Sustained honor Part 20

All! Good gracious, what did the man expect? She was obliged to take her ap.r.o.n in her hand and run her eyes along the hem from corner to corner, to keep herself from laughing in his face;--not because his gaze confused her--not at all.

This was Fernando's first experience in love affairs, and he had no idea how different young ladies are at different times. He had expected a far different scene from the one which was being enacted. All day long he had buoyed himself up with an indistinct idea that she would certainly say, "Don't go," or "Don't leave us," or "Why do you go?" or "Why do you leave us?" or would give him some little encouragement of that sort. He had even entertained the possibility of her bursting into tears, of her throwing herself into his arms, or falling down in a fainting fit, without previous word or sign; but any approach to such a line of conduct as this was evidently so far from her thoughts, that he could only look at her in silent wonder. The hated English rival had won her heart, and she was even glad he was going; yet it was so hard to give her up.

Morgianna, in the meanwhile, turned to the corners of her ap.r.o.n and measured the sides, and smoothed out the wrinkles, and was as silent as he. At last, after a long pause, he said good-bye.

"Good-bye," answered Morgianna with as pleasant a smile as if he were only going for a row on the water and would return after supper; "good-bye."

"Come," said Fernando, putting out his hands, "Morgianna, dear Morgianna, let us not part like this. I love you dearly, with all my heart and soul, with as much sincerity and truth as man ever loved woman. I am only a poor student; but in this new world every thing is possible. You have it in your power to make me a grand and n.o.ble man, or crush from this heart every ambitious hope. You are wealthy, beautiful, admired, loved by everybody and happy;--may you ever be so! Heaven forbid I should ever make you otherwise; but give me one word of comfort. Say something kind to me. I have no right to expect it of you, I know; but I ask it because I love you, and I shall treasure the slightest word from you all through my life. Morgianna, dearest, have you nothing to say to me?"

No, nothing. Morgianna was a coquette by nature, and a spoilt child. She had no notion of being carried off by storm in this way. Fernando had no business to be going away. Besides, if he really loved her, why did he not fall on his knees like lovers in romance or on the stage, and tug wildly at his cravat, or talk in a wild, poetic manner?

"I have said good-bye twice," said Morgianna. "Take your arm away, or I will call some one."

"I will not reproach you," Fernando sadly answered. "It's no doubt my fault," he added with a sigh. "I have thought sometimes that you did not quite despise me; but I was a fool to do so. Every one must, who has seen the life I have led of late--you most of all, for it was he at whose life I aimed. G.o.d bless you!"

He was gone, actually gone. She waited a little while, thinking he would return, peeped out of the door, looked down the broad carriage drive as well as the increasing darkness would allow, saw a hastily retreating shadow melt into the general gloom, came in again, waited a little longer, then went up to her room, bolted herself in, threw herself on her bed and cried as if her heart would break.

Meanwhile, Terrence Malone and the lieutenant, Fernando's rival, were rowing toward Duck Island fire or six miles away. The island was reached. It was a dismal affair little more than an elevated marsh. When the tide was out on Duck Island, its extended dreariness was potent. Its spongy, low-lying surface, sluggish, inky pools and tortuous sloughs, twisting their slimy way, eel-like, toward the open bay were all hard facts. Occasionally, here and there, could be seen a few green tussocks, with their scant blades, their amphibious flavor and unpleasant dampness. And if you chose to indulge your fancy, although the flat monotony of Duck Island was not inspiring, the wavy line of scattered drift gave an unpleasant consciousness of the spent waters and made the certainty of the returning tide a gloomy reflection, which suns.h.i.+ne could not wholly dissipate. The greener salt meadows seemed oppressed with this idea and made no positive attempt at vegetation. In the low bushes, one might fancy there was one sacred spot not wholly spoiled by the injudicious use of too much sea water.

