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
“These sentiments do you honor; and I could wish, for your own sake, as
well as that of others, there was less of contrariety in your
character. One cannot but grieve——”
“You had a proposition, for the brigantine?”
“I would have said, that were the vessel yielded without further
pursuit, means might be found to soften the blow to those who will
otherwise be most wounded by her capture.”
The face of the dealer in contraband had lost some of its usual
brightness and animation; the color of the cheek was not as rich, and
the eye was less at ease, than in his former interviews with Ludlow.
But a smile of security crossed his fine features, when the other spoke
of the fate of the brigantine.
“The keel of the ship that is to capture the Water-Witch is not yet
laid,” he said, firmly; “nor is the canvas that is to drive her through
the water, wove! Our mistress is not so heedless as to sleep, when
there is most occasion for her services.”
“This mummery of a supernatural aid may be of use in holding the minds
of the ignorant beings who follow your fortunes, in subjection, but it
is lost when addressed to me. I have ascertained the position of the
brigantine—nay, I have been under her very bowsprit, and so near her
cut-water, as to have examined her moorings. Measures are now taking to
improve my knowledge, and to secure the prize.”
The free-trader heard him without exhibiting alarm, though he listened
with an attention that rendered his breathing audible.
“You found my people vigilant?” he rather carelessly observed, than
asked.
“So much so, that I have said the skiff was pulled beneath her
martingale, without a hail! Had there been means, it would not have
required many moments to cut the hawser by which she rides, and to have
laid your beauteous vessel ashore!”
The gleam of Seadrift’s eye was like the glance of an eagle. It seemed
to inquire, and to resent, in the same instant. Ludlow shrunk from the
piercing look, and reddened to the brow,—whether with his
recollections, or not, it is unnecessary to explain.
“The worthy device was thought of!—nay, it was attempted!” exclaimed
the other, gathering confirmation in the consciousness of his
companion.—“You did not—you could not succeed!”
“Our success will be proved in the result.”
“The lady of the brigantine forgot not her charge! You saw her bright
eye—her dark and meaning face! Light shone on that mysterious
countenance—my words are true, Ludlow, thy tongue is silent, but that
honest countenance confesses all!”
The gay dealer in contraband turned away, and laughed in his merriest
manner.
“I knew it would be so,” he continued, “what is the absence of one
humble actor from her train. Trust me, you will find her coy as ever,
and ill-disposed to hold converse with a cruiser who speaks so rudely
through his cannon. Ha!—here are auditors!”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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