“Keep her away,” shouted Bowse to the man at the helm, thinking that the speronara was about to board him; but immediately he saw he was mistaken, for instead of her fore-sheet being eased off, it was kept to windward, and as she lay hove to he observed preparations to launch a boat into the water. “I suppose, sir, we may let these fellows come on board?” he said, addressing the colonel, who was by his side; “they can do us no harm, and they may possibly have a message.”
“As you think fit, Captain Bowse,” returned the colonel, who was so pleased with the master’s coolness and bearing, that he no longer refused to give him the usual title, – “I’ve no objection. They can’t eat us; and if they meditate running alongside, they will see we are prepared for them.”
“Put the helm down, my lad, round in the weather after-braces, and lay the main-yard square – brace up the head yards – rouse in the main sheet – ease off the head sheets.”
These orders being executed, and the brig brought to the wind, she was hove to, with her head in the same direction as that of the speronara. That vessel could just be seen to windward, looking dark against the western sky, and far larger than she really was, slowly forging ahead, while a small boat could just be discerned traversing the intervening space.
“Well, as we are to have no fighting, I suppose, I will just go and relieve the anxiety of my little girl,” said the colonel, whose good humour was now in the ascendant.
No sooner did his niece see him than she flew into his arms, and kissed his cheek affectionately – an example Marianna, in the exuberance of her joy at finding there was to be no fighting, was nearly imitating.
“Oh, dear uncle, I am so glad that there is no danger to be encountered. You cannot tell how anxious I have been.”
“Well, missie, since you don’t like the cabin you shall come on deck and see what next takes place; we are going to have some visitors, it appears.” Saying this, he gallantly placed a shawl on her shoulders, and gave his hand to lead her on deck.
While the boat of the speronara was approaching, three or four of the Zodiac’s crew were collected by the foremost gun, watching her progress with no little interest. Two of them were regular salts of the old school, who still delighted in ear-rings and pigtails, though, in compliment to the degenerate taste of the times, they wore the latter ornaments much smaller than they had done in their younger days. They were prime seamen, and fellows who were ready to go down with their colours flying rather than strike to an enemy.
“You have heard tell on the Flying Dutchman, of course, Bill,” said Jem Marline, casting a look to windward at the speronara, and hitching up his trousers, while he squirted a stream of tobacco-juice through the port.
“On course,” answered Bill Rullock, “I haven’t been to sea near thirty years without, messmate.”
“Did you ever cast eyes on the chap, though?” asked Jem.
“Can’t say as how I have,” answered Bill. “But there’s many they say who has, and few who ever lived to tell of it. But what was you thinking on, Jem?”
“Why you see, Bill,” replied his chum, “I don’t altogether like the circumbendibus ways of that ere chap to windward. You see, first in Malta harbour, we falls in with him or one like him, for I don’t say, mind you, that that ere craft is the same which nearly ran foul on us yesterday; then out he goes right ahead of us, and then just as it’s got dark, down he comes again, and wants to send a boat aboard us. Now you see as how that’s the thing I don’t in no manner of ways approve on. If I was our skipper, I would send a round shot right into the boat, sooner than any of his people should step on this deck. That’s just the trick the cursed Dutchman’s up to.”
“No manner o’ doubt about it,” said Bill gravely; “but you know, Jem, they say the Dutchman’s cruising ground is off the Cape, in a full-rigged ship, and I never heard on his coming into these parts.”
“True as gospel, old shipmate, but how should we know that he hasn’t got tired of the Cape, and taken a trip up here?” argued Jem. “And as to the matter of the rig, he may shift his craft according to the sea he’s in. Besides, you know as how if there’s one Flying Dutchman, there may be two, and this fellow may have come to trouble us here, up the straits. Depend on’t, Bill, the less company one keeps with them sort of gentry the better.”
“Very true, Jem, but suppose a chap out of that boat then does come on board, what’s to happen think ye?” asked Bill, in a tone which showed that he in no way doubted his messmate’s account.
“Why I can’t say exactly, because as how I never seed what he does; but from what I’ve heard, I believe he tries to slip a letter like into the skipper’s or some ’un’s hand who’s green enough to take it; and then the chap, who’s no better nor Davy Jones himself, gives a loud laugh, and down goes the ship to the bottom, or else a hurricane is sure to get up and drive her ashore. But here comes that cursed felucca’s boat. I wish we might just let fly at her; it would save mischief, I’ll be sworn.”
“Bear a hand there with a rope for the boat coming alongside,” sung out the captain in a loud voice, which sounded as ominous of evil to the ears of the superstitious crew. “Bring a lantern here to the gangway,” he added. Bowse, with his first mate and Colonel Gauntlett, stood near the gangway, which was lighted up with a lantern to receive the strangers, as a small boat containing in all only four persons, came round under the brig’s stern. They pulled only two oars, and two people were seated in the stern sheet. “Keep an eye to windward there, Larkins, on that felucca,” said the first mate to the second, as he went to his captain’s summons. “I don’t altogether think her cut honest.”
“A mighty fuss about a very small affair, I suspect,” muttered the colonel, as a figure was seen to ascend from the boat up the side of the brig.
The stranger was dressed in the Phrygian cap, and simple garb of a Sicilian mariner. His appearance, as far as it could be judged of by the dim light of the lantern, was anything but prepossessing. A profusion of long, straggling, grizzly locks, once probably of raven hue, which evidently had not felt the barber’s scissors for many a year, concealed the greater part of his face which was still further hidden by a patch over one eye, and a handkerchief bound round his head, while his mouth was surrounded by an enormous pair of moustachios, and a beard of similar character, so that little more than the tip of a red nose, and a rolling fierce eye was visible. As he reached the deck, this handsome personage bowed to the group before him, without speaking, while he glanced his eye round at the crew, who still wore their cutlasses, and at the other weapons which were placed ready for use.
Behind the group I have described, stood several of the crew, among whom were Jem Marline, and his chum Bill Bullock, and if the stranger had been able to read the expression of their countenances, he would certainly have been a bold man, had he not felt some apprehension; for they spoke almost as plainly as words could do, that had they the power, they would, without ceremony, heave him into the sea. There were fear, suspicion, and dislike, strangely blended with the usual bold recklessness which had given a character to their features a sudden emotion could not obliterate. Fortunately, however, the light of the lantern fell in such a way as to throw them, where they stood, into shade.
“What is it you want with us, signor?” said Bowse, in his usual blunt tone, seeing that the other did not speak.
“To carry us all to Davy Jones, if we don’t look sharp,” muttered Jem Marline to his messmate. “The beggar will be handing a letter directly, and then stand by for squall.”
The stranger shook his head, as if not comprehending what was said.
“That’s it,” whispered Jem, in a tone of terror. “He don’t speak. He never does.”
Bowse repeated the question, in the lingua Franca of those seas.
The stranger shook his head.
“He