"--I am no pilot; yet, wert thou as far
As that vast shore wash'd with the furthest sea,
I would adventure for such merchandise."
Romeo And Juliet.
A happy mixture of land and water, seen by a bright moon, and beneath the
sky of the fortieth degree of latitude, cannot fail to make a pleasing
picture. Such was the landscape which the reader must now endeavor to
present to his mind.
The wide estuary of Raritan is shut in from the winds and billows of the
open sea, by a long, low, and narrow cape, or point, which, by a medley of
the Dutch and English languages, that is by no means rare in the names of
places that lie within the former territories of the United Provinces of
Holland, is known by the name of Sandy-Hook. This tongue of land appears
to have been made by the unremitting and opposing actions of the waves, on
one side, and of the currents of the different rivers, that empty their
waters into the bay, on the other. It is commonly connected with the low
coast of New-Jersey, to the south; but there are periods, of many years in
succession, during which there exists an inlet from the sea, between what
may be termed the inner end of the cape, and the main-land. During these
periods, Sandy-Hook, of course, becomes an island. Such was the fact at
the time of which it is our business to write.
The outer, or ocean side of this low and narrow bank of sand, is a smooth
and regular beach, like that seen on most of the Jersey coast, while the
inner is indented, in a manner to form several convenient
anchoring-grounds, for ships that seek a shelter from easterly gales. One
of the latter is a circular and pretty cove, in which vessels of a light
draught are completely embayed, and where they may, in safety, ride secure
from any winds that blow. The harbor, or, as it is always called, the
Cove, lies at the point where the cape joins the main, and the inlet just
named communicates directly with its waters, whenever the passage is open.
The Shrewsbury, a river of the fourth or fifth class, or in other words a
stream of a few hundred feet in width, and of no great length, comes from
the south, running nearly parallel with the coast, and becomes a tributary
of the Bay, also, at a point near the Cove. Between the Shrewsbury and the
sea, the land resembles that on the cape, being low and sandy, though not
entirely without fertility. It is covered with a modest growth of pines
and oaks, where it is not either subject to the labors of the husbandman,
or in natural meadow. But the western bank of the river is an abrupt and
high acclivity, which rises to the elevation of a mountain. It was near
the base of the latter that Alderman Van Beverout, for reasons that may be
more fully developed as we proceed in our tale, had seen fit to erect his
villa, which, agreeably to a usage of Holland, he had called the Lust in
Rust; an appellation that the merchant, who had read a few of the classics
in his boyhood, was wont to say meant nothing more nor less than 'Otium
cum dignitate.'
If a love of retirement and a pure air had its influence in determining
the selection of the burgher of Manhattan, he could not have made a better
choice. The adjoining lands had been occupied early in the previous
century, by a respectable family of the name of Hartshorne, which
continues seated at the place, to the present hour. The extent of their
possessions served, at that day, to keep others at a distance. If to this
fact be added the formation and quality of the ground, which was, at so
early a period, of trifling value for agricultural purposes, it will be
seen there was as little motive, as there was opportunity, for strangers
to intrude. As to the air it was refreshed by the breezes of the ocean,
which was scarcely a mile distant; while it had nothing to render it
unhealthy, or impure. With this sketch of the general features of the
scene where so many of our incidents occurred, we shall proceed to
describe the habitation of the Alderman, a little more in detail.
The villa of the Lust in Rust was a low, irregular edifice, in bricks,
whitewashed to the color of the driven snow, and in a taste that was
altogether Dutch. There were many gables and weather-cocks, a dozen small
and twisted chimneys, with numberless facilities that were intended for
the nests of storks. These airy sites were, however, untenanted, to the
great admiration of the honest architect, who, like many others that bring
with them into this hemisphere habits and opinions that are better suited
to the other, never ceased expressing his surprise on the subject, though
all the negroes of the neighborhood united in affirming there was no such
bird in America. In front of the house, there was a narrow but an
exceedingly neat lawn, encircled by shrubbery; while two old elms, that
seemed coeval with the mountain, grew in the rich soil of which the base
of the latter was composed. Nor was there a want of shade on any part of
the natural terrace, that was occupied by the buildings. It was thickly
sprinkled with fruit-trees, and here and there was a pine, or an oak, of
the native growth. A declivity that was rather rapid fell away in front,
to the level of the mouth of the river. In short, it was an ample but an
unpretending country-house, in which no domestic convenience had been
forgotten; while it had little to boast of in the way of architecture,
except its rusty vanes and twisted chimneys. A few out-houses, for the
accommodation of the negroes, were nigh; and nearer to the river, there
were barns and stables, of dimensions and materials altogether superior to
those that the appearance of the arable land, or the condition of the
small farm, would seem to render necessary. The periagua, in which the
proprietor had made his passage across the outer bay, lay at a small
wooden wharf immediately below.
