The Pilot: A Tale of the Sea, James Fenimore Cooper [ereader for comics .txt] 📗
- Author: James Fenimore Cooper
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The eye of the pilot examined this armament closely and then turned to the well-ordered decks, the neat and compact rigging, and the hardy faces of the fine young crew, with manifest satisfaction. Contrary to what had been his practice during the short time he had been with them, he uttered his gratification freely and aloud.
“You have a tight boat, Mr. Barnstable,” he said, “and a gallant-looking crew. You promise good service, sir, in time of need, and that hour may not be far distant.”
“The sooner the better,” returned the reckless sailor; “I have not had an opportunity of scaling my guns since we quitted Brest, though we passed several of the enemy's cutters coming up channel, with whom our bulldogs longed for a conversation. Mr. Griffith will tell you, pilot, that my little sixes can speak, on occasion, with a voice nearly as loud as the frigate's eighteens.”
“But not to as much purpose,” observed Griffith; “'vox et praeterea nihil,' as we said at school.”
“I know nothing of your Greek and Latin, Mr. Griffith,” retorted the commander of the Ariel; “but if you mean that those seven brass playthings won't throw a round-shot as far as any gun of their size and height above the water, or won't scatter grape and canister with any blunderbuss in your ship, you may possibly find an opportunity that will convince you to the contrary, before we part company.”
“They promise well,” said the pilot, who was evidently, ignorant of the good understanding that existed between the two officers, and wished to conciliate all under his directions; “and I doubt not they will argue the leading points of a combat with good discretion. I see that you have christened them—I suppose for their respective merits. They are indeed expressive names!”
“'Tis the freak of an idle moment,” said Barnstable, laughing, as he glanced his eye to the cannon, above which were painted the several quaint names of “boxer,” “plumper,” “grinder,” “scatterer,” “exterminator” and nail-driver.”
“Why have you thrown the midship gun without the pale of your baptism?” asked the pilot; “or do you know it by the usual title of the 'old woman'?”
“No, no, I have no such petticoat terms on board me,” cried the other; “but move more to starboard, and you will see its style painted on the cheeks of the carriage; it's a name that need not cause them to blush either.”
“'Tis a singular epithet, though not without some meaning!”
“It has more than you, perhaps, dream of, sir. That worthy seaman whom you see leaning against the foremast, and who would serve, on occasion, for a spare spar himself, is the captain of that gun, and more than once has decided some warm disputes with John Bull, by the manner in which he has wielded it. No marine can trail his musket more easily than my cockswain can train his nine-pounder on an object; and thus from their connection, and some resemblance there is between them in length, it has got the name which you perceive it carries—that of 'long Tom.'”
The pilot smiled as he listened, but turning away from the speaker, the deep reflection that crossed his brow but too plainly showed that he trifled only from momentary indulgence; and Griffith intimated to Barnstable, that as the gale was sensibly abating they would pursue the object of their destination.
Thus recalled to his duty, the commander of the schooner forgot the delightful theme of expatiating on the merits of his vessel, and issued the necessary orders to direct their movements. The little schooner slowly obeyed the impulse of her helm, and fell off before the wind, when the folds of her square-sail, though limited by a prudent reef, were opened to the blasts, and she shot away from her consort, like a meteor dancing across the waves. The black mass of the frigate's hull soon sunk in distance; and long before the sun had fallen below the hills of England, her tall masts were barely distinguishable by the small cloud of sail that held the vessel to her station. As the ship disappeared, the land seemed to issue out of the bosom of the deep; and so rapid was their progress, that the dwellings of the gentry, the humbler cottages, and even the dim lines of the hedges, became gradually more distinct to the eyes of the bold mariners, until they were beset with the gloom of evening, when the whole scene faded from their view in the darkness of the hour, leaving only the faint outline of the land visible in the tract before them, and the sullen billows of the ocean raging with appalling violence in their rear.
Still the little Ariel held on her way, skimming the ocean like a water-fowl seeking its place of nightly rest, and shooting in towards the land as fearlessly as if the dangers of the preceding night were already forgotten. No shoals or rocks appeared to arrest her course, and we must leave her gliding into the dark streak that was thrown from the high and rocky cliffs, that lined a basin of bold entrance, where the mariners often sought and found a refuge from the dangers of the German Ocean.
CHAPTER IX. “Sirrah! how dare you leave your barley-broth To come in armor thus, against your
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