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The Fatal Cord, and The Falcon Rover

Story 2-Chapter VI.
At the Old Manor House

A prisoner, didst thou say? O, gracious heaven!

Have mercy on my parents and my friends,

And for uncertainty let them not too long suffer!

Oh speedily set me free!

– Anon.

Cyrus. Who art thou, fair and gentle princess?

Myranda. Knight,

I am, alas! unfortunate; but yet

I wish thee well, and fain would do thee service.

Romance of Sir Cyrus.

I will not do it, lady; speak no more.

The Tempted.

About half an hour after the dinner was concluded, the three young friends were taken ashore in the jolly-boat. Leaving the beach, they pursued a path through a dense forest for about half a mile, when they came into a small opening in the woods, in the centre of which stood the old brick building known as Eltonhead Manor House, surrounded by its out-houses, all of brick. The opening in which this old-time mansion stood had evidently been in former days much more extensive, for among the small pine-trees covering the ground in the part of the forest nearest to the old house, the earth still distinctly bore the impress of corn-rows the marks of former cultivation of that species of grain first obtained from the red man.

Desolation marked the spot. The yard and garden walls were broken down in many places; the gate at the end of the short avenue had fallen and now lay in ruins. The shade trees in the yard and avenue needed pruning; scions from their roots had sprang up in all directions. Even at this early season weeds spread over the yard and garden, and closed the gateways; yet the building itself was in comparatively good preservation.

It was not by any means such a mansion as in Great Britain would be suggested to the mind by the title of manor house. It was built of bricks imported from England, and the walls were of such thickness that, though time had, in passing over them, stamped his impress upon them in weather-stains and moss and lichen, they stood, apparently, as firm as when first erected. The house, was two stories high; on the floor of the first storey, a wide hall passing through the centre of the buildings with two very large rooms on each side of it. The second storey, and the attic to some extent, corresponded to the first; a broad staircase led upwards from the hall on the ground floor. Some pieces of old and almost worn-out furniture remained in the building, one or two heavy old tables, and a dozen or so huge and very old-fashioned oaken chairs. In one of the rooms downstairs were two or three rude settees or benches, left by some tenant who had used the premises since they had been deserted by their proper occupants.

During the afternoon Captain Dempster and his guests rambled through the woods and along the bay shore. When they had concluded their ramble and returned to the old manor house, the shades of twilight were gathering. They found that three hammocks, intended for their night’s rest, had been swung in one of the large rooms of the second storey, and in another room on the same floor, a plentiful and well-lighted board was spread for supper. On a chair beside the supper table was an open hamper of champagne, beside which was a pack of playing cards. The intention of Captain Dempster was declared by himself to be to pass the evening at whist, admitting Mr Brown, alias Billy Bowsprit, to complete the necessary party of four; the game to be enlivened by an occasional glass of wine. No game of whist was played that evening, however. John Coe, after he had finished his supper and taken one or two glasses of champagne, was obliged to plead overwhelming drowsiness, which he attributed to the interesting character and unusual excitement of the day.

Although early in going to bed, yet it was late in the morning when the young man awoke. On looking around him he found that the other hammocks in the room were vacant.

Springing out of bed he hurried to the door; it was locked. The windows were all down. On throwing open the sash of one of them and looking out, he saw a man with a musket on his shoulder, who was promenading to and fro in the yard below, and keeping an eye on the windows of his room. It seemed, then, that he was guarded as if a prisoner. He called out to the man who was apparently keeping watch in the court below.

“What do you want?” asked the guard.

“Where are Captain Dempster and Captain Marston?” exclaimed John.

“I don’t know of whom you are talking,” answered the guard. “I only know that Captain Vance and Lieutenant Seacome took supper with you last night, after which you got drunk, and had to be put to bed; and that Captain Vance – my captain – said that you were on no account to leave the house. That is all I know about the matter, sir.”

“I was not drunk,” said young Coe. “I took but two glasses of wine after supper. There must be some mistake somewhere. The gentlemen with whom I supped last night are two of my oldest friends. I never dreamed that they were capable, nor can I yet believe that they are, of treachery towards me.”

