“Don’t you think the young lady had better go below, out of the way of the damp, sir,” began Bowse, puzzled what excuse to make.
“Damp! surely there’s none to hurt me,” said Ada, looking up somewhat surprised. “It is so refreshing.”
“No, miss, the cold – the night air may do you harm,” rejoined Bowse.
“I have no fear of either,” answered Ada. “It’s quite warm, and I do not even require a cloak.”
The master was sadly perplexed, and the colonel would not come to his aid; at last he bethought him of a better reason, which must succeed.
“Yes, miss; but you see it’s coming on night, and it’s a rule that all ladies should go below at night,” he said, in a grave tone.
This made Ada fairly laugh outright.
“Oh! but I intend to break through the rule, I can assure you. The evening, when the moon is playing on the water, is the most delightful time of the twenty-four hours; and you will not persuade me to forego its pleasures.”
The colonel at length came to his rescue.
“What is it makes you so anxious for my niece to go below, Mr Bowse?” he asked. “If you have any particular reason, pray mention it, and I am sure she will be most ready to obey your wishes.”
“Why, sir,” said Bowse, drawing the colonel, who had risen, a little forward, and whispering so as not, he thought, to be heard by Ada; “you see, sir, I don’t quite like the look of that craft we are nearing – some murderous work has been done lately in these seas; and I was told, just before we sailed, to be cautious of her – that’s all.”
“It was for that reason you were loading your guns, and getting up your arms?” exclaimed the colonel, in a less cautious voice than that in which the kind master had spoken. “Very right and proper. I’m glad to see precautions taken. We’ll fight the rascals with pleasure.”
Ada overheard the words, and coming up, placed her arm on her uncle’s.
“What is the matter? – Is there any danger?” she exclaimed, in a pleading tone. “If there is – oh! let me share it with you. Do not send me down into the cabin.” She trembled, but it was more with excitement than fear.
“Oh! nonsense, girl – suppose there was any danger, what object could there be in your staying on deck?” answered the colonel. “You couldn’t save me from being hurt, missie, and I don’t think you would manage to hurt any of the enemy, if there should prove to be one in the case, after all, which is in no way certain yet.”
While the colonel was speaking, Bowse again looked at the speronara. He now, to a certainty, ascertained that she had the dark mark in her foresail, and that she was full of men. This at once decided him in urging Miss Garden to go below, and on her still resisting, the colonel gave indubitable signs of anger.
“Come, come, missie, no more nonsense. Go below you must, without further delay, and take your little nigger with you.”
Ada pleaded for a few minutes more to see what was likely to happen, but in vain, and was reluctantly compelled, in company with her maid, to go into her cabin, there to await the result of the meeting between the two vessels. Ada did as every right-minded girl, under the circumstances, would do – she knelt in prayer – not through abject fear for her own safety, did she pray, for of herself she thought not; but she prayed that her uncle, and the brave men with him on deck, might be shielded from danger – a danger which it was very natural that from what she had heard she should considerably exaggerate.
Chapter Eight.
If, as is asserted, the pleasures of life consist rather in the anticipation than in the fruition, or perhaps we may say, in the means taken to enjoy them, rather than in the objects when obtained; so, most assuredly, is the anticipation of evil worse than the evil itself; and misfortunes, which appear great and terrible when looked at timidly from a distance, diminish, if they do not altogether disappear, when grappled with manfully.
In fact, as somebody or other observed, once upon a time, that whenever he wrote a philosophical, a beautiful, or a noble sentiment, that fellow, Shakspeare, was sure to have been before him; I might more briefly express what I wanted to say, by quoting our great poet, —
“Cowards die many times before their death.”
Now, as neither Bowse, nor his officers or men, were characters of that description, but, on the contrary, as brave fellows as ever looked danger in the face without flinching, they, on their own accounts, cared very little whether the craft in sight was a pirate or an honest trader. But it was now very evident that the speronara had an object in steering, as she was clearly doing, for the brig, and as that object could scarcely be otherwise than hostile, there was a possibility of their being attacked; and with one of those unpremeditated cheers which British seamen cannot refrain from giving at the thoughts of a skirmish, every man hastened to buckle a cutlass to his side. Powder and shot were got up, and the small arms and boarding-pikes were placed by the sides of the guns, ready at hand, to be seized in a moment. The spirit of the veteran soldier was instantly aroused in the bosom of Colonel Gauntlett. As he sniffed the air of battle, the querulous, ill-tempered old gentleman was changed into the cool and gallant officer. As soon as Mitchell understood what was likely to happen, he was seen to dive into the cabin, from whence he soon returned, when going up to his master, he stood before him anticipating his orders.
“Mitchell, my sword and pistols, and bring me some ammunition, too, mark me.”
The servant’s hand rose to his cap, and turning round, he again descended to the cabin, reappearing in less than half a minute with the weapons. The colonel buckled on his sword with far greater satisfaction than a dandy tries on a new coat, and after carefully loading and priming his pistols, which were of exquisite workmanship, he placed them, with a look of satisfaction, in his belt. Not a word, however, did he say while thus employed. The first observation was to his servant.
“Mitchell,” he said, “if that rascally felucca attempts to board us, you are to act as my reserve, remember. We shall have to charge on to her deck, or her people will charge on to ours, and you are to keep close behind me, and support me if I require you.”
“Yes, your honour,” answered Mitchell, in imitation of his master fastening a cutlass round his waist. “Is it them chaps in the night-caps on board the little boat out there we’ve to fight?”
“It is, Mitchell, the people in that felucca now approaching us,” said the colonel.
“Och, then, by the powers, we’ll blow them to blazes with these little darlins alone;” and thereon he pulled forth from his coat-tail pockets a pair of huge horse-pistols, of antique date and prodigious bore, which would almost require a rest from which to fire them.
The sun had set, and the short twilight of that southern latitude was fast disappearing, yet sufficient remained to show the outline of the speronara as the two vessels drew near to each other, though more distant objects had long since been shrouded from sight. Her tapering lateen sails now, as seen in one, appeared like the summit of a lofty pyramid of dark hue, surrounded by the waves. Then, as they approached still nearer, and she was almost abeam, the crew were seen standing up, and watching them with eagerness. Instead, however, of attempting to pass ahead of the brig, as she came near, she kept away so as pass close under her quarter. Now came the anxious time. If she was about to board, she would be alongside in another instant. Bowse, however, felt that whatever might be his suspicions of her honesty, without some more presumptive evidence of evil intentions, it would not do for him to commence hostilities; he therefore, taking his speaking-trumpet in his hand, went aft, and leaned ever the quarter-rail.
The speronara came rapidly on, and was close to.
“I have one message for you,” exclaimed a voice from the deck of the stranger, in Italian accents – “send boat here.”
“I’ll