The vocal expressions of Duck Island were in keeping with its general appearance, melancholy and depressing. The sepulchral boom of the bittern, the shriek of the curlew, the scream of the pa.s.sing brent, the wrangling of quarrelsome teal, the sharp, querulous protest of the startled crane, were all beyond powers of written expression. The aspect of these mournful fowls was not at all cheerful or inspiring, as the boat containing the Irishman and lieutenant approached the island.

Through the gathering gloom of night could be seen a tall blue heron, standing midleg deep in water, obviously catching cold in his reckless disregard for wet feet and consequences. The mournful curlew, the dejected plover and the low-spirited snipe, who sought to join him in his suicidal contemplations, the raven, soaring through the air on restless wings, croaking his melancholy complaints were not calculated to add to the cheerfulness of the scene.

[ILl.u.s.tRATION: He sat down on a broken mast.]

It was evident that even the inhabitants of Duck Island were not happy in its possession and looked forward with pleasure to the season of migration.

The boat touched the north sh.o.r.e, and Lieutenant Matson jumped out in mud up to his knees, frightening some wild fowls which flew screaming away. The Englishman gave vent to some strong language, and desired to know if there was not a better landing place. Terrence a.s.sured him there was not, and complained that ducks never sought a "dacint place" for their habitation. Nothing but the glorious reflection that he was making himself a martyr for Morgianna's sake could have induced the officer to take the torches and wade to the low bushes, where he was instructed to make a light and wait until his companion rowed around the island and drove the ducks in great flocks to the light, which he a.s.sured the Briton would attract them, and they would fall at his feet as if begging to be bagged.

Slowly the officer waded through the dismal marsh to the higher land, where grew the low bushes, and by the use of his tinder box kindled a light and, wrapping his boat cloak about him, sat down on a broken mast, which some storm had driven to the highest part of the island.

The minutes pa.s.sed on, and neither the Irishman nor the expected flock of birds came. Minutes grew into hours, and only the sobbing waves and melancholy cries of birds broke the silence. Surely something had happened to his companion. About midnight a dense fog settled over the island, and the alarm and discomfiture of the Englishman became supreme. At one moment he was cursing Terrence, and the next offering prayer for his soul. Never did man pa.s.s a more dreary night.

At last dawn came, and he could see, far across the water, his s.h.i.+p but a speck in the distance. It was to sail that forenoon, and he intended to call on Morgianna and propose; but here he was on this infernal island, hungry, damp and miserable. He knew the vessel would pa.s.s near enough for him to hail it and have a boat sent for him; but then he would miss his intended visit to Captain Lane's, and his future happiness depended on that visit.

While he was indulging in these bitter reflections, a schooner suddenly flew past the island, and, to his amazement, he saw the Irish student, Terrence Malone, whom he had been alternately praying for and cursing all night, standing on the deck apparently in the best of health and spirits. The scoundrel even had the audacity to wave him an adieu as he pa.s.sed.

CHAPTER X.

THE SILENT GUNNER.

Of course, Terrence Malone had played a practical joke on the English lieutenant, and while the latter was pa.s.sing the night on the gloomiest island of all the Maryland coast, the former was sweetly dreaming of dear old Ireland, in the most comfortable bed the tavern afforded. Next morning the captain of the _Xenophon_ sent ash.o.r.e for Lieutenant Matson to come aboard, as they were about to hoist anchor. Terrence, Fernando and Sukey were just going aboard the schooner as the messenger came.

Fernando had pa.s.sed the most miserable night of his existence, and now, pale and melancholy, went aboard the schooner utterly unconscious of the fact that some one was watching him through a gla.s.s from the big house on the hill.

Terrence was as jolly as usual and had almost forgotten the lieutenant.

Just as the schooner was about to sail, ensign Post came aboard and asked for Mr. Malone. Terrence was sitting aft the main cabin smoking a cigar, when the ensign, approaching, asked:

"Where is Lieutenant Matson? I was told he went shooting with you last evening."

