The Fatal Cord, and The Falcon Rover

There was a sensation among the spectators at this sudden and totally unexpected result of the combat; but there was no movement towards any interference.

Captain Marston’s arms dropped by his side. He stood before his antagonist, as if ready to receive his sword-thrust. Coe stood, meanwhile, with his sword fixed, as it were, in the same position, while he kept his eyes firmly bent upon those of his conquered adversary.

“I am at your mercy, Mr Coe,” said Captain Marston, at length in a voice that palpitated, if I may use the term, partly on account of his recent violent exertion, and partly because of surprise at his defeat.

“I wish you no harm,” answered the victor, lowering his sword-point. “I only wished to show that had I been assailed by open force, I should not have been easily made a prisoner.”

The expression of the faces of the lookers-on showed that their captive had risen very highly in their estimation within the last few minutes. The most brutal and debased human being in the world still admires manly courage and magnanimity. The determined bearing of the prisoner, indicating a perfect preservation of his self-respect and self-reliance, in such adverse circumstances, and his willingness, even eagerness to prove his manhood by fighting Captain Marston in the very presence of his band, and the coolness, skill, and self-control which he had exhibited in winning and in using his victory, all manifested those qualities which men most admire in men. Captain Marston saw the admiration of his prisoner which was expressed in the faces of his officers and men; and he immediately resorted to an expedient which, by exhibiting on his part a generosity apparently equal, but in fact more than equal, to that of his adversary, might neutralise to some extent the injury which may have been done to his standing in the opinions of his band by the result of the contest.

“You see, gentlemen,” he said, addressing his ship’s company, “that in the opinion which I have heretofore expressed to you of my friendly foe, I have not overrated his merits. Let us have three hearty cheers for John Alvan Coe.”

The three cheers called for were immediately given with a will.

“I further propose, gentlemen,” said Captain Marston, “that we proceed forthwith to form the corps of marines which I have before spoken of to you, and that Mr Coe be offered the captaincy of that band.”

“And with all due deference to Captain Vance,” exclaimed Afton, before Captain Marston’s proposition could be acted upon, and with his usual intermingling of expletives, “I propose that we either make Mr Coe commander of this brig, or throw him overboard. For my part, I should prefer to have the latter alternative carried out. No divided command can exist except to our disadvantage. If Mr Coe is, in your opinion, superior to Captain Vance, make him our chief; but do not give to him a charge which, unless he and the captain entirely agree, may cause civil war on board the brig.”

“I beg to differ with my honoured friend, Lieutenant Afton,” said Bowsprit, facing the ship’s company. “As Mr Coe has proved himself a brave and skilful man, we should try to secure him as a co-partner in our enterprises. As he is a born and bred gentleman, there are cogent reasons why he should hold a respectable position among us. But, although he has shown that he is superior to Captain Vance in the use of the small-sword, we are not therefore to suppose that he is co-equal with our distinguished chieftain in experience in seamanship and in habits of command. Nor would our new friend rank, in the position proposed, with our captain; he would be co-ordinate in rank with Lieutenant Seacome. There would be no danger of a conflict of authority with Captain Vance; there is a commander of marines on board of every man-of-war. I cannot, therefore, agree with either of the propositions of my distinguished friend Afton. His first would be unjust to our captain, his second would be an equal wrong to the gallant new comer. I second Captain Vance’s motion.”

The speech of Billy Bowsprit was received with much applause, and the proposition of the captain was adopted by a vote of two to one. Mr Afton had his admirers among those old salts who were, like himself, rough in language, and especially hardened in crime. These men were not influenced in their votes by the authority of the captain, or the eloquence of Billy Bowsprit.

“And now, Mr Coe,” said the captain, “will you do me the honour of accepting the post to which we have elected you, and give me the pleasure of being the first to name you by your new title, Captain Coe, of the marine force?”