For the earlier hours of the evening, the flashing of candles, and a
general and noisy movement among the blacks, had denoted the presence of
the master of the villa. But the activity had gradually subsided: and
before the clock struck nine, the manner in which the lights were
distributed, and the general silence, showed that the party, most probably
fatigued with their journey, had already separated for the night. The
clamor of the negroes had ceased, and the quiet of deep sleep was already
prevailing among their humble dwellings.
At the northern extremity of the villa, which, it will be remembered,
leaned against the mountain, and facing the east, or fronting the river
and the sea, there stood a little wing, even more deeply embowered in
shrubbery and low trees, than the other parts of the edifice, and which
was constructed altogether in a different style. This was a pavilion
erected for the particular accommodation, and at the cost, of la belle
Barbérie. Here the heiress of the two fortunes was accustomed to keep her
own little ménage, during the weeks passed in the country; and here she
amused herself, in those pretty and feminine employments that suited her
years and tastes. In compliment to the beauty and origin of its
inhabitant, the gallant François had christened this particular portion of
the villa, la Cour des Fées a name that had gotten into general use,
though somewhat corrupted in sound.
On the present occasion, the blinds of the principal apartment of the
pavilion were open, and its mistress was still to be seen at one of the
windows. Alida was at an age when the sex is most sensible of lively
impressions, and she looked abroad on the loveliness of the landscape, and
on the soft stillness of the night, with the pleasure that such a mind is
wont to receive from objects of natural beauty.
There was a young moon, and a firmament glowing with a myriad of stars.
The light was shed softly on the water, though, here and there, the ocean
glittered with its rays. A nearly imperceptible, but what seamen call a
heavy air came off the sea, bringing with it the refreshing coolness of
the hour. The surface of the immense waste was perfectly unruffled, both
within and without the barrier of sand that forms the cape; but the body
of the element was heaving and setting heavily, in a manner to resemble
the sleeping respiration of some being of huge physical frame. The roar of
the surf, which rolled up in long and white curls upon the sands, was the
only audible sound; but that was heavy and incessant, sometimes swelling
on the air, hollow and threatening, and at others dying, in dull and
distant murmurs, on the ear. There was a charm in these varieties of
sound, and in the solemn stillness of such a night, that drew Alida into
her little balcony; and she leaned forward, beyond its shadow of
sweet-brier, to gaze at a part of the bay that was not visible, in the
front view, from her windows.
La belle Barbérie smiled, when she saw the dim masts and dark hull of a
ship, which was anchored near the end of the cape, and within its
protection. There was the look of womanly pride in her dark eye, and
haply some consciousness of womanly power in the swell of her rich lip,
while a taper finger beat the bar of the balcony, rapidly, and without
consciousness of its employment.
"The loyal Captain Ludlow has quickly ended his cruise!" said the maiden
aloud, for she spoke under the influence of a triumph that was too natural
to be suppressed. "I shall become a convert to my uncle's opinions, and
think the Queen badly served."
"He who serves one mistress, faithfully, has no light task," returned a
voice from among the shrubbery that grew beneath and nearly veiled the
window; "but he, who is devoted to two, may well despair of success with
both!"
Alida recoiled, and, at the next instant, she saw her place occupied by
the commander of the Coquette. Before venturing to cross the low barrier
that still separated him from the little parlor, the young man endeavored
to read the eye of its occupant; and then, either mistaking its
expression, or bold in his years and hopes, he entered the room.
Though certainly unused to have her apartment scaled with so little
ceremony, there was neither apprehension, nor wonder, in the countenance
of the fair descendant of the Huguenot. The blood mantled more richly on
her cheek; and the brightness of an eye, that was never dull, increased,
while her fine form became firm and commanding.
