The Buccaneer - A Tale

"Yes," was the Ranger's concise reply. "And now," he added, "Jack,

remember, the moment you see my signal, deliver this to the Skipper;

but, as you value your life, not before."

He plunged into the ocean as he spoke; and presently, the sound of the

dividing waters was lost in the distance.

"Well!" exclaimed Roupall, "that beats all the freaks I ever knew even

Robin to be after! Why, the vessel's near a mile off; and, now I think

of it, I never asked him what we were to do when he gave the signal; but

I suppose his paper tells. Lying about here, in such peril! But it's

always the way--the minute a sailor touches land, good-by to his

well-doing."

Before the speaker had climbed the topmost cliff, he met the Buccaneer.

"Hast seen Robin Hays?" was his first question.

"Ay, sir; and, if it was day, you might see him too--at least, the best

part of him--his head, yonder--making for the Fire-fly."

"How! making for the Fire-fly! What do ye mean. Jack? this is no time

for jesting."

"I mean, Captain, that Robin Hays is swimming to the Fire-fly; and that

he told me to watch for a signal he would make; and----"

"And what?"

"Why, he is to make a signal--a red light from the ship."

"Red light from the ship!" repeated the Buccaneer, in a voice of

astonishment; "He has lost his senses! What can this mean? Left he no

message for me?"

"None," replied Roupall; thinking to himself, "a piece of parchment's no

message, so that's no lie."

Dalton paced to and fro on the small ledge that had been beaten smooth

by the step of many an illegal sentry in days gone by: beneath his feet

lay the subterraneous apartments of the Gull's Nest; and before him

(although the night had so darkened that it was no longer visible),

before him was his own vessel anchored. At any other time he would have

felt secure of refuge in the one resource or the other; but

circumstances combined to convince him there was now no certain safety

by sea or land. At one moment, he thought of manning his boat, and

carrying his daughter boldly to the ship. Had he been alone, such would

at once have been his determination--but he could not expose much less

leave her to peril. With the common blindness of those who argue only on

their own side of the question, he could not see why the Protector

should object to the preservation of the Fire-fly; and he had hoped for

Robin's return with tidings that would have made his child's heart, as

well as his own, leap with joy. He knew that Cromwell would make a large

sacrifice to secure the Jewess, Zillah; and he had also reasons to

believe the Protector suspected there were other secrets within his

keeping, the nature of which he would give much to learn. Robin's

motive, in thus visiting the Fire-fly, was beyond his comprehension; and

he had no alternative but to await the promised signal with all the

patience he could command. As he paced the ledge, now with a slow now

with a hurried footstep, the darkness increased, and the stars twinkled

less frequently:--there was no storm--no fierce blast swept along the

heavens, or disturbed the earth, but dense heavy clouds canopied the the

ocean as with a pall. Roupall was seated on a huge stone, his elbows

resting on his knees, his eyes fixed on the "multitudinous sea,"

silently, and not less anxiously, watching for the flash which he

expected would disturb the dull and sleepy night. Ever and anon, the

querulous voice of the woman, keeping watch by the lifeless clay, which

she had laid in decent order upon its humble pallet, in the Gull's Nest,

floated over the cliffs, and died away on the bosom of the waters. At

times, Roupall would growl and fret as a chained mastiff; but the

anxiety of the Skipper had so increased, that he ceased moving, and

stood on the bold brow of the crag, like a black monument of stone.