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
For the earlier hours of the evening, the flashing of candles, and a
general and noisy movement among the blacks, had denoted the presence
of the master of the villa. But the activity had gradually subsided:
and before the clock struck nine, the manner in which the lights were
distributed, and the general silence, showed that the party, most
probably fatigued with their journey, had already separated for the
night. The clamor of the negroes had ceased, and the quiet of deep
sleep was already prevailing among their humble dwellings.
At the northern extremity of the villa, which, it will be remembered,
leaned against the mountain, and facing the east, or fronting the river
and the sea, there stood a little wing, even more deeply embowered in
shrubbery and low trees, than the other parts of the edifice, and which
was constructed altogether in a different style. This was a pavilion
erected for the particular accommodation, and at the cost, of la belle
Barbérie. Here the heiress of the two fortunes was accustomed to keep
her own little ménage, during the weeks passed in the country; and here
she amused herself, in those pretty and feminine employments that
suited her years and tastes. In compliment to the beauty and origin of
its inhabitant, the gallant François had christened this particular
portion of the villa, la Cour des Fées a name that had gotten into
general use, though somewhat corrupted in sound.
On the present occasion, the blinds of the principal apartment of the
pavilion were open, and its mistress was still to be seen at one of the
windows. Alida was at an age when the sex is most sensible of lively
impressions, and she looked abroad on the loveliness of the landscape,
and on the soft stillness of the night, with the pleasure that such a
mind is wont to receive from objects of natural beauty.
There was a young moon, and a firmament glowing with a myriad of stars.
The light was shed softly on the water, though, here and there, the
ocean glittered with its rays. A nearly imperceptible, but what seamen
call a heavy air came off the sea, bringing with it the refreshing
coolness of the hour. The surface of the immense waste was perfectly
unruffled, both within and without the barrier of sand that forms the
cape; but the body of the element was heaving and setting heavily, in a
manner to resemble the sleeping respiration of some being of huge
physical frame. The roar of the surf, which rolled up in long and white
curls upon the sands, was the only audible sound; but that was heavy
and incessant, sometimes swelling on the air, hollow and threatening,
and at others dying, in dull and distant murmurs, on the ear. There was
a charm in these varieties of sound, and in the solemn stillness of
such a night, that drew Alida into her little balcony; and she leaned
forward, beyond its shadow of sweet-brier, to gaze at a part of the bay
that was not visible, in the front view, from her windows.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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