“I don’t understand what you are talking about,” said the man with the musket. “I only know that our orders are not only to keep you within this house, but not to let any one come near enough to the house to hear a human voice from it, even when raised to its highest pitch. We are also ordered, if you make a very loud call, to shoot you at once. We have nearly thirty men here; guards are placed all round the building, and scouts are spread through the country for a mile round. My own impression is, Mr Coe (that is your name I believe) – but it is, after all, only my opinion, mind you – that you are a very close prisoner. Moreover, I believe that I am authorised in saying to you that you are a prisoner to men from whom no one ever escaped alive. So, close your window, and make the best of your situation.”

John left the window, and walked to the door, which he found locked.

On turning his face from the door he noticed, for the first time, in his astonishment at his situation, that a table was already neatly spread, near the middle of the room, with a clean, white damask table cloth, upon which a handsome breakfast-set of china-ware was arranged, with chairs, plates, knives and forks, cups and saucers, for two; but no viands were yet set out upon the board.

The sight of the table so spread, creating in him a fear of being surprised by the entrance of a visitant before his toilet was completed, caused him to hurry on his dress. He found a pair of pistols in his pockets; they seemed to be his own, but on examining them closely, he found not the private mark which he had placed on each of them, soon after they were purchased, to distinguish them from Henry Marston’s. It was evident that the re-exchange of pistols, by which his own should have been returned to him, had either been overlooked, or intentionally avoided by his captors the night before.

Scarcely had his hasty toilet been completed, for which he had found in the room water, towels and soap, looking-glass, combs, brushes, shaving instruments, and even scented oils and waters – when the door opened, and two of the seamen came in, bringing the covers for breakfast. They placed upon the table the dishes which they carried, and then immediately retired, taking with them the three hammocks, and removing all vestiges of the room having been slept in.

Shortly after they retired, two or three light taps were given at the door, and a soft and musical female voice was heard asking permission to enter.

“Enter if you can,” he said.

The door was opened again, and what seemed to be a vision of loveliness entered. This vision was a lady, rather above than under the ordinary height, with a form as graceful as imagination can conceive. Her face was oval in shape, her complexion was very pure olive, beautifully tinged with rose. Her features were neither perfectly Grecian nor perfectly Roman, but of a style where the two were equally and beautifully blended. Her eyes were of jet-black, and of wonderful brightness, and her hair, of raven hue, was confined by a circlet of large pearls, with a single brilliant just above the forehead, and fell, in heavy and tastefully-arranged masses of curls, all round her head, to below her shoulders. Her dress was of rich black silk, elegantly fitted to her shape, and ornamented, on the flounces of the skirt and above the elbows of the loose sleeves, with thick and glossy fringes of the same hue and material as the dress. Light golden bracelets, ornamented each with pearls and a single diamond, encircled her wrists. As she advanced into the room, her very small and well-shaped feet – covered with a pair of light, black satin slippers, with high heels, and festooned with light gold buckles, flashing with tiny jewels – peeped in and out from under the sweeping folds of her skirt.

This lady advanced gracefully to the head of the table, making an elegant courtesy to the astonished John, and inviting him, by a polite motion of the head, to take a seat.

“A pleasant morning to you, Mr Coe,” she said.

“I should thank you for your good wish,” answered the young man; “but, lady, I am a prisoner, I am informed. I have, it seems, been betrayed by those whom I thought my friends. Oh, madam! of all the pains in the world, the greatest is that which is caused by having been betrayed by those in whom we had unlimited faith.”

“There are cases in which that which seems to be treason is friendship in disguise. It was no wish to do you injury which caused you to be taken prisoner; but your friends wished to have you always with them. Had harm been intended towards you, I should not have been left here; it was thought that I might devise ways of making captivity more bearable to you. I fear that this opinion only flattered me.”

John was young, and therefore impressible; he could but feel the spell of so dazzling a presence. What could he do but make such answer as the lady had sought to obtain?

“So much beauty, madam,” he said with empressement, “has power to lessen the pain of the most wretched captivity.”

