Beadle's Half Dime Library No. 1165 — page 10: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

. ¥ - i - cy» @ ee See . 7 : . p * “ P me i ee et ee em ee we a e~* ; ‘ a 4 a | . . P : a ’ ~ 4 * why ~~ >. a" ~~ —— — ty ~ oe - v ‘< ~ - Beadle’s Half-Dime Library. “ No, he is only tired; the captain said he was not to be called,” said another voice, that re- ealled to Harold the tones of Bianca’s colored servant, Ebony. ** Coxswain?” ‘* Ay, ay, sir,” and the next instant Morris put his head in at the cabin door, ‘* How, in the name of all that’s glorious, did you come here?’ ‘** In a boat, sir.” “How did you know I was here?” “The captain—the man with the dangerous and melancholy blue eyes—came to the tavern at eight o’clock this morning, and sent me with your luggage aboard.” Ses ioe ‘Wight o’clock! What time is it now?’ ‘' Kleven, sir.” ‘** How sound asleep I’ve been. Yes, I remem- ber I told him where If stopped; this was in- deed kind of him, Coxswain, lam glad to see ou.’ ‘Thank you, sir, and I am glad to see you for I thought you had been done away with in the vile town.” - Harold gave the coxswain credit for hitting pretty near the truth, and rising; dressed him- self 5 penta and sat down to a good breakfast, that Ebony prepared for him, _ Ere he had finished bis meal Bianca entered, dressed in citizen’s clothes, and greeting him warmly, handed him a small packet, which, on opening, displayed hisown watch and chain, and a roll ef bank-notes. ‘ _ “My noble friend, how did you get them? Pray tell me,” said Harold, in surprise. ‘Very easily; I went to the owner of the saloon, told him to glance at a badge I wore, which was similar to thoss worn by the chief detectives of the Government, and after telling him I knew all about your having won a for- tune from his ‘bank,’ and then, under a false sense of justice to him, had been induced to play again, | demanded the return of your watch, chain and one thousand dollars, or let him take the consequences. He was frightened severely, and restored them without a word.” ‘How can I ever repay you?” said Harold, touched by this mark of friendship in the cap- tain, ‘“*] will tell you: it is important for me to at / once exchange vessels, and in an hour I will tow into Shirley’s shipyard, and make the exchange tw my own schooner, while you can run down to your old home and visit your friends for a few days, When I will call for you. You and your man can take the new vessel’s largest cut- ter, which is all rigged for sailing, and in a few hours you can get there. **T will at once make the transfer, and join you the third night from this evening. I say night, because I intend running out under cover of the darkness, and I wiil-tell-you why: **T went to see my schooner’s twin this morn- ‘ing, and find her, though apparently a perfect copy, in reality very different, for she will not ea fe either the speed or the weatherly quali- ies of my own craft, although both fast, stiff, and a beautiful imitation; but she is no longer for sale, having been purchased for the United States Government, I hear, and placed under the command of your old enemy, Lennox Montelair.” f 'What?” “True, and Walter Lyle is her first luff, the Portsmouth having gone on the stocks for re- pairs, and other vessels receiving her officers, as already the tocsin of war has sounded.” Do I hear aright?” See ** Yes, the storm has broken, and all is .activ- ity with army and navy; so you see I am de- sirous of getting to sea at once, and I will lie in wait for the twin schooner, and give them a sur- prise they little suspect.” “Surely, you would not attack—” ** No, no, you misunderstand me; I am as true an American as yourself, Marmaduke,” *T beg your pardon, Captain Bianca; but—” “T understand you; my own remarks led you to make the mistake; but wait and see.” | An hour more, and Harold and Morris were darting through the Narrows before a stiff breeze, tha schooner’s cutter behaving well and sailing like a bird, as she headed down toward Sandy Hook, under the skillful guidance of the young officer, whose hand had not forgotten its cunning in his years of absence from the duty of a pilot. ? CHAPTER VIII. THE HIGHLAND CABIN HOME, ‘SINE years bring great soem es, even in na- ture, aut ly in human bei ‘so changed his foet the coming and going of nine long summers cere Aline Ellis, the