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
Kidd, were then still recent, and although magnified and colored by
vulgar exaggerations, as all such tales are known to be, enough was
believed, by the better instructed, to make his life and death the
subject of many curious and mysterious rumors. At this moment, she
would have gladly recalled the young commander of the Coquette, to
apprize him of the enemy that was nigh; and then, ashamed of terrors
that she was fain to hope savored more of woman’s weakness than of
truth, she endeavored to believe the whole some ordinary movement of a
coaster, who, familiar with his situation, could not possibly be either
in want of aid, or an object of alarm. Just as this natural and
consoling conclusion crossed her mind, she very audibly heard a step in
her pavilion. It seemed near the door of the room she occupied.
Breathless, more with the excitement of her imagination, than with any
actual fear created by this new cause of alarm, the maiden quitted the
balcony, and stood motionless to listen. The door, in truth, was
opened, with singular caution, and, for an instant, Alida saw nothing
but a confused area in the centre of which appeared the figure of a
menacing and rapacious freebooter.
“Northern lights and moonshine!” growled Alderman Van Beverout, for it
was no other than the uncle of the heiress, whose untimely and
unexpected visit had caused her so much alarm. “This sky-watching, and
turning of night into day, will be the destruction of thy beauty,
niece; and then we shall see how plenty Patroons are for husbands! A
bright eye and a blooming cheek are thy stock in trade, girl; and she
is a spendthrift of both, who is out of her bed when the clock hath
struck ten.”
“Your discipline would deprive many a beauty of the means of using her
power,” returned la demoiselle, smiling, as much at the folly of her
recent fears, as with affection for her reprover. “They tell me, that
ten is the witching time of night, for the necromancy of the dames of
Europe.”
“Witch me no witches! The name reminds one of the cunning Yankees, a
race that would outwit Lucifer himself, if left to set the conditions
to their bargain. Here is the Patroon, wishing to let in a family of
the knaves among the honest Dutchmen of his manor; and we have just
settled a dispute between us, on this subject, by making the lawful
trial.”
“Which, it may be proper to hope, dearest uncle, was not the trial by
battle?”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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