Young Coe remembered the conversation upon this very subject which he had held, in anticipation, with Ada Revere, and her advice as to the course which he should pursue, should the offer be made to him. He called to mind also that, immediately preceding his duel with Captain Marston, she had declared that she was indebted to himself for an important service. He knew that that unfortunate girl must be better qualified by experience than he was himself to guide his course in relation to this matter. He determined, therefore, that he would consult with her again, and, should he find her sincere in her friendly feelings towards him, to be governed by her counsel in the desperate strait in which he was placed. With this purpose in view he made answer to Captain Marston’s question —

“Your offer, Captain Vance, and gentlemen,” he said, addressing the officers and seamen, and, for the first time, giving the captain of the brig his assumed name, “so changes the relation which I bore towards you but a few moments ago, that I must beg of you to grant me a little time to consider this question so suddenly placed before me. With your permission, I will retire for a few moments, and then return and give you my decision. In any case, I thank you for the favour you have shown to me.”

Having thus spoken on deck, he retired to the cabin. In the saloon he found Ada Revere. She sat upon a sofa, with her head resting upon her hands. On the entrance of our hero she rose at once to meet him, and her face, which had been sad, expressed a sense of relief.

“Oh! I am so glad to see you, Mr Coe,” she said. “Your face seems to show that nothing unpleasant has resulted from the state of things in which I left you. Tell me – do tell me quickly – what has happened?”

John related to her all that had occurred.

“And now, Miss Revere,” he added, “I have come to ask an explanation of your language when you spoke some time ago of being under an obligation to me. When I saw you at the old manor house, your face seemed familiar to me. I thought that that recognition was accounted for by my having seen you in your boy’s dress, at the Spout on Saint Leonard’s Creek. But you appeared to refer to an acquaintance between us dating, farther into the past.”

“I can see nothing wrong, Mr Coe,” answered the beautiful girl, “in telling you – in outline, at least – all my history. Do you remember Ada Ashleigh, who was one of your schoolmates at the old Manor Quarter school-house situate between Millmont and Drum Point?”

“Certainly I do,” was the answer. “What a sweet and guileless little girl she was!”

“I was that little girl, Mr Coe,” said Ada. “Do you not remember that, when any of the schoolchildren charged me with being the daughter of a man who received smuggled goods, after my father was brought before a court in Baltimore on such a charge, you always took my part? And once – an occasion which I shall never forget – when Mr Dempster, now an officer on board of this brig, but then a boy almost a year older than yourself, wounded my feelings even to weeping by his jeers, you rebuked him so severely for being rude, as you said, to a harmless little girl, that he challenged you to fight. I shall never forget the gratitude which I felt towards you for championing my cause, and my delight when you handled Dempster so roughly, that he was obliged to acknowledge himself beaten, and to promise never to say a harsh word to me again.”

“We had heard in Calvert,” said John Alvan, “that Ada Ashleigh had made a runaway marriage in Baltimore, for which she was disinherited by her father. Since that intelligence was received, two or three years ago, I have heard nothing of her fate.”

“That runaway marriage was between me and Harry Marston,” said Ada. “He intended it for a false marriage; and when he told me that it was such, I believed his words. But I learned, nearly a year ago now, from the friend of Captain Marston, whom he engaged to procure the services of some one, not a minister of the gospel, to perform the ceremony, that we had actually been wedded by a regular priest, and I have since obtained from that priest a certificate of the marriage. The conscience of Henry Marston’s friend would not, at the last, allow him to take part in such deceit. My father never knew that it was with Captain Marston that I left his house; nor have I yet been able to summon the necessary courage to inform Captain Marston that we are really married. I wish that he knew it. I am sure that, had he been acquainted with the fact, he would never have commissioned me, his own wife, to act the part which he meant that I should act during your imprisonment at the old manor house and at the hut.”

“I would tell him for you myself, unhesitatingly,” remarked John Alvan, “but the information would come most properly from you.”

After some further conversation upon the subject, young Coe asked —

“Do you still advise me, madam, to accept this position which is offered to me? I do not mean absolutely to accept it, but seem to accept it. I know now that you are really my friend, and have full faith in you.”

