep, deep sea was all around me--there, too, I might have found an honorable safety."

"My dear Florette, do not think of these things now. You are sorry for the past, whether you have done a great wrong, or a small, it is certainly not one which the good God cannot forgive."

"But the world will not; and, lady, I loved the pirate-captain; harsh as he was to all else, to me he was kind--and now he is dead. O! William, William!"

"Do not weep for him, Florette."

"I will try not to any more; but, lady, I shall never be happy again. I shall never again see the hills of sunny France. I feel that I shall not--but I will weep no more. I never close my eyes but the form of William appears to me. Last night I saw him. Oh! 'twas a fearful dream; he seemed to me to rise from the ocean, close beside this brig, and standing on the blue water, he spoke to me, as I gazed from this cabin-window.

"'Come, Florette,' said he, 'come with me to our home in the deep; beautiful are its coral chambers, and its floors are strewn with pearls. Soft is the radiance that lights its gorgeous halls, where the riches of a thousand wrecks are stored; the dolphins sport like living rainbows in the watery sky above it, and the huge leviathans guard its golden portals. Come, Florette, I wait for you, in our home in the deep.'"

Julia wept as she heard the plaintive tones of the poor girl.

"Florette, it was but a vision, do not think of it."

"Well, lady; yet I shall soon join my William--so my heart tells me. You will think of me when I am gone?"

"Often, very often, Florette; but you will soon be better."

Florette shook her head mournfully, and Julia, who saw she would not be comforted, left her to herself, and ascended to the deck. Lieutenant Morris was in a moment at her side, and in his conversation she soon forgot the unfortunate girl, who as soon as Julia had gone, threw herself upon a couch, and gave way to her cheerless thoughts; her eyes were closed, but ever and anon a large tear burst through the closed lids and rolled down the wasted cheeks, which already the hectic flush, so fatally significant, had dyed with its lovely hue.

While the trio of old gentlemen kept up their smoking and conversation on one side of the companion-way, Lieutenant Morris and Julia took possession of the other. The young officer had not dared as yet to speak of his love to her, but he had not failed to evince it by every thing but words; and he felt assured that it was known to her, and not treated with indifference.

"Julia," said he, as they gazed out upon the beautiful waters flashing in the clear beams of the morning sun, "do you know that we must soon part?"

"I do not see how we can, Lieutenant Morris, unless you are going to take a cruise in the jolly boat."

"We shall soon, doubtless, fall in with some merchant vessel from your native country, as we are directly in their course, and then you and your father, with all the crew of the Betsy Allen, will be allowed to go on board of it, and return to England."

"Dear England, shall I so soon see it again."

"And will you have no regret at leaving the Raker?"

"Why, is it not an enemy's vessel?"

"Not your enemy's."

"No, it is not; you have all been kind to us, and we shall feel as if we were parting with friends."

"Dear Julia," said the young officer, taking her hand in his, "you will not forget us? You will not forget _me_?" and he ventured to press the little hand he held in his own. It was not withdrawn. Encouraged in his advances, the young lieutenant was emboldened to proceed, and bending his head until he could gaze into the blushing countenance which was half averted from him, he made his first declaration of love, and his heart beat painfully as he awaited her answer.

"Julia, I love you."

He heard no answer from her lips, but he felt a pressure from the hand he still held in his own, and was happy.

"Will you be mine, Julia?"

Julia had no affectation in her character, and she frankly avowed that she loved the young lieutenant, but could not give him an answer until she had seen her father.

"I will be yours or no ones," said she; and releasing her hand, she glided below into the cabin.

Lieutenant Morris paced the deck in very pleasant companionship with his thoughts. He did not believe that Julia's father would strenuously oppose their marriage, if he saw that his daughter's happiness was concerned, though he might very naturally prefer that she should marry one of her own countrymen.

He was disturbed in his meditations by the cry of "sail ho!" from the foretop-crosstrees. He ordered the man at the helm to bear away for the strange craft. As the two vessels rapidly approached each other, she was soon hull above the water, and Morris perceived through his glass, that the stars and stripes floated at her mast-head. A thrill of pleasure, like that which one feels at meeting an old friend in a distant land, shot through his veins. Signal-flags were shown and answered from each vessel, and the approaching sail proved to be the Hornet, of the American navy. Each of the two vessels were laid in stays as they drew near each other, and a boat from the privateer was soon alongside the Hornet, and after a while returned with several of the officers of the latter, who were desirous to pay their respects to the lady on board the privateer. They were all highly accomplished gentlemen, as well as gallant officers; and in after years, when Julia heard of the fate of the Hornet and her noble crew, she wept none the less bitterly that words of courtesy had passed between her and the officers of the devoted vessel, on the broad ocean, where such kindly greetings seldom were met or returned.

From the Hornet Lieutenant Morris heard that a convoy of merchantmen were not far to windward of him, protected by an English frigate.

"If you keep a bright eye open," said a gay young midshipman, as he stepped into the boat which was to reconvey him to his vessel, "you may cut out one or two of them, for they sail wide apart, and the frigate keeps heaving ahead, and laying-to for the lubberly sailers."

And with a touch of his hat, and a wave of his hand to the fair Julia, on whom his eye lingered as if she had reminded him of another as bright and fair as she, whom he had left behind him, the gallant boy sprung into the boat, and was soon upon his own deck, which he left only for the deep bosom of the ocean, when, not long afterward, the Hornet went down with all sail standing, and the stars and stripes at her mast-head, in the midst of a terrible storm, against which she could not stand. There were eyes that long looked anxiously for the return of the loved and lost--hearts that sighed, and spirits that sunk with the sickness of hope deferred; but there was no return for those who slept

"Full many a fathom deep, In the deep bosom of the ocean buried!"