The Pilot: A Tale of the Sea by James Fenimore Cooper (best ereader under 100 TXT) 📕

soldiers that were ever rigged: one whale could kill a thousand of them! and here stands the man that has killed his round hundred of whales!”

“Pshaw, you grampus, do you turn braggart in your old age?”

“It's no bragging, sir, to speak a log-book truth! but if Captain Barnstable thinks that old Tom Coffin carries a speaking-trumpet for a figure-head, let him pass the word forrard to man the boats.”

“No, no, my old master at the marlinspike,” said Barnstable, kindly, “I know thee too well, thou brother of Neptune! but shall we not throw the bread-room dust in those Englishmen's eyes, by wearing their bunting a while, till something may offer to help our captured countrymen.”

The cockswain shook his head and cogitated a moment, as if struck with sundry new ideas, when he answered:

“Ay, ay, sir; that's blue-water philosophy: as deep as the sea! Let the riptyles clew up the corners of their mouths to their eyebrows, now! when they come to hear the ra'al Yankee truth of the matter, they will sheet them down to their leather neckcloths!”

With this reflection the cockswain was much consoled, and the business of repairing damages and securing the prize proceeded without further interruption on his part. The few prisoners who were unhurt were rapidly transferred to the Ariel. While Barnstable was attending to this duty, an unusual bustle drew his eyes to one of the hatchways, where he beheld a couple of his marines dragging forward a gentleman, whose demeanor and appearance indicated the most abject terror. After examining the extraordinary appearance of this individual, for a moment, in silent amazement, the lieutenant exclaimed:

“Who have we here? some amateur in fights! an inquisitive, wonder-seeking non-combatant, who has volunteered to serve his king, and perhaps draw a picture, or write a book, to serve himself! Pray, sir, in what capacity did you serve in this vessel?”

The captive ventured a sidelong glance at his interrogator, in whom he expected to encounter Griffith, but perceiving that it was a face he did not know, he felt a revival of confidence that enabled him to reply:

“I came here by accident; being on board the cutter at the time her late commander determined to engage you. It was not in his power to land me, as I trust you will not hesitate to do; your conjecture of my being a non-combatant—”

“Is perfectly true,” interrupted Barnstable; “it requires no spyglass to read that name written on you from stem to stern: but for certain weighty reasons—”

He paused to turn at a signal given him by young Merry, who whispered eagerly, in his ear:

“'Tis Mr. Dillon, kinsman of Colonel Howard; I've seen him often, sailing in the wake of my cousin Cicely.”

“Dillon!” exclaimed Barnstable, rubbing his hands with pleasure; “what, Kit of that name! he with 'the Savannah face, eyes of black, and skin of the same color?' he's grown a little whiter with fear; but he's a prize, at this moment, worth twenty Alacrities!”

These exclamations were made in a low voice, and at some little distance from the prisoner, whom he now approached and addressed:

“Policy, and consequently duty, require that I should detain you for a short time, sir; but you shall have a sailor's welcome to whatever we possess, to lessen the weight of captivity.”

Barnstable precluded any reply, by bowing to his captive, and turning away to superintend the management of his vessels. In a short time it was announced that they were ready to make sail, when the Ariel and her prize were brought close to the wind, and commenced beating slowly along the land, as if intending to return to the bay whence the latter had sailed that morning. As they stretched in to the shore on the first tack, the soldiers on the cliffs rent the air with their shouts and acclamations, to which Barnstable, pointing to the assumed symbols that were fluttering in the breeze from his masts, directed his crew to respond in the most cordial manner. As the distance, and the want of boats, prevented any further communication, the soldiers, after gazing at the receding vessels for a time, disappeared from the cliffs, and were soon lost from the sight of the adventurous mariners. Hour after hour was consumed in the tedious navigation, against an adverse tide, and the short day was drawing to a close, before they approached the mouth of their destined haven. While making one of their numerous stretches to and from the land, the cutter, in which Barnstable continued, passed the victim of their morning's sport, riding on the water, the waves curling over his huge carcass as on some rounded rock, and already surrounded by the sharks, who were preying on his defenceless body.

“See! Master Coffin,” cried the lieutenant, pointing out the object to his cockswain as they glided by it, “the shovel-nosed gentlemen are regaling daintily: you have neglected the Christian's duty of burying your dead.”

The old seaman cast a melancholy look at the dead whale and replied:

“If I had the creatur in Boston Bay, or on the Sandy Point of Munny-Moy, 'twould be the making of me! But riches and honor are for the great and the larned, and there's nothing left for poor Tom Coffin to do but to veer and haul on his own rolling-tackle, that he may ride out on the rest of the gale of life without springing any of his old spars.”

“How now, long Tom!” cried his officer, “these rocks and cliffs will shipwreck you on the shoals of poetry yet; you grow sentimental!”

“Them rocks might wrack any vessel that struck them,” said the literal cockswain; “and as for poetry, I wants none better than the good old song of Captain Kidd; but it's enough to raise solemn thoughts in a Cape Poge Indian, to see an eighty-barrel whale devoured by shirks—'tis an awful waste of property! I've seen the death of two hundred of the creaturs, though it seems to keep the rations of poor old Tom as short as ever.”

The cockswain walked aft, while the vessel was passing the whale, and seating himself on the taffrail, with his face resting gloomily on his bony hand, he fastened his eyes on the object of his solicitude, and continued to gaze at it with melancholy regret, while it was to be seen glistening in the sunbeams, as it rolled its glittering side of white into the air, or the rays fell unreflected on the black and rougher coat of the back of the monster. In the mean time, the navigators diligently pursued their way for the haven we have mentioned, into which they steered with every appearance of the fearlessness of friends, and the exultation of conquerors.

A few eager and gratified spectators lined the edges of the small bay, and Barnstable concluded his arrangement for deceiving the enemy, by admonishing his crew that they were now about to enter on a service that would require their utmost intrepidity and sagacity.