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
“If it come to blow in squalls, Commodore,” observed the intruder, with
a gravity that half deceived the attentive Frenchman, while he pointed
to the bag in which the latter wore his hair, “you’ll be troubled to
carry your broad pennant. But so experienced an officer has not put to
sea without having a storm-cue in readiness for foul weather.”
The valet did not, or affected not to understand the allusion,
maintaining an air of dignified but silent superiority.
“The gentleman is in a foreign service, and does not understand an
English mariner! The worst that can come, after all, of too much
top-hamper, is to cut away, and let it drift with the scud. May I make
bold to ask, judge, if the courts have done anything, of late,
concerning the freebooters among the islands?”
“I have not the honor to bear Her Majesty’s commission,” coldly
returned Van Staats of Kinderhook, to whom this question had been
hardily put.
“The best navigator is sometimes puzzled by a hazy observation, and
many an old seaman has taken a fog-bank for solid ground. Since you are
not in the courts, sir, I wish you joy; for it is running among shoals
to be cruising there, whether as judge or suitor. One is never fairly
snug and landlocked, while in company of a lawyer, and yet the devil
himself cannot always give the sharks a good offing. A pretty sheet of
water, friends, and one as snug as rotten cables and foul winds can
render desirable, is this bay of York!”
“You are a mariner of the long voyage,” returned the Patroon, unwilling
that Alida should not believe him equal to bandying wits with the
stranger.
“Long, or short; Calcutta, or Cape Cod; dead reckoning, eye-sight, or
star-gazing, all’s one to your real dolphin. The shape of the coast
between Fundy and Horn, is as familiar to my eye, as an admirer to this
pretty young lady; and as to the other shore, I have run it down
oftener than the Commodore, here, has ever set his pennant, blow high
or blow low. A cruise like this is a Sunday in my navigation; though I
dare say, you took leave of the wife, blessed the children, overhauled
the will, and sent to ask a good word from the priest, before you came
aboard?”
“Had these ceremonies been observed, the danger would not have been
increased,” said the young Patroon, anxious to steal a glance at la
belle Barbérie, though his timidity caused him, in truth, to look the
other way. “One is never nearer danger, for being prepared to meet it.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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