The Fatal Cord, and The Falcon Rover

At this moment the door was opened from the outside, giving entrance to a male individual of a somewhat comical appearance. He was rather under five feet in height, and was what is called “square built,” that is, his form and limbs were very stout, or rather, perhaps, thick; and his waist was nearly as wide as his shoulders or his hips. His hair was of a reddish-brown or tawny colour, of exuberant growth, and worn in long, clustering curls which swept his shoulders. His face was deeply tanned by sun and weather; and the scar of a sabre-cut above his left eye caused the eyebrow on that side to be below the line of its fellow. The eyes were of a reddish hazel colour, and their expression showed that their possessor had an appreciation of the humorous, but that there was also “a lurking devil” in his composition. He was dressed in the ordinary sailor costume of that as well as of the present period, of blue cloth roundabout, with many small brass buttons, coarse Osnaburg trowsers, considerably soiled, light pumps, and a tarpaulin hat.

“Well, Billy,” said the captain, “what luck?”

“No luck at all, as far as I am concerned,” was the answer. “A short, broad-beamed lugger like me has no more chance of overhauling a trim, well-rigged craft like that long-legged fellow, who has been taking liberties with our harmless secrets, than a Dutch drogger has to beat upon a wind a Baltimore clipper.”

Baltimore was even then, the reader will recollect, famed for the fleetness of her vessels.

“Where are the other two?” asked Captain Vance.

“I don’t know, indeed, captain,” replied Billy. “When I got to the top of the hill they were all hull down; and I thought that I had better steer for port before I had lost all my bearings. So here I am. I think, by-the-bye, that that long-legged fellow will get the weather-guage of all of them. Do you know his name, captain?”

Billy was a privileged character with his captain, who, in fact, was generally more familiar with his men than is usual with officers in chief command.

“Yes,” answered Captain Vance; “his name is Coe.”

“That’s just the very name for him,” said the sailor. “I have often heard that, in the merchant-houses, ‘Co.’ sometimes stands for more than one man; and I know that this fellow is fully equal to two. Indeed, I think that he’ll prove himself too much for all of us to-night. He runs like a clipper before the wind.”

The door again opened, and two seamen entered, both dressed in costumes similar to that of the last-comer before them. One was evidently a common sailor; the other was a stout, compactly-built man, about five feet six or seven inches in height, of a swarthy complexion, with dark and lowering eyes, and a generally stern and forbidding expression of countenance. His dark hair, somewhat mingled with grey, was, contrary to the usual sailor fashion, cut closely to his head; but he wore all of his grizzled, straight, and uncurling beard long. He seemed to be about forty years of age.

This man interlarded his talk with many oaths of the rudest character. I prefer to omit them in reporting his conversation.

“Well, Mr Afton,” said Captain Vance, in a pleasant tone, addressing this individual, “where is your prisoner?”

“Prisoner?” was the rough answer, “I once was told of a man who was such a fool as to undertake to run a race with the moon; but he had a sight more chance of winning his race than we had of winning ours. We overtook, in the pursuit, two stupid negroes carrying a load of fish. I thought that they had probably seen him, and could, therefore, give us some information with regard to our chase; but though I cut some tough hickory rods, and they were both well thrashed, we could get nothing out of them.”

“That was useless, to say the least of it,” said the captain, with some sternness. “Of course, if they had seen him, they would have told you without having been cruelly beaten.”

Mr Afton indulged himself in a few more oaths, and a heavy frown came upon his face. The captain seemed to take but little notice, however; and there was silence for a few moments. This silence was broken by Mr Afton.

“If I knew who that spying fellow is, and where he lives, captain,” he said, with more respect in his tones and manner, “I would, with your consent, take a few of the men, storm the house, capture him, and bring him aboard.”

“I know the man,” replied Captain Vance, “and also where he is to be found. But there is no need of resorting to the violent means which you recommend – which, by-the-bye, would destroy our trade here, by making it unsafe for us to visit this harbour or its neighbourhood any more. I think that I have a better plan. I know well the character of the man who was watching us, and since you started in pursuit of him, have thought of a plan by which I shall have him peaceably on board of the brig early to-morrow morning, before he shall have an opportunity of communicating with any one. Trust the matter to me; I feel not the least doubt of my success. I will speak to you further on the subject presently.”

From the time that Afton, Billy, and the other sailor had gone in pursuit of young Coe, the process of removing the bales and boxes of goods to the cellar had been unremittingly continued. Soon after Billy Bowsprit’s return, Mr Ashleigh had gone down into the cellar again, to resume the superintendence of the storage of the merchandise. Shortly after the close of the conversation recorded above, between the captain and the first-mate, the merchant reascended to the store-room, and announced that the goods were all safely put away. He was followed by the sailors who had been engaged in carrying down the packages.

“Come, boys,” said the store-keeper, addressing those who had come with him out of the cellar; “let us put the slide and the counter back into their places, and put the store-room again in order. Our night’s work will then be finished. I, for one, shall be glad of it, for I am both tired and sleepy.”

In a few moments afterwards, and while Captain Vance was holding a short, whispered conversation with Mr Afton, his first-mate, the doors and windows of the store-room were made fast. Then the merchant took his way up the hill to his house, and the seafaring people, all but one, returned to the brig.

