The Pilot: A Tale of the SeaCooper, James Fenimore
History
The Pilot: A Tale of the Sea
Cooper, James Fenimore
Historical fiction; Sea stories; United States -- History -- Revolution, 1775-1783 -- Naval operations -- Fiction; War stories
To this alarming intimation, the youth who was addressed made no reply;
but as he averted his face, and concealed it with both his hands, the
offended seaman, believing that a salutary impression had been made upon
the fears of his auditor, was about to proceed with his interrogatories.
The singular agitation of the stranger's frame, however, caused the
lieutenant to continue silent a few moments longer, when, to his
utter amazement, he discovered that what he had mistaken for alarm was
produced by an endeavor, on the part of the youth, to suppress a violent
fit of laughter.
“Now, by all the whales in the sea,” cried Barnstable, “but you are
merry out of season, young gentleman. It's quite bad enough to be
ordered to anchor in such a bay as this with a storm brewing before
my eyes, without landing to be laughed at by a stripling who has not
strength to carry a beard if he had one, when I ought to be getting an
offing for the safety of both body and soul. But I'll know more of you
and your jokes, if I take you into my own mess, and am giggled out of my
sleep for the rest of the cruise.”
As the commander of the schooner concluded, he approached the stranger,
with an air of offering some violence, but the other shrank back from
his extended arm, and exclaimed, with a voice in which real terror had
gotten the better of mirth:
“Barnstable! dear Barnstable! would you harm me?”
The sailor recoiled several feet, at this unexpected appeal, and rubbing
his eyes, he threw the cap from his head, before he cried:
“What do I hear! and what do I see! There lies the Ariel--and yonder is
the frigate. Can this be Katherine Plowden!”
His doubts, if any doubts remained, were soon removed, for the stranger
sank on the bank at her side, in an attitude in which female bashfulness
was beautifully contrasted with her attire, and gave vent to her mirth
in an uncontrollable burst of merriment.
From that moment, all thoughts of his duty, and the pilot, or even of
the Ariel, appeared to be banished from the mind of the seaman, who
sprang to her side, and joined in her mirth, though he hardly knew why
or wherefore.
When the diverted girl had in some degree recovered her composure, she
turned to her companion, who had sat good-naturedly by her side, content
to be laughed at, and said:
“But this is not only silly, but cruel to others. I owe you an
explanation of my unexpected appearance, and perhaps, also, of my
extraordinary attire.”
“I can anticipate everything,” cried Barnstable; “you heard that we
were on the coast, and have flown to redeem the promises you made me in
America. But I ask no more; the chaplain of the frigate--”
“May preach as usual, and to as little purpose,” interrupted the
disguised female; “but no nuptial benediction shall be pronounced over
me, until I have effected the object of this hazardous experiment. You
are not usually selfish, Barnstable; would you have me forgetful of the
happiness of others?”
“Of whom do you speak?”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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