"I have heard that Captain Ludlow gained much of his renown by gallantry
in boarding," she said, in a voice whose meaning admitted of no
misconception; "but I had hoped his ambition was satisfied with laurels so
fairly won from the enemies of his country!"
"A thousand pardons, fairest Alida," interrupted the youth; "you know the
obstacles that the jealous watchfulness of your uncle opposes to my desire
to speak with you."
"They are then opposed in vain, for Alderman Van Beverout has weakly
believed the sex and condition of his ward would protect her from these
coups-de-main."
"Nay, Alida; this is being more capricious than the winds! You know, too
well, how far my suit is unpleasant to your gardian, to torture a slight
departure from cold observances into cause of serious complaint. I had
hoped--perhaps, I should say, I have presumed on the contents of your
letter, for which I return a thousand thanks; but do not thus cruelly
destroy expectations that have so lately been raised beyond the point,
perhaps, which reason may justify."
The glow, which had begun to subside on the face of la belle Barbérie,
again deepened, and for a moment it appeared as if her high
self-dependence was a little weakened. After an instant of reflection,
however, she answered steadily, though not entirely without emotion.
"Reason, Captain Ludlow, has limited female propriety within narrow
limits," she said. "In answering your letter, I have consulted good-nature
more than prudence; and I find that you are not slow in causing me to
repent the error."
"If I ever cause you to repent confidence in me, sweet Alida, may disgrace
in my profession, and the distrust of the whole sex, be my punishment!
But, have I not reason to complain of this inconstancy, on your part?
Ought I to expect so severe a reprimand--severe, because cold and
ironical--for an offence, venial as the wish to proclaim my gratitude?"
"Gratitude!" repeated Alida, and this time her wonder was not feigned.
"The word is strong, Sir; and it expresses more than an act of courtesy,
so simple as that which may attend the lending a volume of popular poetry,
can have any right to claim."
"I have strangely misconceived the meaning of the letter, or this has
been a day of folly!" said Ludlow, endeavoring to swallow his discontent.
"But, no; I have your own words to refute that averted eye and cold look;
and, by the faith of a sailor! Alida, I will believe your deliberate and
well-reflected thoughts, before these capricious fancies, which are
unworthy of your nature. Here are the very words; I shall not easily part
with the flattering hopes they convey!"
La belle Barbérie now regarded the young man in open amazement. Her color
changed; for of the indiscretion of writing, she knew she was not
guiltless,--but of having written in terms to justify the confidence of
the other, she felt no consciousness. The customs of the age, the
profession of her suitor, and the hour, induced her to look steadily in to
his face, to see whether the man stood before her in all the decency of
his reason. But Ludlow had the reputation of being exempt from a vice that
was then but too common among seamen, and there was nothing in his
ingenuous and really handsome features, to cause her to distrust his
present discretion. She touched a bell, and signed to her companion to be
seated.
"François," said his mistress, when the old valet but half awake, entered
the apartment, "fais moi le plaisir de m'apporter de cette eau de la
fontaine du bosquet, et du vin--le Capitaine Ludlow a soif; et
rapelle-toi, bon François, il ne faut pas déranger mon oncle à cette
heure; il doit être bien fatigué de son voyage."
When her respectful and respectable servitor had received his commission
and departed, Alida took a seat herself, in the confidence of having
deprived the visit of Ludlow of its clandestine character, and at the same
time having employed the valet on an errand that would leave her
sufficient leisure, to investigate the inexplicable meaning of her
companion.
"You have my word, Captain Ludlow, that this unseasonable appearance in
the pavilion, is indiscreet, not to call it cruel," she said, so soon as
they were again alone; "but that you have it, in any manner, to justify
your imprudence, I must continue to doubt until confronted by proof."
"I had thought to have made a very different use of this," returned
Ludlow, drawing a letter,--we admit it with some reluctance in one so
simple and so manly,--from his bosom: "and even now, I take shame in
producing it, though at your own orders.
"Some magic has wrought a marvel, or the scrawl has no such importance,"
observed Alida, taking a billet that she now began to repent having ever
written. "The language of politeness and female reserve must admit of
strange perversions, or all who read are not the best interpreters."
