The Pilot: A Tale of the Sea, James Fenimore Cooper [ereader for comics .txt] 📗

It has been already explained to the reader, that there were threatening symptoms in the appearance of the weather to create serious forebodings of evil in the breast of a seaman. When removed from the shadows of the cliffs, the night was not so dark but objects could be discerned at some little distance, and in the eastern horizon there was a streak of fearful light impending over the gloomy waters, in which the swelling outline formed by the rising waves was becoming each moment more distinct, and, consequently, more alarming. Several dark clouds overhung the vessel, whose towering masts apparently propped the black vapor, while a few stars were seen twinkling, with a sickly flame, in the streak of clear sky that skirted the ocean. Still, light currents of air occasionally swept across the bay, bringing with them the fresh odor from the shore, but their flitting irregularity too surely foretold them to be the expiring breath of the land breeze. The roaring of the surf, as it rolled on the margin of the bay, produced a dull, monotonous sound, that was only interrupted at times by a hollow bellowing, as a larger wave than usual broke violently against some cavity in the rock. Everything, in short, united to render the scene gloomy and portentous, without creating instant terror, for the ship rose easily on the long billows, without even straightening the heavy cable that held her to her anchor.

The higher officers were collected around the capstan, engaged in earnest discourse about their situation and prospects, while some of the oldest and most favored seamen would extend their short walk to the hallowed precincts of the quarter-deck, to catch, with greedy ears, the opinions that fell from their superiors. Numberless were the uneasy glances that were thrown from both officers and men at their commander and the pilot, who still continued their secret communion in a distant part of the vessel. Once, an ungovernable curiosity, or the heedlessness of his years, led one of the youthful midshipmen near them; but a stern rebuke from his captain sent the boy, abashed and cowering, to hide his mortification among his fellows. This reprimand was received by the elder officers as an intimation that the consultation which they beheld was to be strictly inviolate; and, though it by no means suppressed the repeated expressions of their impatience, it effectually prevented an interruption to the communications, which all, however, thought were unreasonably protracted for the occasion.

“This is no time to be talking over bearings and distances,” observed the officer next in rank to Griffith; “but we should call the hands up, and try to kedge her off while the sea will suffer a boat to live.”

“'Twould be a tedious and bootless job to attempt warping a ship for miles against a head-beating sea,” returned the first lieutenant; “but the land-breeze yet flutters aloft, and if our light sails would draw, with the aid of this ebb tide we might be able to shove her from the shore.”

“Hail the tops, Griffith,” said the other, “and ask if they feel the air above; 'twill be a hint at least to set the old man and that lubberly pilot in motion.”

Griffith laughed as he complied with the request, and when he received the customary reply to his call, he demanded in a loud voice:

“Which way have you the wind, aloft?”

“We feel a light catspaw, now and then, from the land, sir,” returned the sturdy captain of the top; “but our topsail hangs in the clewlines, sir, without winking.”

Captain Munson and his companion suspended their discourse while this question and answer were exchanged, and then resumed their dialogue as earnestly as if it had received no interruption.

“If it did wink, the hint would be lost on our betters,” said the officer of the marines, whose ignorance of seamanship added greatly to his perception of the danger, but who, from pure idleness, made more jokes than any other man in the ship. “That pilot would not receive a delicate intimation through his ears, Mr. Griffith; suppose you try him by the nose.”

“Faith, there was a flash of gunpowder between us in the barge,” returned the first lieutenant, “and he does not seem a man to stomach such hints as you advise. Although he looks so meek and quiet, I doubt whether he has paid much attention to the book of Job.”

“Why should he?” exclaimed the chaplain, whose apprehensions at least equaled those of the marine, and with a much more disheartening effect; “I am sure it would have been a great waste of time: there are so many charts of the coast, and books on the navigation of these seas, for him to study, that I sincerely hope he has been much better employed.”

A loud laugh was created at this speech among the listeners, and it apparently produced the effect that was so long anxiously desired, by putting an end to the mysterious conference between their captain and the pilot. As the former came forward towards his expecting crew, he said, is the composed, steady manner that formed the principal trait in his character:

“Get the anchor, Mr. Griffith, and make sail on the ship; the hour has arrived when we must be moving.”

The cheerful “Ay! ay! sir!” of the young lieutenant was hardly uttered, before the cries of half a dozen midshipmen were heard summoning the boatswain and his mates to their duty.

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