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

CHAPTER XXXI. “His only plot was this—that, much provoked. He raised his vengeful arm against his country.” Thomson.

Alice Duncombe remained on the sands, watching the dark spot that was soon hid amid the waves in the obscurity of night, and listening, with melancholy interest, to the regulated sounds of the oars, which were audible long after the boat had been blended with the gloomy outline of the eastern horizon. When all traces of her departed friends were to be found only in her own recollections, she slowly turned from the sea, and hastening to quit the bustling throng that were preparing for the embarkation of the rest of the party, she ascended the path that conducted her once more to the summit of those cliffs along which she had so often roved, gazing at the boundless element that washed their base, with sensations that might have been peculiar to her own situation.

The soldiers of Borroughcliffe, who were stationed at the head of the pass, respectfully made way; nor did any of the sentinels of Manual heed her retiring figure, until she approached the rear guard of the marines, who were commanded by their vigilant captain in person.

“Who goes there?” cried Manual, advancing without the dusky group of soldiers, as she approached them.

“One who possesses neither the power nor the inclination to do ye harm,” answered the solitary female; “'tis Alice Dunscombe, returning, by permission of your leader, to the place of her birth.”

“Ay,” muttered Manual, “this is one of Griffith's unmilitary exhibitions of his politeness! Does the man think that there was ever a woman who had no tongue! Have you the countersign, madam, that I may know you bear a sufficient warrant to pass?”

“I have no other warrant besides my sex and weakness, unless Mr. Griffith's knowledge that I have left him can be so considered.”

“The two former are enough,” said a voice, that proceeded from a figure which had hitherto stood unseen, shaded by the trunk of an oak that spread its wide but naked arms above the spot where the guard was paraded.

“Who have we here!” Manual again cried; “come in; yield, or you will be fired at.”

“What, will the gallant Captain Manual fire on his own rescuer!” said the Pilot, with cool disdain, as he advanced from the shadow of the tree. “He had better reserve his bullets for his enemies, than waste them on his friends.”

“You have done a dangerous deed, sir, in approaching, clandestinely, a guard of marines! I wonder that a man who has already discovered, to-night, that he has some knowledge of tactics, by so ably conducting a surprise, should betray so much ignorance in the forms of approaching a picket!”

“'Tis now of no moment,” returned the Pilot; “my knowledge and my ignorance are alike immaterial, as the command of the party is surrendered to other and perhaps more proper hands. But I would talk to this lady alone, sir; she is an acquaintance of my youth, and I will see her on her way to the abbey.”

“The step would be unmilitary, Mr. Pilot, and you will excuse me if I do not consent to any of our expedition straggling without the sentries. If you choose to remain here to hold your discourse, I will march the picket out of hearing; though I must acknowledge I see no ground so favorable as this we are on, to keep you within range of our eyes. You perceive that I have a ravine to retreat into in case of surprise, with this line of wall on my left flank and the trunk of that tree to cover my right. A very pretty stand might be made here, on emergency; for even the oldest troops fight the best when their flanks are properly covered, and a way to make a regular retreat is open in their rear.”

“Say no more, sir; I would not break up such a position on any account,” returned the Pilot; “the lady will consent to retrace her path for a short distance.”

Alice followed his steps, in compliance with this request, until he had led her to a place, at some little distance from the marines, where a tree had been prostrated by the late gale. She seated herself quietly on its trunk, and appeared to wait with patience his own time for the explanation of his motives in seeking the interview. The pilot paced for several minutes back and forth, in front of the place where she was seated, in profound silence, as if communing with himself; when suddenly throwing off his air of absence, he came to her side, and assumed a position similar to the one which she herself had taken.

“The hour is at hand, Alice, when we must part,” he at length commenced; “it rests with yourself whether it shall be forever.”

“Let it then be forever, John,” she returned, with a slight tremor in her voice.

“That word would have been less appalling had this accidental meeting never occurred. And yet your choice may have been determined by prudence—for what is there in my fate that can tempt a woman to wish that she might share it?”

“If ye mean your lot is that of one who can find but few, or even none, to partake of his joys, or to share in his sorrows—whose life is a continual scene of dangers and calamities, of disappointments and mishaps—then do ye know but little of the heart of woman, if ye doubt of either her ability or her willingness to meet them with the man of her choice.”

“Say you thus, Alice? then have I misunderstood your meaning or misinterpreted your acts. My lot is not altogether that of a neglected man, unless the favor of princes and the smiles of queens are allowed to go for nothing. My life is, however, one of many and fearful dangers; and yet it is not filled altogether with calamities and mishaps; is it, Alice?” He paused a moment, but in vain, for her answer. “Nay, then, I have been deceived in the estimation that the world has affixed to my combats and enterprises! I am not, Alice, the man I would be, or even the man I had deemed myself.”

“You have gained a name, John, among the warriors of the age,” she answered, in a subdued voice; “and it is a name that may be said to be written in blood!”

“The blood of my enemies, Alice!”

“The blood of the subjects of your natural prince! The blood of those who breathe the air you first breathed, and who were taught the same holy lessons of instruction that you were first taught; but, which, I fear, you have too soon forgotten!”

“The blood of the slaves of despotism!” he sternly interrupted her; “the blood of the enemies of freedom! You have dwelt so long in this dull retirement, and you have cherished so blindly the prejudices of your youth, that the promise of those noble sentiments I once thought I could see budding in Alice Dunscombe has not been fulfilled.”

“I have lived and thought only as a