“You are improving vastly,” said the lady, with a bright and fascinating smile. “We shall, I see, be very good friends, indeed. But the fact that we shall have to pass nearly, if not quite two weeks together, requires that you should have for me some less formal title than ‘madam.’ Call me, hereafter, Ada.”

“You still leave me in doubt, madam. I cannot take the liberty of addressing you familiarly by your Christian name.”

The lady seemed for a moment to be in thought. “Know me then,” she at length said, “as Miss Ada Revere.”

“Your face is strangely familiar to me,” said John.

“You saw me yesterday morning,” answered the lady, with a sad smile, “at the Spout on Saint Leonard’s Creek. You remember the lad who took charge of your and Captain Marston’s notes and horses?”

Young Coe’s countenance expressed much surprise and interest. But Miss Revere gave him no opportunity to speak.

“But I have known you much longer ago than that,” she continued, after making but little pause – “long before either of us knew that there was evil or deceit in the world. I may, perhaps, by-and-bye tell you my sad history,” – an expression of intense pain passed over the beautiful face – “this is no time for such a narrative. Your own position requires consideration and action; and our first thoughts must be given to that.”

“Can you explain to me,” asked John, “why I was captured, and why I am held as a prisoner?”

“Yes,” answered the lady; “and I am authorised to give you the information which you ask. I was not at the store at Drum Point the night before last, when you were seen by Captain Vance to look in at the window while certain goods were being conveyed to their secret depository; but I know all that took place. Ruin to Mr Ashleigh, and great injury to all connected with the brig would have been the certain result of your making publicly known what you had discovered. The first thought was to pursue and capture you at once; and the attempt to do so was made. That attempt was, as you know, a failure. The proposition was then made, as you were known to more than one of the brig’s company, to seize you at once at your father’s house. This proposition was made by one whom I hate, a man the enormity of whose villainy I have no words to express; I have no doubt that, had his proposal been acceded to, you would have been killed instead of captured. Captain Marston saved you from such a fate; he thought you might be enticed from your home, and even induced to join the ship’s company. He has a great affection for you, as an old schoolmate and friend; he has told me, with his own lips, that there is no living man for whom he has greater regard than for yourself.”

“I do not, without much painful feeling, oppose a lady’s views,” said our hero, “and yours seem to agree with those of Captain Marston; but it would not be fair in me to allow you to entertain opinions so incorrect as are Captain Marston’s respecting my character. True, I have been made a prisoner in the manner in which he had thought that I could be captured; so far his views were correct. But he does not understand my character entirely: I can be led – alas! too easily – even perhaps, to do what my moral sense disapproves of; but I cannot be driven. Had I been attacked in my father’s house by open force, I do not think that I should have been captured; I had arms at hand, and should have resisted to the death. My father is himself a strong, sensible, and brave man; the negroes would have fought for both. We might, at least, have held out until the neighbourhood could have been aroused; and the result, instead of being disastrous to me, might have been ruinous to the assailants. As to Captain Marston’s impression that I might be induced to join a ship’s company, or any other company, engaged in illicit trade – especially without my father’s consent – such a notion proves that he understands, and but to a small extent, only the outride of my character; while my inner and real life is to him a thoroughly sealed book.”

The lady reflected for some moments. She hardly knew how to act with the case before her. She saw clearly that he felt the power of her beauty; but that beauty, she began to think, would have no influence to change his opinions. She had been placed in the position in which we find her for the purpose of inducing young Coe to join the company of the brig; she was authorised to offer him a new office in that company which was to be created especially for him, that of commander of a kind of marine corps, to be organised especially on his account, and the chief officer of which organisation, should he become popular with his men, might have the power to defy the authority of the captain of the brig himself, or even to supersede him.

Miss Ada Revere, as she called herself, determined, after some reflection, to pursue the subject no further for the present.

“We shall be prisoners in this house, Mr Coe,” she added, after a few moments’ silence, “for some weeks, while the Sea-bird is discharging and receiving freight, and perhaps undergoing some necessary repairs. In the meantime, it will be my duty to use my best efforts to make your captivity bearable. We have the materials here for chess, draughts, and backgammon. I sing a little, and also play upon several musical instruments; but only one instrument of the kind is here – a guitar. Should you wish to take a glass of wine, there are specimens of several vintages at hand. And believe, at any rate, that, whatever may happen, I am entirely your friend.”

