The Buccaneer - A Tale

With roomy decks, her guns of mighty strength,

Whose low-laid mouths each mounting billow laves,

Deep in her draught, and warlike in her length,

She seems a sea wasp flying on the waves.

DRYDEN

It was between the hours of ten and twelve on a fine night of February,

in the year sixteen hundred and fifty-six, that three men moored a light

skiff in a small bay, overshadowed by the heavy and sombre rocks that

distinguish the Isle of Shepey from other parts along the coast of Kent,

the white cliffs of which present an aspect at once so cheerful and so

peculiar to the shores of Britain. The quiet sea seemed, in the murky

light, like a dense and motionless mass, save when the gathering clouds

passed from the brow of the waning moon, and permitted its beams to

repose in silver lines on its undulating bosom.

It was difficult to account for the motive that could have induced any

mariner to land upon so unpropitious a spot, hemmed in as it was on

every side, and apparently affording no outlet but that by which they

had entered--the trackless and illimitable ocean. Without a moment's

deliberation, however, the steersman, who had guided his boat into the

creek, sprang lightly to the shore: another followed; while the third,

folding himself in the capacious cloak his leader had thrown off,

resumed his place, as if resolved to take his rest, at least for a time.

"Little doubt of our having foul weather, master," observed the younger

of the two, in a half querulous, half positive tone, as standing on a

huge bank of sea-weed, he regarded first the heavens, and then the

earth, with the scrutinising gaze of one accustomed to pry into their

mysteries. His companion made no answer, but commenced unrolling a rich

silk scarf, that had enveloped his throat, and twisting it into loose

folds, passed it several times around his waist--having previously

withdrawn from a wide leathern belt that intervened between his jacket

and trousers a brace of curiously-fashioned pistols, which he now handed

to the young sailor, while he elevated the hilt of his dagger, so that,

without removing or disturbing the silken sash, he could use it in an

instant. Having fully ascertained this point, by drawing the weapon more

than once from its sheath, he again deposited the pistols in his belt,

and buttoned his vest nearly to the throat; then drew the ends of his

sash still more tightly, and placing a hand on either side, turned

towards the cliffs, measuring their altitude with an eye, which, though

deficient in dignity, was acute, and peculiarly fierce in expression.