“I certainly do,” answered the lady. “Your refusal to do so must eventuate in your death. They have gone too far to set you free, even under the most solemn pledges. As the most of these men would not be faithful to any pledge made to you, so they would not trust in any pledges made by you to them, under the circumstances. Whereas, by seeming to accept the offer, you will, in the ordinary course of things, have many chances of making your escape.”

“Yet,” remarked the young man, “if they were to undertake, for instance, to capture a merchant vessel, I would die rather than give assistance in the commission of such a crime.”

“Of course,” answered Ada, “but the ‘chapter of accidents’ may make unnecessary your placing yourself in antagonism to the brig’s crew on that question. We will hope so.”

“Have they ever really made such captures?” asked young Coe.

“Many such,” replied Ada. “They are pirates in the full meaning of the word.”

“In this business they must have committed murders,” said John.

“There is not a man in the brig, except yourself,” answered Ada, “who is not responsible for the shedding of human blood.”

“Dear madam,” said John, pityingly, “what a terrible life you must have led among such men.”

“I have often been able to save bloodshed,” said Ada. “Most of the captures made by the Falcon have been made without the taking of human life. When life has been taken it has been mostly in cases where a fight has followed a refusal on the part of a merchant vessel to surrender. I have never known a case where Captain Marston has allowed any one to be hurt after surrender. Indeed, I think at heart he is sick of the business in which he is engaged. Afton, however, and too many of the crew with him, appear to take pleasure in acts of cruelty.”

The conversation between Mrs Marston and young Coe here closed, and the latter returned upon deck. He expressed to the captain and the ship’s company his acceptance provisionally of the post offered to him, it being understood that he reserved to himself the right to resign it whenever he thought proper to do so.

Mr Afton loudly pronounced his maledictions against such “half-way” courses; and there were at first some dark scowls seen among the men.

“I welcome you into our gallant service, Captain Coe,” said Captain Marston, with much cordiality in his manner, “and am sure that no one member could be a greater addition to our company. As to the terms which Captain Coe makes,” continued the pirate chief, addressing the men, “no one can object to them; any man has the right to resign at any time any office which he holds among us. The main thing is that Captain Coe is now a member of our band, and we all know how forcibly, in an instance of this kind, applies the old adage, ‘In for a penny, in for a pound!’ Shipmates welcome our new comrade.”

These remarks of Captain Marston, intended to counteract what had been said by Afton, and to satisfy the crew with regard to the reservation made by Coe, were well-timed, and their new comrade was welcomed with loud cheers.

The company of marines was at once formed, and “Captain” Coe, as they called him, immediately commenced the performance of his new office, by taking his men through such a preparatory drill as the short remaining time of daylight would allow. It was his determination to make himself as popular as he could among those who were placed under his command, with the view of using his influence for such good purposes as might hereafter present themselves. He was eminently successful in his endeavours to obtain popularity, his men already entertaining great admiration of his courage and resolute demeanour.

The Sea-bird continued for some days to run a southerly course, impelled by a moderate breeze from the west. Her prow was then turned towards the south-east, it being the intention of Captain Marston to get into the track of vessels trading between the West Indies and the Spanish Main, and the different European ports. While on this course certain changes were made in the appearance of the brig. The white stripe along her bends, just below the guards, was covered with a strip of black canvas; like strips, on which were painted the words the Falcon, were placed on each of her bows, and on her stern, over the name the Sea-bird, and the carved image of one bird was substituted for that of another as her figure-head. Other alterations were made in her rigging and elsewhere, so that the vessel’s appearance was almost entirely changed.

Story 2-Chapter X.

The Chase

The western breeze is fresh and free;Before its power the vessels fleet,And, bounding o’er the flashing waves,Like lovers haste to meet.Isobel – A Ballad.And sweep through the deep,While the stormy tempests blow;While the battle rages loud and long,And the stormy tempests blow.Mariners of England.By each gun a lighted brand,In a bold, determined hand.Battle of the Baltic.

Day after day the wind continued to blow mildly from the west, and the brig still made regular but slow progress before it, on her south-eastwardly course.

