The Buccaneer - A Tale

"Sharp sailing that, boy," observed the elder, as the youth panted at

his side.

"Ay, ay, sir," replied Springall, wiping his face with the sleeve of his

jacket. "Take a drop, master," he continued, drawing a tin bottle from

his bosom, "'twill warm ye after such a cursed cruise."

The Skipper nodded as he accepted the flask, "I hope you are as well

armed on all points as on this; but don't take in too great a reef, or

it will make you a heavy sailor before your time: drop anchor now, and

keep watch here till further orders."

"Keep watch here, sir!" said Springall, in a mournful tone. "And did ye

bring me ashore, and up that devil's rope-ladder, to leave me to watch

here?"

The Captain looked upon him angrily for a moment. "I am rightly served

for taking man or boy out of the canting hulks that lag on the water.

Did ye ever chance to hear such a sound on board the ship Providence as

'Silence, and obey orders?' Let not your walk, youngster, extend beyond

that point, from which, at daybreak, you can catch a view of the court

tree, where, if ancient habits are not all put off, there will be

revelries ere long: the old church at Minster will be also within your

sight, while the sea between us and the Essex coast, and for miles along

the Northern ocean, can scarcely bear a sail that your young eyes will

not distinguish. Watch as if your life--as if a thousand lives hung upon

the caution of a moment; and remember, while the blue light revolves,

which you now see in the vessel's bow, all things abroad go on well. You

also know the pass-word for our friends, and the reception for our

enemies. If you should be at all afraid, three loud notes on your

whistle will summon Jeromio, and a single flash of your pistol will

bring the long-boat off, and into the creek in five minutes. You can

then tumble down the devil's rope-ladder, as you call it, and send the

less timid Italian to keep watch till my return--you understand me." So

saying he strode onwards, leaving the youth, who had not yet passed

eighteen summers, to his discontented solitude and ill-temper.

"Understand you! I wonder who does, ever did, or ever will; perched up

here like a sea-mew, and not having touched land for five weeks! 'Beyond

that point!' I'll be even with him, for I wo'n't walk to that point:

I'll just stay in the one spot." With this resolution, he flung himself

upon a bank of early wild thyme, that filled the air with its

refreshing odour. Long after his master was out of sight, he continued

pulling up tufts of the perfumed herb, and flinging them over the cliff.