The lady was evidently in earnest in this last declaration. John made a proper acknowledgment; and in a few moments the two were engaged in a game of chess.

Story 2-Chapter VII.
On Board the Brig – the Challenge

Othario. Remove the prisoner; the foe is near.

The Sea Witch.

 
He manned himself with dauntless air,
Returned the chief his haughty stare.
 

* * * * *

 
Come one, come all!
 

* * * * *

 
Fear nought – nay, that I need not say —
But doubt not aught from mine array.
Thou art my guest.
 

Lady of the Lake.

More than a week passed, and still John Coe was a prisoner at the old manor house. No chance of escape presented itself; and neither offers of money nor threats affected his guards. Yet, but for the name of captivity, and the thought of what might be in store for him in the future, his time would have passed pleasantly. Miss Ada Revere – as the lady chose to call herself – exerted all her talents and accomplishments to cause his time to pass agreeably. Games at chess and cards, books of poetry and romance, music of the guitar, and songs sung with charming taste, and accompanied by that fascinating instrument, varied her day and evening entertainments for the prisoner.

As great as was the interest which he felt in her who made his captivity pleasant, and as much aroused, therefore, as was his curiosity to know what was meant by her declaration that he and she had known each other in earlier days, he could not induce her to tell him to what she referred; he could only obtain from her the promise that she would at some future time make him acquainted with her history.

Miss Ada Revere had been commissioned by those who held John in captivity, not only to make his imprisonment more bearable, but also to endeavour to persuade him to join Captain Vance’s band. In the former task the reader has seen that she was successful; but the latter seemed to her to be so hopeless, that she did not even attempt it; she contented herself by persuading him to yield so far to circumstances as to pretend to be inclined to join them, that he might by such means have some chance of securing an opportunity to escape. The violent indignation – to call the feeling by a mild name – which young Coe entertained against his pretended friends, Marston and Dempster, he made no secret of to the lady; but the earnest desire which he cherished to have each of them before him at the pistol’s mouth, or at the sword’s point, he kept to himself.

Some ten or twelve days after that upon which young Coe had been so skilfully allured to imprisonment at the old manor house, the brig Sea-bird Captain Henry Marston, dropped anchor off the Eltonhead landing. She had needed no repairs, and her unlading and relading in Baltimore had been executed with the greatest despatch.

Without resistance John allowed himself to be taken from the manor house on board the brig. Where opposition would have been certainly unavailing, the attempt to make it would have been only a compromise of his dignity.

As the moon was in its first quarter, that orb had long since set when the long-boat and jolly-boat belonging to the brig returned from the shore to the vessel, both heavily laden with the men who had been left at the manor house – those in the smaller boat having young Coe among them as prisoner. A single lantern, held by one of the seamen at the gangway, showed but a dim outline of the deck and rigging of the brig, as those newly arrived climbed her sides. John had but a short time to make observations, as he was at once hurried down into the after-cabin, and through that into a small and neat state-room forward of it. He parted with Miss Ada Revere immediately on gaining the deck. There was much expression of pain and uneasiness in the face of the mysterious young girl when she shook hands, on parting with the prisoner at the gangway, and whispered to him “Be firm and hopeful, and do not give way to anger, however just.”

When all had embarked, the boats were secured on deck, the anchor lifted, the sails hoisted, and the brig, impelled by a fair and light but freshening breeze from the north, sped on her course over the broad, bold waters of the Chesapeake towards the wide Atlantic.

When a bright and cloudless morning, near the middle of June, arose in beauty over the wide and flashing expanse of the lower Chesapeake, Old Point Comfort lay in sight, but far away on the starboard-bow. A number of bay-craft, and a few sea-going vessels were scattered here and there, at points nearer or more distant, over the bright surface. The smoke of no steamer was seen; such vessels were at that period very rare, not only on the waters of the Chesapeake, but over the whole world.