One morning, before sunrise, a strange sail was espied upon the larboard bow. It was during Mr Afton’s watch that this discovery was made. The second-lieutenant pronounced the stranger to be a merchant ship. This fact, with the opinion of the officer of the watch, being communicated to the commander of the brig, who was still in his hammock, and whom we must now call Captain Vance, orders were given by him to crowd all sail on the Falcon, and to pursue the stranger ship.

Hour after hour passed away, and still the pirate vessel continued to gain on the chase, which had in the meanwhile been discovered to be a large and heavily-laden ship.

Mile after mile the brig gained while the wind lasted; but towards two o’clock the light breeze, which had been blowing from the same point so many days, began to die away, and by noon there was an absolute calm. The brig was at this time still many miles distant from the ship. For more than an hour each vessel remained, except as affected by that unceasing swell (in this instance scarcely perceptible) which never allows the water to be perfectly tranquil, as motionless as —

“A painted shipUpon a painted ocean.”

Between one and two o’clock, clouds, in masses at first comparatively light, but which grew dense and denser, began to move overhead from the east towards the west; these were evidently impelled by a wind travelling in the same direction, and light flaws of which occasionally made faint shadows over the ocean by slightly stirring its waters, and sometimes gave a soft pulsation to the sails of the two vessels.

Shortly after two o’clock, lightning flashes gleamed in rather quick succession, from below the eastern horizon; but no thunder was heard. At length a small portion of densely black cloud showed itself in the same direction, above the line dividing the ocean and sky. This cloud rapidly rose, spreading itself as it ascended, while flashes of lightning, followed, after fast-diminishing intervals, by grand and grander thunder-burst, flamed forth more and more frequently, from the dark and threatening mass of vapour.

Soon blasts of wind, heavily laden with moisture, and each more powerful than that which preceded it, came with rapidly decreasing lulls, from the west, until the breeze, having at length become continuous, had grown almost to a storm. Both vessels had prepared for this increased force of the wind by shortening sail. The chase, however, urged by the necessity of escaping as well from the brig which pursued her as from the storm, still carried all the canvas which she could bear under the heavy pressure of the wind, almost directly before which both vessels were now steering an east-north-east course. Still the brig, built after the Baltimore clipper model, so famed for fleetness, continued to gain rapidly upon the ship.

“Suppose, captain,” said Afton, addressing Marston, “we range the ‘Long Tom’ to bear upon her, and give her a shot?”

“There is no chance of hitting her,” answered the captain, “with the brig beginning to pitch in the way she is now; it will be but waste of powder. Besides, the distance is too great.”

“If we wait,” objected the second-lieutenant (so-called), “until we get within range of her two cannon, she will have the advantage of us in the number of her guns. If we fire at her from a distance, on the contrary, her cannon will be of no use to her.”

The intelligent reader, of course, already understands that the ship pursued was the Duchess, which, with her passengers and captain, was introduced to his attention in a previous chapter.

“In the present condition of the weather,” replied the captain to the objections of his second officer, “we shall have to lose the advantage of the longer range of our gun, or lose our hoped-for prize. At the rate at which we are now gaining on her, it will be nearly sunset when we overtake her. The sky is already darkened by clouds, and if the rain – which is threatening to fall every moment – should continue into the night, we may lose sight of her altogether, and she may make her escape in the darkness. If she offers to resist, therefore, we shall have to fight at close quarters.”

“I hope that she may be worth the trouble she is likely to give us,” muttered Afton, with his usual maledictions.

“And I hope, Afton,” retorted the captain, with a jesting smile, “that you have no intention of getting nervous about the matter?”

“A pretty time of day,” rejoined Afton, “for anybody to be doubting my courage. You know well enough that I was only wishing that we should make a good haul in capturing her.”

“We cannot tell what she is worth,” said the captain, “until we get on board of her. This we know – that she is a large ship, and appears to be well laden. Others might give up the hope of capturing her on account of the state of the weather; I never give up what I undertake.”

“It is very evident,” said Lieutenant Seacome, “from the manner in which she is handled, that the man who has charge of her is a thorough seaman.”