pilot’s daugh- ter, far more than one could imagine, The reader had a glance at Aline, when Har- old was at home after more than four years’ absence, and beheld her then just budding forth into maidenhood., Now, when seventeen summers have lightly touched her, each adding but renewed beauty to face and form, it was startling almost to see the aii for a most perfect woman was “the result. As darkly beautiful as a Spaniard, with pink- bronzed complexion, heavy masses of raven ir, and eyes velvety in their deep depths of darkness, where siept worlds of passion and fire, only needing the spark of love to burst in- to flame, a flame that would consume the heart with intense burnings, and with a form of vo- luptuous grace, Aline Ellis was indeed a creature of wondrous loveliness, a gem that any man would be proud to win and wear, Upon the pilot’s cabin home change had also come, for, loving Harold as though he were their own offspring, and Aline regarding him as dearly as she would have loved an own orother, daily all had struggled to improve the home- stead, making ic more roomy, comfortable and beautiful against the wanderer’s return. The cabin of logs had been enlarged, improv- ed, and refurnished with many conveniences, for Enoch lacked not the means to live, not de- pending wholly upon his calling for support. A lawn of an acre sloping toward the river, nad been well laid out, and flower-gardens grew on the south side of the cabin, while surround- aie inclosure was a neat fence. ack against the hillside, and thus protected from the chill north winds, was the barn-yard where two good horses were to be seen, seyera cows, and a number of sheep and swine, while rolling away toward the valley was visible\half a hundred acres wader fine cultivation. | The steep pathway ere from the cabin to the river-bank, had greatly been improved, graded off, and steps placed in its steepest places, while jutting out into the water was a neat but substantial pers to which were tied a small cat-rig sail-boat, and several row-boats, from the surf-skiff to the pilot-yawl. Anchored out in the stream was not the old pilot-sloop, that had served Harold so good a turn when he; had boarded the Portsmouth in the storm, but a trim-looking schooner of twenty tons, with three men and a boy, her crew, loHing in the sun upon her decks. Altogether it was a lovely scene, and one in- dicative of comfort and contentmént, for Enoch Ellis, grown more pray and stern as the years passed on, sat on the broad porch in an easy- chair, smoking and gazing seaward, while his wife, whom time rendered more sad look- ing, but otherwise touched lightly, was near, engaged in knitting socks for her husband. ' Aline lay at full length upon the grass, in a negligent but graceful manner, and divided her time between a book and seaward gazing. This scene, quiet and home-like, was eager] gazed upon by one of the occupants of a small cutter that had rounded Gravelly Point, and was heading toward the little pier. With a glass at his eye Harold, for it was the oung officer, contemplated, with trembling eart, the home-like scene, and at the same time mechanically steered the boat through the cir- ewitous channel up the river. A few moments more and the cutter was un- der the schooner’s stern and Harold hailed; ** Ahoy! what schooner’s that?’ ‘“* The pilot-boat Marmaduke; Captain Enoch Ellis,” answered one of the men on board, spring- ing to his feet and saluting, for Harold was still in full uniform, , ‘Ts Captain Ellis at home?” ** Ay, ay, sir: land at yonder pier,” and the cutter passed on, hidden by the hill from the inmates of the cabin. Springing ashore, and leaving Morris to se- eure the boat, Harold sped rapidly up the hill, and suddenly came face to face with the scene, from what it was when he last be- held it, years before. Standing in the shadow of the woods he com- templated for some time the cabin, its improve- ments, and the occupants, and then cried, in the ringing voice of the quarter-deck hail: ‘** Enoch Ellis, ahoy!” ; ** Ahoy! ay, ay, sir!” cried Enoch, starting to foet, and for the moment thrown off his cere by the ringing voice, which remind- him of the days when he went to séa before the mast in an English vessel of war. ‘Harold! oh Harold!” cried Aline, recogni ing him at a glance, and dashing forward she threw herself into his outstretched arms, while " Enoch and his wife also hurried forward to greet the wanderer home. . It was a joyous meeting, though in Harold’s manner there was a certain tinge of sadness; bug in pleasant converse, in which the coxswain joined, for his commander had made him come to the cabin as a guest, the evening passed away and bedtime came, ‘‘ Father Ellis, can I see you a moment ere we retire?’ asked the young officer, who still called Inoch by the name he had in boyhood. ‘* Certainly, my son; let us walk forth upon the porch, and have a glance seaward, for it is a lovely moonlight night,” and Enoch led the way forth into the opeli air. * Father oe [have resigned from the navy,” abru J y said arold. signed! and war commencing! I do not understand, my son,” said the surprised pilot. ‘I will explain; I told you to-night of my pi Png and my leaving my hospitable en- tertainers to go aboard the sloop-of-war Ambus- cade; but I did not tell you the cause. + The first luff of the sloop was Lennox Mont- lair. ‘Indeed! he has risen rapidly, for a man of as little sea knowledge as he evidently possesses ; but influence has raised him,” ‘I am not discussing that point but another; Montclair informed Lord Vivian that he had known me in boyhood, and that I had resting upon me the curse of being a nameless boy.” Knoch Ellis started as though he had been struck a violent blow; his face paled, his brow grew dark and stern; but after a moment he re- covered himself, and said hoarsely: ‘* He told this lie; then would. ja take his life!” “Yes, he told this, and more, he said you were aware of it.” ‘* He lies, in his false throat he lies !” ‘Thank God!” ‘Yes, what I say is true, Harold; you were picked up at sea in an open boat by myself; one other was with you—a man who appeared to be your guardian, for he denied being your father, and did not live until we reached the land; you know where he lies, yonder beneath the shadow of Rocky Point. ‘‘ All he had with him was a bag of gold; and an old memorandum-book, both of which f still have; the memorandum-book stated that he Arthur Denison, and his young charge, Harold Marmaduke, had sailed for America in the good oa Vixen, bound from Liverpool to New York, and been wrecksd at sea, with all on board ex- copuing one boat’s crew, and those afterward died of starvation. | ‘‘ His address was at a small village, some forty miles from London, and If felt always as- sured that by pong there you could find your parents, or at least learn who the my cowardice at losing you cause from you the secret, ‘* Now you know all that I know,” ‘Indeed I thank you, my more than father. Why I should have been shipped from England to America, in boyhood, I know not; but I be- born, and that time will were; but me to keep lieve 1 am honorabl bring all thin “ aa how and will lend her my aid in this coming war.” ‘** But you have left the navy, and just ata time when you were winning fame and rank,” ‘*True, I left, because Montclair sowed the seeds of hatred toward me among my brother officers, and I was ‘cut’ by them. Le. ‘*T left to return here, and from you find out the story of my life, and then to seek for proof of who and what I am in England, but m plans are somewhat changed for the present, and if I do not tire you, I will tell you all, even to my greatest follies.” ‘*T am not tired, my son; I will listen,” said Enoch, quietly, and Harold hastily made known to the pilot all with which the reader is already uainted, hiding nothing. ‘“When will this schooner’ be here?’ asked Enoch, after he had heard all, right. “The third night from this, and I wish to con- ceal her here until Montelair’s craft goes to sea, when we will up anchor and follow in her wake, How is the depth of water now in the channel?” ‘* A little shallow, I fear; but by midnight, in a day or two, it will be high tide, and she can run in and round Rocky Point and lie hidden until the next high water.” ’ ‘Good! then that will be our plan; now let us retire,” and the two men re-entered the cabin and de to their separate sleeping-rooms, Harold with a much lighter heart than before, and Enoch, from some cause known to himself, in a mood strangely gloomy and sad. Shortly after dark, u n the third night of Harold’s stay at home, CEN ee Se am an American in heart now, » he | 4 pilot-boat stood out - ~* fd) ng 5 ‘ »