La belle Barbérie ceased speaking, for the instant her eye fell on the
paper, an absorbing and intense curiosity got the better of her
resentment. We shall give the contents of the letter, precisely in the
words which caused so much amazement, and possibly some little uneasiness,
to the fair creature who was perusing it.
"The life of a seaman," said the paper, in a delicate and beautiful female
hand, "is one of danger and exposure. It inspires confidence in woman, by
the frankness to which it gives birth, and it merits indulgence by its
privations. She who writes this, is not insensible to the merit of men of
this bold calling. Admiration for the sea, and for those who live on it
has been her weakness through life; and her visions of the future, like
her recollections of the past, are not entirely exempt from a
contemplation of its pleasures. The usages of different nations--glory in
arms--change of scene--with constancy in the affections, all sweetened by
affluence, are temptations too strong for a female imagination, and they
should not be without their influence on the judgment of man. Adieu."
This note was read, re-perused, and for the third time conned, ere Alida
ventured to raise her eyes to the face of the expectant young man.
"And this indelicate and unfeminine rhapsody, Captain Ludlow has seen
proper to ascribe to me!" she said, while her voice trembled between pride
and mortification.
"To whom else can I impute it? No other, lovely Alida, could utter
language so charming, in words so properly chosen."
The long lashes of the maiden played quickly above their dark organs, and
then, conquering feelings that were strangely in contradiction to each
other, she said with dignity, turning to a little ebony éscritoire which
lay beside her dressing-box--
"My correspondence is neither very important nor very extensive; but such
as it is, happily for the reputation of the writer's taste, if not for her
sanity, I believe it is in my power to show the trifle I thought it
decorous to write, in reply to your own letter. Here is a copy," she
added, opening what in fact was a draught, and reading aloud.
"I thank Capt. Ludlow for his attention in affording me an opportunity of
reading a narrative of the cruel deeds of the buccaneers. In addition to
the ordinary feelings of humanity, one cannot but regret, that men so
heartless are to be found in a profession that is commonly thought to be
generous and tender of the weak. We will, however, hope, that the very
wicked and cowardly, among seamen, exist only as foils to render the
qualities of the very bold and manly more conspicuous. No one can be more
sensible of this truth than the friends of Captain Ludlow," the voice of
Alida fell a little, as she came to this sentence, 'who has not now to
earn a reputation for mercy. In return, I send the copy of the Cid, which
honest François affirms to be superior to all other poems, not even
excepting Homer--a book, which I believe he is innocent of calumniating,
from ignorance of its contents. Again thanking Capt. Ludlow for this
instance of his repeated attentions I beg he will keep the volume, until
he shall return from his intended cruise."
"This note is but a copy of the one you have, or ought to have," said the
niece of the Alderman, as she raised her glowing face from leaning over
the paper, "though it is not signed, like that, with the name of Alida de
Barbérie."
When this explanation was over, both parties sat looking at each other, in
silent amazement. Still Alida saw, or thought she saw, that,
notwithstanding the previous professions of her admirer, the young man
rejoiced he had been deceived. Respect for delicacy and reserve in the
other sex is so general and so natural among men, that they who succeed
the most in destroying its barriers, rarely fail to regret their triumph;
and he who truly loves can never long exult in any violation of propriety,
in the object of his affections, even though the concession be made in his
own favor. Under the influence of this commendable and healthful feeling,
Ludlow, while he was in some respects mortified at the turn affairs had
taken, felt sensibly relieved from a load of doubt, to which the
extraordinary language of the letter, he believed his mistress to have
written, had given birth. His companion read the state of his mind, in a
countenance that was frank as face of sailor could be; and though secretly
pleased to gain her former place in his respect, she was also vexed and
wounded that he had ever presumed to distrust her reserve. She still held
the inexplicable billet and her eyes naturally sought the lines. A sudden
thought seemed to strike her mind, and returning the paper, she said
coldly--
"Captain Ludlow should know his correspondent better; I much mistake if
this be the first of her communications."
The young man colored to the temples, and hid his face, for a moment, in
the hollow of his hands.