“Yes,” assented the captain. “And there is something about the man’s movements, as I note him through the telescope, which convinces me that he will make a fight of it before he yields. Captain Coe, you must see to it that your men are ready with all their side-arms. They evidently have men enough to manage both their cannon; and they will, therefore, have the advantage of us, unless we board them, or lay so closely alongside of them that our small-arms will tell. I am determined to board, however, if it be possible to do so in such a sea.”

“My men are prepared to act at a minute’s notice,” said the captain of Marines.

Young Coe had made much progress in the last few days in perfecting his men in their drill. He had already gained their confidence in his capacity for command, his courage and skill, and his possession of all his faculties in moments of danger. Notwithstanding the language in which he had so promptly answered Captain Vance’s (as we must call him now) inquiry, he entertained not the slightest intention of taking any part in the commission of crime; he was determined, on the contrary, to use his influence with his men to prevent it. For the manner in which he should carry out this latter determination he was compelled to trust to contingencies.

On board the pirate-brig every preparation was made for a conflict. In the meantime the hours advanced, and at length the two vessels were within short cannon range of each other. It still wanted more than an hour to sunset, and notwithstanding the dense clouds which still covered the sky (the rain which had fallen heavily for a while had soon ceased) the daylight was still clear enough to distinguish objects on board of one ship from the other, whenever the upheaving and subsidence of the waves allowed the deck of the lower to be seen from that of the higher.

As the brig overhauled the chase, Captain Vance directed his helmsman to steer to the larboard of the chase, on a line as near as it was safe to approach her; by this course he would not only take the weather-guage of the ship, but would also make his position more convenient to “speak” her.

“Mr Bowsprit,” said the captain to the officer who had charge of the cannon, “fire a shot across her bows. That is the best way to open the conversation.”

The shot was immediately fired; and the reverberation was deafening, in the damp, heavy atmosphere.

The vessels were now not more than a hundred yards apart; so near were they to each other, that the shadow of the brig – the outlines of which were defined clearly by the light which came from the western sky, where the clouds were somewhat broken – fell almost aboard the ship.

The shot brought immediately a hail from the deck of the Duchess.

“Brig ahoy!” came through a speaking trumpet in stentorian tones from Captain Johnson.

“Ay, ay,” was the answer.

“Who are you, and what do you want?” was the retort from the deck of the ship.

“The Falcon, free rover,” replied Captain Vance, “and we want you to surrender.”

“We will never surrender to pirates,” answered Captain Johnson.

“If you surrender without resistance, we will spare the lives of all on board,” said the captain of the Falcon.

“I would rather sink the ship,” replied the captain of the Duchess.

“Woe be to you then,” exclaimed Captain Vance. “Your blood and that of those under your control be upon your own head.”

All this conversation between the vessels had been carried on through speaking-trumpets.

“Mr Seacome,” said Captain Vance to his first lieutenant, “display the flag.”

The pirate flag of those days, having a black ground with white skull and cross-bones displayed upon it, was immediately run up to the main mast-head of the brig.

The gale still continued to blow with great force, and the waves were running higher and higher. Though I have said that the vessels were about a hundred yards apart, it is not to be supposed that there was any regularity in the distance between them. Now one vessel would be far below, then far above the other, as she sank into the trough of a sea, or rose upon the crest of a wave. Now the surging waters would drive them farther apart, and now closer together. Meanwhile, near and far over the sea, the fiercely-labouring winds and billows loudly roared in wild unison their stern and complaining songs.

“Had we not better, captain,” asked Seacome, “keep as near as we can to the ship until this gale has fallen, and then make the assault? We could scarcely board in such a wind as this, even should she surrender.”

John Coe wished sincerely that this proposition should be adopted. Only in case of boarding the ship could he hope to carry out his plans; and it did not seem to him possible that boarding could be done in such a state of the weather. Should muskets be used, while the vessels were thus running side by side, his men – acting under his orders too – would, like the rest of the pirate-brig’s crew, do all the damage they could to those on board the ship; and he would have no means of preventing them.