At this time, John was confined to his state-room; he had risen and dressed, but, on trying the door of his room, had found it locked. None of the seamen, either, except those consisting of the watch, were allowed to come upon deck while the brig was in such confined waters; such a large number of hands being seen would not comport with the Sea-bird’s character of a peaceful merchant vessel.

The wind continuing to blow fair, although still somewhat light, the afternoon had advanced but two or three hours when the brig had passed out between the capes and was at sea, and entirely out of sight of land. All were now allowed to come upon deck, John among them, to find upon the quarter-deck Captains Marston and Dempster. Near to them stood Mr Bowsprit, Mr Afton, and Ada Revere – the latter wearing her sailor-boy dress. The rest of the crew were mostly on the deck amidships; some few were in the bows, and a group was gathered but a little forward of the quarter-deck.

“Well, John,” said Captain Marston, “I hope that you have made up your mind to join us. I can offer you a respectable position. We have very nearly fifty men, all told. I shall form thirty of these into a company of marines, and offer you the post of commander of this newly-made corps. But, before I proceed any farther, let me introduce you to some of your new shipmates. This old friend of ours, whom you know now, I suppose, as my first-mate, Mr Dempster, becomes my first lieutenant, Mr Seacome, when we enter the tropics; at the same time your humble servant takes the more convenient name of Captain Vance, and this good brig, the Sea-bird, becomes the Falcon– the free rover. This is my second mate, Mr Afton, who prefers to change, under such circumstances, his title only, and to be called Second-lieutenant Afton.”

This burly and savage-looking individual growled an oath or two about not being afraid of his own name.

“This joyous individual,” continued the captain, motioning his hand towards another of the party, “is my third-mate, or lieutenant, and selects his sobriquet for his roving name – that is, Third-mate Brown becomes Third-lieutenant Bowsprit. You have already met this jolly person. You are also, I presume, well acquainted by this time, with this young gentleman, Master Revere, my clerk.”

At mentioning this last name, Captain Marston, with a slightly sarcastic expression of countenance, waved his hand towards Ada Revere. She cast her eyes to the deck, and a vivid blush spread over her beautiful face. Even in the midst of his own trouble, John could not help feeling pity for the poor girl. Often had the questions recurred to him: “What is her real position on board of this vessel? What is her history?” Sympathy with her lonely condition and the wrongs which he felt that she must have received from one leading member, at least, of the brig’s company, strengthened the indignation which he experienced on account of his own injuries, and probably caused him to forget all prudence in answering Captain Marston’s addresses to him.

“You, Captain Marston,” he said, in a firm and perfectly collected manner, and with a certain intensity of voice which intimated that he felt more than he spoke, “address me in calm tones and familiarly, as if you had done me no wrong to destroy the intimacy and kind feelings which existed between us in past years. In speaking thus, you add insult to injury; your words, manner, and voice suggesting that I am so simple, so very weak in intellect, as not to be able to appreciate the inexpressibly gross outrage which has been committed against me.”

“You do me wrong,” said Captain Marston, “in supposing for a moment that I doubt that you possess a very unusual degree of intellect. I have always considered you one of the most remarkably endowed men, both in mind and body, with whom I ever met. In what other manner could I have spoken? and what was the use of my speaking with excitement? That you must remain with us is a fixed fact. You have learned things the public knowledge of which would ruin Mr Ashleigh, implicate – if an investigation should take place – the character of some gentlemen of the highest standing in Baltimore, or even endanger their safety – to say nothing of the security and interests of those among whom you are now standing. Self-preservation is the first law of nature; and you obliged us to make and hold you a prisoner, by informing yourself wilfully of secrets important to us, and of not the least concern to you. You have yourself alone to blame for the situation in which you are placed.”

“Every citizen,” replied the spirited young man, “has not only a right, but it is his duty, if an opportunity occurs, to investigate whatsoever appears to him to be a breach of the laws of his country.”

“That remark does not affect us at all,” answered Marston, “although it may have justified, to yourself and others, your curiosity and interference. Our duty is to defend ourselves against the laws.”