"Sure he did. You will find him on Duck Island enjoying the sport I've no doubt. Faith, I had almost forgotten to tell ye to touch at the island and take him off, as ye sailed out of the harbor."

The ensign looked puzzled at this and said:

"This is strange,--this is certainly very extraordinary! Would he stay on the island all night?"

Terrence a.s.sured him that the lieutenant was a great sport and that the best shooting was just before day. The Englishman returned to his boat and was rowed to the man-of-war to report, while the schooner weighed anchor and sailed out of the harbor. The _Xenophon_ followed two hours later, having first sent a boat to Duck Island for the lieutenant, who swore to shoot the Irishman at sight. There was no time for him to call on Morgianna and explain why he had not brought her the ducks, for soon after his arrival the s.h.i.+p departed for Halifax, where the commander had to give an account of his conduct at Baltimore.

Meanwhile, the schooner on which the three students had taken pa.s.sage stood out to sea and started down the coast.

A strong breeze blowing from off land swept her out of sight of the coast, when the wind suddenly s.h.i.+fted, until the skipper declared they had it right in their teeth, and, despite all the skill of master and crew, the vessel continued to drift farther out to sea, while Sukey once more bewailed his fate at risking his life on the water.

"Don't count me in this game again," he groaned. "If I live to get on sh.o.r.e, I'll never risk myself on water broader than the Ohio."

With such headwinds, the schooner could not possibly reach Baltimore that night. All night long she struggled first on one tack and then on the other, and at dawn only the blue mist, seen like a fog in the West, marked the line of the Maryland coast.

"Don't be discouraged, lads," said the skipper cheerfully. "Come down to breakfast, and afore night I'll have ye snug in port."

They went to breakfast, and when they returned found the master and three seamen in the forecastle holding a very earnest conversation. The fourth sailor was at the wheel. Fernando, glancing off to their larboard saw a large s.h.i.+p, flying English colors, bearing down upon them, and he had no doubt that this vessel was the subject of discussion.

She signalled to the schooner to heave to, and as they were within range of her powerful guns, the skipper was forced to obey. This vessel was the English frigate _Macedonian_ cruising along the American coast, and at this time short of hands. In a few moments, the frigate came near and hove to, while a boat with a dozen marines and an officer came alongside the schooner.

"What is your business?" asked the skipper.

"We are looking for deserters and Englishmen."

"Well, here are my crew," said the skipper pointing to his sailors.

"Every one I will swear is American born!"

"But who are these young men?"

"Three pa.s.sengers I am taking to Baltimore."

The three students began to entertain some grave apprehensions. Terrence for once was quiet. His dialect he knew would betray him, and when he was asked where he lived and where he was from, he tried hard to conceal his brogue; but it was in vain.

Sukey came forward and tried to explain matters, but only made them worse. The result was that all three were in a short hour transported to the _Macedonian_ in irons. Protest was useless; the _Macedonian_ was short of hands and they were forced to go.

They were not even permitted to write letters home. However, the skipper had their names, and the whole affair was printed in the _Baltimore Sun_, and copies were sent to the parents of the young men.

Captain Snipes of the English frigate was one of those barbarous, tyrannical sea captains, more brute than human, and, in an age when the strict discipline of the navy permitted tyranny to exist, he became a monster.

The three recruits were added to his muster-roll and gradually initiated into the mysteries of sailor's life on a war vessel.

Poor Sukey for several days was fearfully seasick; but he recovered and was a.s.signed to his mess. Fortunately they were all three a.s.signed to the same mess. The common seamen of the _Macedonian_ were divided into thirty-seven messes, put down on the purser's book as Mess No. 1, Mess No. 2, Mess No. 3. The members of each mess clubbed their rations of provisions, and breakfasted, dined and supped together at allotted intervals between the guns on the main deck.

They found that living on board the _Macedonian_ was like living in a market, where one dresses on the door-step and sleeps in the cellar.