Story 2-Chapter III.

The Early Visitor

Teler. ’Tis a brave venture, our good master Jansen,

And needs a man of pluck to carry it.

Jansen. Danger, say you? and mystery to back it!

Say no more, Teler – I’m the man for you.

    – Old Drama.

Millmont, the residence of Thomas Coe, Esq, on his plantation of the same name, near the head of Saint John’s creek, was a large, two-storey frame building, with single-storey wings. Each of these wings contained one room, with an attic above, and was connected with the main building by a short and narrow passage or entry. In one of these wings was the chamber of John Alvan Coe. It was a large room, with windows sheltered by Venetian blinds, and opening almost to the floor. A large yard, shaded by several old trees, extended from the front of the house and from the gables of the wings; the garden, in the usual fashion when attached to plantation houses of that time, was on the fourth side, or in the rear of the buildings.

John Alvan Coe not only escaped from his pursuers, but arrived home before the two negro men who had accompanied him. He at once entered his room, and in a few moments – having first loaded his pistols and placed them on a table near the head of his bed, and having seen that the window-shutters were all made fast – sprung into bed, and was soon deep in that sound and refreshing sleep which fatigue always assures to healthy youth.

About four o’clock, or at the earliest “peep of day,” the young man was aroused from his slumbers by a light, grating noise, made by running a stick or a finger down along the outside of the Venetian shutters of one of the windows of his room. He immediately started from his sleep.

“Who is there?” he exclaimed.

“Get up, John, and let me in, quickly,” said a voice from the outside of the window. “I have something interesting to tell you.”

“Is that you, Harry Marston?” asked John. “Wait a moment till I get on some of my clothes.”

In a few minutes the early visitor was admitted into the chamber. It was, as John had supposed, Henry Marston, the son of a wealthy planter in the neighbourhood. Being of an adventurous and roving disposition, he had been unwillingly allowed by his parents, some years before, to enter upon a seafaring life. He had risen rapidly in his chosen profession, and was now captain of the Sea-bird, a merchant vessel in which his father owned an interest, and which was engaged in trading between Baltimore and certain ports in the West Indies and along the Spanish main.

Young Marston was tall and handsome. His hair and the slight moustache which shaded his upper lip were of dark brown hue. His dark, hazel eyes were expressive, at the first glance, of both gentleness and resolution; but a second, and more observant look, discovered something more in them – a something that created uneasiness and a want of trust. Every movement of his body seemed instinct with grace. His voice was soft and musical, but it did not at all remind you of the singing of birds or of the tones of other cheerful and innocent creatures. Still, there was a peculiar fascination in his speech and manner, which possessed a great influence over certain natures. The young man was on this occasion dressed in a handsome suit of black broadcloth.

“How are you, Harry?” exclaimed John, as soon as his visitor entered the room. “This is, indeed, a surprise, and a delightful one. When did you get back home?”

“Last night,” was the answer, “or, rather, I should say this morning, since it was fully one o’clock when I got home. Everybody was aroused from sleep by my arrival; and the old folks insisted upon dressing and coming down to see me at once. All the little ones, too, came out of their nests to see the long-absent Harry. Thus, it was nearly three o’clock before I got a chance of retiring to my chamber, by which time the excitement of seeing so many loved ones banished from me all weariness and inclination to sleep. And this brings me to the cause of my so early visit to you.”

“In the delight of seeing you,” said John, “I had forgotten that subject entirely.”

“When I entered my chamber,” continued Henry Marston, “I found upon the floor, directly in front of the door by which I had come in, this singular and enigmatical card, enclosed in an envelope directed to my address – ‘Captain Henry Marston, Blue Oldfields’ – the name of my father’s place, you know. Remembering your fondness for adventure – we are alike in that respect, in truth – I came over here at once, to ask your assistance in developing the mystery. There is no time for delays, you see, as to-day is the twenty-first.”

The young sailor handed to his friend a card, on which was written, in letters imitating print, these words:

May 21st, 1817, at 5:12 a.m.

At the Spout.

The number iseight.

Be Prompt – Be True.

Forget not the Pass. “A F E.”

“What do you want to do?” asked John, after reading the words on the card. “I can make but little meaning out of this.”

“Why, of course,” replied Marston, “I want you to go with me to this rendezvous. I am determined to find out the mystery. You see, there will be eight there – seven besides myself; at any rate, that is what I understand the card to mean. If anything be wrong, I can scarcely hope to contend successfully against seven men. At an hour so early, few upon whom I could call for help will be about – probably not one at that lonely place. Yet I am determined, at all hazards, to solve the mystery. If you think there is too much risk in the affair, John, I will go by myself.”

“As to that matter,” said John, “you know that I don’t care about the risk, as you call it; so that if you are determined to go I will accompany you. But the affair may be only a joke; and I don’t wish to do anything that will make me the subject of laughter.”

“It may be a joke to try my courage,” observed Marston. “In any view of the case,” he continued, after a pause, “I am determined to make the venture.”

“And I shall accompany you,” said John. “The place designated, I suppose, is the Spout on Saint Leonard’s Creek?”