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
“There is something manly and becoming in seeing a ship strip herself,
as she comes into action, sir! It is like a boxer taking off his
jacket, with the intention of making a fair stand-up fight of it.—That
fellow is filling away again, and means to manœuvre before he comes up
fairly to his work.”
The eye of Ludlow had never quitted the stranger. He saw that the
moment for serious action was not distant; and, bidding Trysail keep
the vessel on her course, he descended to the quarter-deck. For a
single instant, the young commander paused with big hand on the door of
the cabin, and then, overcoming his reluctance, he entered the
apartment.
The Coquette was built after a fashion much in vogue a century since,
and which, by a fickleness that influences marine architecture as well
as less important things, is again coming into use, for vessels of her
force. The accommodations of the commander were on the same deck with
the batteries of the ship, and they were frequently made to contain two
or even four guns of the armament. When Ludlow entered his cabin,
therefore, he found a crew stationed around the gun which was placed on
the side next the enemy, and all the customary arrangements made which
precede a combat. The state-rooms abaft, however, as well as the little
apartment which lay between them, were closed. Glancing his eye about
him, and observing the carpenters in readiness, he made a signal for
them to knock away the bulk-heads, and lay the whole of the fighting
part of the ship in common. While this duty was going on, he entered
the after-cabin.
Alderman Van Beverout and his companions were found together and
evidently in expectation of the visit they now received. Passing coolly
by the former, Ludlow approached his niece, and, taking her hand, he
led her to the quarter-deck, making a sign for her female attendant to
follow. Descending into the depths of the ship, the captain conducted
his charge into a part of the berth-deck, that was below the water
line, and as much removed from danger as she could well be, without
encountering a foul air, or sights that might be painful to one of her
sex and habits.
“Here is as much safety as a vessel of war affords in a moment like
this,” he said, when his companion was silently seated on a mess-chest.
“On no account quit the spot, till I—or some other, advise you it may
be done without hazard.”
Alida had submitted to be led thither, without a question. Though her
color went and came, she saw the little dispositions that were made for
her comfort, and without which, even at that moment, the young sailor
could not quit her, in the same silence. But when they were ended, and
her conductor was about to retire, his name escaped her lips, by an
exclamation that seemed hurried and involuntary.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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