“With the view which you take of the matter,” retorted John, feeling offended and irritated by Marston’s application to him of the words “curiosity and interference,” and determined to retort at all hazards to language which appeared to him personally insulting, “I should not have so much cause to complain had I been captured by open force; but my kind feelings towards yourself were played upon in a treacherous and cowardly manner to work out my own injury.”

A dark and lowering scowl came upon the face of Captain Marston, and he placed his right hand in his bosom as if to draw a weapon.

At the same instant Afton drew a pistol from one of his pockets and raised it.

“Do you dare,” he cried, “to call our captain a coward?”

Captain Marston, however, who seemed not yet to have overcome his rage sufficiently to speak, suddenly grasped Afton’s weapon, and drew it from his hand.

“This is courage, truly!” said young Coe, with bitter irony expressed in his voice, and addressing Afton. “You are very brave in assaulting an unarmed man. You would feel and act very differently if you and I were alone, and equally armed.”

“Captain,” exclaimed Afton, “what is the use of bandying words with this fool? Let us settle the matter at once by shooting him, and throwing him overboard. We needn’t fear his betraying us then. ‘Dead men tell no tales.’”

“Leave him to me,” said Captain Marston, moving his hand towards Afton. Then, addressing John, he continued – “You take advantage, John Coe, of our relative positions; you know that I, as a brave man, cannot, while surrounded by my band, resent an insult from an unarmed prisoner. If I am a smuggler – and, perhaps, even what you would call a pirate – you know that I cannot so sacrifice my manhood as to take advantage of the means at my command to punish the gross insult which you have offered me.”

“If you boast so much of your manhood, which word also implies your honour, such as it is,” said John, “and feel so wounded at what I have said, the same power which you possess over your band to bring them against me, should also be strong enough to prevent them from interfering while I render you the satisfaction for which you seem to long. Here, in the sight of your men, with no friend to see what is called fair play, I am willing to fight you with sword, pistol, or gun. Yes, I will do so, even though they may kill me, should I defeat you, the moment after; for I had as lief die as be debarred my liberty, or be obliged to yield my actions to the expediency which is merely suggested by opposing force.”

“I thank you for your proposition,” said Captain Vance, “and accept of it. You shall have a fairer contest, too, than you seem to expect. Here, Dempster, Afton, Brown.”

The officers addressed drew around their captain.

“Promise me,” said Marston, “by all the pledges that bind our association together, that if Mr Coe should succeed in killing me, he shall receive no injury for doing so; and further, that, upon his mere pledge of honour to keep secret what he has learned about us, you will land him at any port, near to our course, at which he may wish to disembark. Promise, moreover, under the same pledges, that you will not interfere in the combat about to take place between Mr Coe and myself, by deed, word, or look.”

The officers addressed, even the brutal Afton, gave the pledges required unhesitatingly, being perfectly assured that their captain would gain the victory.

“What weapons do you choose, Mr Coe?” asked Marston.

“It is for you to choose,” said John; “you have the right as the challenged party.”

“I select swords, then,” said Captain Marston; “the conqueror with that weapon is not obliged to injure his adversary.”

“You seem to consider it as granted, by that remark,” observed our hero, “that you will be successful?”

“By no means,” answered Marston.

John turned upon his adversary an inquiring and rather threatening look; but he said nothing more on the subject.

Lieutenant Dempster, or Seacome, was sent into the captain’s cabin for a pair of small-swords.

Ada Revere had looked imploringly upon Marston and Coe alternately, while the quarrel had been growing to its present condition. Anxiety and terror were both plainly expressed in her face; she had seemed, hitherto, desirous of interfering, but fearful of doing so; no doubt she had learned from much experience the danger of attempting to check Captain Marston in any of his acts. Now the prospect of an immediate conflict seemed to rouse her to action. She threw herself upon her knees between the two foes.

“Oh! I beseech you,” she cried, “let this quarrel go no farther. You know, Captain Marston, why I feel an interest in you; but you do not know that this gentleman, Mr Coe, rendered me, many years ago, one of those services which can never be forgotten. Think, gentlemen, what horror it would be to me to see one of you injured, or perhaps even killed by the other, and have pity upon me.”