“It is impossible!” cried Wilder, “No human being—”
“Can ever be certain his secrets are safe,” interrupted the other, “when he carries a face as ingenuous as your own. It is but four-and-twenty hours since you were in the good town of Boston.”
“I admit that much; but—”
“You will soon admit the rest. You were too curious in your inquiries of the dolt who declares he was robbed by us of his provisions and sails. The false-tongued villain! It may be well for him to keep from my path, or he may get a lesson that shall prick his honesty. Does he think such pitiful game as he would induce me to spread a single inch of canvas, or even to lower a boat into the sea!”
“Is not his statement, then, true?” demanded Wilder, in a surprise he took no pains to conceal.
“True! Am I what report has made me? Look keenly at the monster, that nothing may escape you,” returned the Rover, with a hollow laugh, in which scorn struggled to keep down the feelings of wounded pride. “Where are the horns, and the cloven foot? Snuff the air: Is it not tainted with sulphur? But enough of this. I knew of your inquiries, and liked your mien. In short, you were my study; and, though my approaches were made with some caution they were sufficiently nigh to effect the object. You pleased me, Wilder; and I hope the satisfaction may be mutual.”
The newly engaged buccanier bowed to the compliment of his superior, and appeared at some little loss for a reply: As if to get rid of the subject at once, he hurriedly observed,—
“As we now understand each other, I will intrude no longer, but leave you for the night, and return to my duty in the morning.”
“Leave me!” returned the Rover, stopping short on his walk, and fastening his eye keenly on the other. “It is not usual for my officers to leave me at this hour. A sailor should love his ship, and never sleep out of her, unless on compulsion.”
“We may as well understand each other,” said Wilder, quickly. “If it is to be a slave, and, like one of the bolts, a fixture in the vessel, that you need me, our bargain is at an end.”
“Hum! I admire your spirit, sir, much more than your discretion. You will find me an attached friend and one who little likes a separation, however short Is there not enough to content you here? I will not speak of such low considerations as those which administer to the ordinary appetites. But, you have been taught the value of reason; here are books—you have taste; here is elegance—you are poor, here is wealth.”
“They amount to nothing, without liberty,” coldly returned the other.
“And what is this liberty you ask? I hope, young man, you would not so soon betray the confidence you have just received! Our acquaintance is but short, and I may have been too hasty in my faith.”
“I must return to the land,” Wilder added, firmly, “if it be only to know that I am intrusted, and am not a prisoner.”
“There is generous sentiment, or deep villany, in all this,” resumed the Rover, after a minute of deep thought. “I will believe the former. Declare to me, that, while in the town of Newport, you will inform no soul of the true character of this ship.”
“I will swear it,” eagerly interrupted Wilder.
“On this cross,” rejoined the Rover, with a sarcastic laugh; “on this diamond-mounted cross! No, sir,” he added, with a proud curl of the lip, as he cast the jewel contemptuously aside, “oaths are made for men who need laws to keep them to their promises; I need no more than the clear and unequivocal affirmation of a gentleman.”
“Then, plainly and unequivocally do I declare, that, while in Newport, I will discover the character of this ship to no one, without your wish, or order so to do. Nay more”—
“No more. It is wise to be sparing of our pledges, and to say no more than the occasion requires. The time may come when you might do good to yourself, without harming me, by being unfettered by a promise. In an hour, you shall land; that time will be needed to make you acquainted with the terms of your enlistment, and to grace my rolls with your name.—Roderick,” he added, again touching the gong, “you are wanted, boy.”
The same active lad, that had made his appearance at the first summons, ran up the steps from the cabin beneath, and announced his presence again by his voice.
“Roderick,” continued the Rover, “this is my future lieutenant, and, of course, your officer, and my friend. Will you take refreshment, sir? there is little, that man needs, which Roderick cannot supply.”
“I thank you; I have need of none.”
“Then, have the goodness to follow the boy. He will show you into the dining apartment beneath, and give you the written regulations. In an hour, you will have digested the code, and by that time I shall be with you. Throw the light more upon the ladder, boy; you can descend without a ladder though, it would seem, or I should not, at this moment, have the pleasure of your company.”
The intelligent smile of the Rover was unanswered by any corresponding evidence from the subject of his joke, that he found satisfaction in the remembrance of the awkward situation in which he had been left in the tower. The former caught the displeased expression of the other’s countenance, as he gravely prepared to follow the boy, who already stood in the hatchway with a light. Advancing a step with the grace and tones of sensitive breeding, he said quickly,—
“Mr Wilder, I owe you an apology for my seeming rudeness at parting on the hill. Though I believed you mine, I was not sure of my acquisition. You will readily see how necessary it might be, to one in my situation, to throw off a companion at such a moment.”
Wilder turned, with a countenance from which every shade of displeasure had vanished, and motioned to him to say no more.
“It was awkward enough, certainly, to find one’s self in such a prison; but I feel the justice of what you say. I might have done the very thing myself, if the same presence of mind were at hand to help me.”
“The good man, who grinds in the Newport ruin, must be in a sad way, since all the rats are leaving his mill,” cried the Rover gaily, as his companion descended after the boy. Wilder now freely returned his open, cordial laugh, and then, as he descended, the cabin was left to him who, a few minutes before, had been found in its quiet possession.
Chapter VII
“The world affords no law to make thee rich;
Then be not poor, but break it, and take this.”
Apoth. “My poverty, but not my will, consents.”
—Romeo and Juliet
The Rover arrested his step, as the other disappeared and stood for more than a minute in an attitude of high and self-gratulating triumph. It was quite apparent he was exulting in his success. But, though his intelligent face betrayed the satisfaction of the inward man, it was illumined by no expression of vulgar joy. It was the countenance of one who was suddenly relieved from intense care, rather than that of a man who was greedy of profiting by the services of others. Indeed, it would not have been difficult, for a close and practised observer, to have detected a shade of regret in the lightings of his seductive smile, or in the momentary flashes of his changeful eye. The feeling, however, quickly passed away, and his whole figure and countenance resumed the ordinary easy mien in which he most indulged in his hours of retirement.
After allowing sufficient time for the boy to conduct Wilder to the necessary cabin, and to put him in possession of the regulations for the police of the ship, the Captain again touched the gong, and once more summoned the former to his presence. The lad had however, to