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

deeper inlet than common, where a run of fresh water was heard gurgling as it met the tide, he pointed out to his cockswain, by significant but silent gestures, as a place to be especially noted. Tom, who understood the signal as intended for his own eye alone, made his observations on the spot with equal taciturnity, but with all the minuteness that would distinguish one long accustomed to find his way, whether by land or water, by landmarks and the bearings of different objects. Soon after this silent communication between the lieutenant and his cockswain, the boat was suddenly turned, and was in the act of dashing upon the spit of sand before it, when Barnstable checked the movement by his voice:

“Hold water!” he said; “'tis the sound of oars!”

The seamen held their boat at rest, while a deep attention was given to the noise that had alarmed the ears of their commander.

“See, sir,” said the cockswain, pointing towards the eastern horizon; “it is just rising into the streak of light to seaward of us—now it settles in the trough—ah! here you have it again!”

“By heavens!” cried Barnstable, “'tis a man-of-war's stroke it pulls; I saw the oar-blades as they fell! and, listen to the sound! neither your fisherman nor your smuggler pulls such a regular oar.”

Tom had bowed his head nearly to the water, in the act of listening, and now raising himself, he spoke with confidence:

“That is the Tiger; I know the stroke of her crew as well as I do of my own. Mr. Merry has made them learn the new-fashioned jerk, as they dip their blades, and they feather with such a roll in their rullocks! I could swear to the stroke.”

“Hand me the night-glass,” said his commander, impatiently. “I can catch them, as they are lifted into the streak. You are right, by every star in our flag, Tom!—but there is only one man in her stern-sheets. By my good eyes, I believe it is that accursed Pilot, sneaking from the land, and leaving Griffith and Manual to die in English prisons. To shore with you—beach her at once!”

The order was no sooner given than it was obeyed, and in less than two minutes the impatient Barnstable, Dillon, and the cockswain, were standing together on the sands.

The impression he had received, that his friends were abandoned to their fate by the Pilot, urged the generous young seaman to hasten the departure of his prisoner, as he was fearful every moment might interpose some new obstacle to the success of his plans.

“Mr. Dillon,” he said, the instant they were landed, “I exact no new promise—your honor is already plighted——”

“If oaths can make it stronger,” interrupted Dillon, “I will take them.”

“Oaths cannot—the honor of a gentleman is, at all times, enough. I shall send my cockswain with you to the abbey, and you will either return with him, in person, within two hours, or give Mr. Griffith and Captain Manual to his guidance. Proceed, sir, you are conditionally free; there is an easy opening by which to ascend the cliffs.”

Dillon once more thanked his generous captor, and then proceeded to force his way up the rough eminence.

“Follow, and obey his instructions,” said Barnstable to his cockswain, aloud.

Tom, long accustomed to implicit obedience, handled his harpoon, and was quietly following in the footsteps of his new leader, when he felt the hand of the lieutenant on his shoulder.

“You saw where the brook emptied over the hillock of sand?” said Barnstable, in an undertone.

Tom nodded assent.

“You will find us there riding without the surf—'Twill not do to trust too much to an enemy.”

The cockswain made a gesture of great significance with his weapon, that was intended to indicate the danger their prisoner would incur should he prove false; when, applying the wooden end of the harpoon to the rocks, he ascended the ravine at a rate that soon brought him to the side of his companion.