The Water-Witch; Or, the Skimmer of the Seas: A TaleCooper, James Fenimore
General
The Water-Witch; Or, the Skimmer of the Seas: A Tale
Cooper, James Fenimore
Sea stories
The outer portion of the cabin was furnished in a similar style, though
it contained many more of the articles that ordinarily belong to
domestic economy. It had its agrippina, its piles of cushions, its
chairs of beautiful wood, its cases for books, and its neglected
instruments, intermixed with fixtures of a more solid and permanent
appearance, which were arranged to meet the violent motion that was
often unavoidable in so small a bark. There was a slight hanging of
crimson damask around the whole apartment; and, here and there, a small
mirror was let into the bulk-heads and ceilings. All the other parts
were of a rich mahogany, relieved by panels of rose-wood, that gave an
appearance of exquisite finish to the cabin. The floor was covered with
a mat of the finest texture, and of a fragrance that announced both its
freshness, and the fact that the grass had been the growth of a warm
and luxuriant climate. The place, as was indeed the whole vessel, so
far as the keen eye of Ludlow could detect, was entirely destitute of
arms, not even a pistol, or a sword, being suspended in those places
where weapons of that description are usually seen, in all vessels
employed either in war or in a trade that might oblige those who sail
them to deal in violence.
In the centre of the alcove stood the youthful-looking and
extraordinary person who, in so unceremonious a manner, had visited la
Cour des Fées the preceding night. His dress was much the same, in
fashion and material, as when last seen; still, it had been changed;
for on the breast of the silken frock was painted an image of the
sea-green lady, done with exquisite skill, and in a manner to preserve
the whole of the wild and unearthly character of the expression. The
wearer of this singular ornament leaned lightly against the little
table, and as he bowed with entire self-possession to his guests, his
face was lighted with a smile, that seemed to betray melancholy, no
less than courtesy. At the same time he raised his cap, and stood in
the rich jet-black locks with which Nature had so exuberantly shaded
his forehead.
The manner of the visitors was less easy. The deep anxiety with which
both Ludlow and the Patroon had undertaken to board the notorious
smuggler had given place to an amazement and a curiosity that caused
them nearly to forget their errand; while Alderman Van Beverout
appeared shy and suspicious, manifestly thinking less of his niece,
than of the consequences of so remarkable an interview. They all
returned the salutation of their host, though each waited for him to
speak.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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