"You admit the truth of my suspicions," continued la belle Barbérie, "and
cannot be insensible of my justice, when I add, that henceforth------"
"Listen to me, Alida," cried the youth, half breathless in his haste to
interrupt a decision that he dreaded; "hear me, and as Heaven is my judge,
you shall hear only truth. I confess this is not the first of the letters,
written in the same hand--perhaps I should say in the same spirit--but, on
the honor of a loyal officer, I affirm, that until circumstances led me to
think myself so happy--so--very happy,--"
"I understand you, Sir: the work was anonymous, until you saw fit to
inscribe my name as its author. Ludlow! Ludlow! how meanly have you
thought of the woman you profess to love!"
"That were impossible! I mingle little with those who study the finesse of
life; and loving, as I do, my noble profession, Alida, was it so unnatural
to believe that another might view it with the same eyes? But since you
disavow the letter--nay, your disavowal is unnecessary--I see my vanity
has even deceived me in the writing--but since the delusion is over, I
confess that I rejoice it is not so."
La belle Barbérie smiled, and her countenance grew brighter. She enjoyed
the triumph of knowing that she merited the respect of her suitor, and it
was a triumph heightened by recent mortification. Then succeeded a pause
of more than a minute. The embarrassment of the silence was happily
interrupted by the return of François.
"Mam'selle Alide, voici de l'eau de la fontaine," said the valet; "mais
Monsieur votre oncle s'esi couché, et il a mis la cléf de la cave an vin
dessous son oreiller. Ma foi, ce n'est pas facile d'avoir du bon vin du
tout, en Amerique, mais après que Monsieur le maire s'est couché, c'est
toujours impossible; voila!"
"N'importe, mon cher; le capitaine va partir, et il n'a plus soif."
"Dere is assez de jin," continued the valet, who felt for the captain's
disappointment, "mais, Monsieur Loodle, have du gout, an' he n'aime pas so
strong liqueur."
"He has swallowed already more than was necessary for one occasion," said
Alida, smiling on her admirer, in a manner that left him doubtful whether
he ought most to repine, or to rejoice. "Thank you, good François; your
duty for the night shall end with lighting the captain to the door."
Then saluting the young commander, in a manner that would not admit of
denial, la belle Barbérie dismissed her lover and the valet, together.
"You have a pleasant office, Monsieur François," said the former, as he
was lighted to the outer door of the pavilion; "it is one that many a
gallant gentleman would envy."
"Oui, Sair. It be grand plaisir to serve Mam'selle Alide. Je porte de fan,
de book, mais quant an vin, Monsieur le Capitaine, parole d'honneur, c'est
toujours impossible après que l'Aldermain s'est couché."
"Ay--the book--I think you had the agreeable duty, to-day, of carrying the
book of la Belle?"
"Vraiment, oui! 'Twas ouvrage de Monsieur Pierre Corneille. On prétend,
que Monsieur Shak-a-spear en a emprunté d'assez beaux sentiments!"
"And the paper between the leaves?--you were charged also with that note,
good François?"
The valet paused, shrugged his shoulders, and aid one of his long yellow
fingers on the plane of an enormous aquiline nose, while he seemed to
muse. Then shaking his head perpendicularly, he preceded the captain, as
before, muttering, as usual, half in French and half in English,--
"For le papier, I know, rien du tout; c'est bien possible, parceque, voyez
vous, Monsieur le Capitaine, Mam'selle Alide did say, prenez-y garde; but
I no see him, depuis. Je suppose 'twas beaux compliments écrits on de vers
of M. Pierre Corneille. Quel génie que celui de cet homme là!--n'est ce
pas, Monsieur?"
"It is of no consequence, good François," said Ludlow, slipping a guinea
into the hands of the valet. "If you should ever discover what became of
that paper, however, you will oblige me by letting me know. Good night;
mes devoirs à la Belle!"
"Bon soir, Monsieur le Capitaine; c'est un brave Monsieur que celui-la, et
de très bonne famille! Il n'a pas de si grandes terres, que Monsieur le
Patteroon, pourtant, on dit, qu'il doit avoir de jolies maisons et assez
de rentes publiques! J'aime à servir un si généreux et loyal maître, mais,
malheureusement, il est marin! M. de Barbérie n'avait pas trop d'amitié
pour les gens de cette profession là."