THE EFFECT.
"'Twas in the third King William's time, When many a pirate bold Committed on the seas the crime Of shedding blood for gold."
"My name is Captain Kyd, As I sailed, as I sailed: My name is Captain Kyd, And so wickedly I did, God's laws I did forbid When I sailed."
BOOK II.
CHAPTER I.
"All in the olden time."
"Our ancestors smoked long pipes, wore breeches and buckles, spoke in a strange tongue, and were called Dutchmen; for what saith the chronicle?
"Dutchmen lived in those days in Nieuve-Amsterdam."
Five years have elapsed since the events narrated in the last book transpired. In the interim, the seed then sown has had time to ripen to the germe; the germe to bud, and blossom, and bear fruit: youth has advanced to manhood; the characters then forming, formed; and the effects of the various causes then in operation fully wrought, and apparent to every eye. The scene, as well as the time of the story, is now changed, and, with its actors, transformed from the Old to the New World.
In the year 1695, William the Third appointed Richard, Earl of Bellamont, governor of the province of New-York. He did not, however, receive his commission until eighteen months afterward, nor arrive in his government until April, 1698. At this period the American coast, from New-England to the Capes of Virginia, were infested by a daring bucanier, who not only swept the seas with his fast-sailing vessel, but frequently run boldly, in open day, into the harbours of New-York, Boston, and Newport. To such an extent did his depradations reach, so fearful became the terrible name of "Kyd," that at length the fisherman feared to launch his boat, the mariner to spread his sail, and citizens trembled for their safety within the very centre of their fortified towns.
Such being the state of things, Lord Bellamont, on assuming the administration of colonial affairs, was especially instructed by the English government to make use of all the means placed at his command to remedy an evil so alarming, and fraught with consequences so fatal to the growth and prosperity of the colonies. For this purpose, immediately after his arrival at New-York, he had despatched the light-armed vessel which had brought him over from England in pursuit of the pirate.
She had been absent some time, and her arrival in the bay was hourly and anxiously looked for by the honest Dutch citizens. As the time for her return drew nigh, it was the custom of certain of these worthies, after the humble occupations of the day were over, to assemble at eventide about the stoope of frau Jost Stoll's tavern by the water side, and with their long pipes supported in their mouths with one hand, and a mug of double beer or mum held in the other, steadfastly to gaze down the bay, in expectation of the return of the crusier, the while gravely discussing their doubts of the bold bucanier's captivation by mortal ship; and by times relieving their discourse with dark tales of his marvellous and bloody exploits on the high seas.
Before entering further upon this division of the story, it perhaps may be necessary, for the proper understanding of it, to describe New-York as it was at this period. On the north side of the present Wall-street there extended from East River, then called Salt River, to the North River, a palisade ten feet high, constructed of piles firmly driven into the earth, strengthened and sustained by crosspieces of timber. The interstices were filled with earth and stone, and it was in every part ball-proof. South of this palisade lay all that then was New-York. Beyond were forests, and a vast tract called "King's Farms," now embraced between Canal and Liberty streets. This wall was perforated midway between the two rivers by a gateway, through which passed the road to Albany: this avenue is now called Broadway. At the eastern extremity of the wall, at the foot of Wall-street, and facing the water, was a half-moon fort, called a Rondeel: another was at Coenties-slip, or "Countess-slip," so called in honour of the fair Lady of Bellamont; and a third, equidistant from it, on the site of what is now the corner of State-street and the Battery. From Broadway, west, there was a sloping shore to the beach, there being neither wharf nor landing on this side of the town; and on the south, the tides came up nearly to the iron gate of the Battery that at present opens into Broadway—the site of the present "Marine Park" being at low tide a sandy beach strewn with vast fragments of rock, and called "The Ledge," where fishermen spread their nets and dried their fish.
At the foot of Broad-street, then called "Here Graft," and at that time the principal street of New-Amsterdam, were two great docks, called "West" or "East Dock," as they chanced to be on the east or west side of Broad-street. Through this street nearly to Wall-street also run a creek, widened into a canal, and spanned by bridges wherever it was intersected by streets. Near the head of this canal was the abode of the city ferryman, who conveyed passengers in a wherry either to the Island or Jersey shore. The houses of the better class stood principally on William and Pearl streets, the latter being open to the water, with dwellings only on the west side facing it. Maiden-lane was then a green lane with a fine spring at its head where the Dutch maidens were accustomed to bleach the linen they wove. Fronting the river stood the Stadt Huys (the ancient City Hall), a massive stone structure two stories high, with battlements rising above the gable ends. The lower story was used as the colonial prison. Opposite the Stadt Huys stood the fish-market. In the Bowling Green, then an oblong square, surrounded by locust-trees, was the City Market, which was held three times a week, and opened and shut by the ringing of a bell. The gate of the city was formed of a pair of massive leaves of oak, strengthened with bars of iron: they were shut at night on the setting of the watch, and opened at sunrise by ringing of bells. The citizens took watch by turns or were fined. They were to be "good men and true, and free from cursing and swearing." It was their duty to watch by the gate and the bridges, and thrice during the night to take the rounds of the city, particularly to see that neither Indians nor negroes were abroad, or lying about in the market-places. In cases of emergency or alarm, they were commanded to call on the nearest citizen for aid; each householder being required to keep always in his house a "goode firelocke," and at least six rounds of balls thereto. Gutters run through the centre of all the streets, which were unpaved; and in the middle of Broadway, near Wall, and also in Pearl-street, were public wells and pumps. The houses were built mostly in the Dutch style, with gable-ends to the street, and stoopes.
The "Rondeel," or crescent before mentioned, that defended the south side of the town at the foot of Broadway, was erected on the top of a large mound, fourteen feet high, with a green sloping glacis on every side. The wall of the fort was still twenty feet above the glacis, strongly constructed of stone, with two square wings, the centre being in the shape of a half-moon. On the north side stood a few apple-trees and an aged linden that over-topped the walls, from the parapet of which was a near view of the market, of the fields about the "Bowline Greene," the hay-scales, and the north gate of the city. In the centre of this fort stood a small stone chapel, the first Dutch church erected in New-York. Four cannon were mounted on the water side, and a heavy gun, of vast calibre, planted on the north side of the wall, commanded the gate of the palisades. East of the fort was a forest of several acres, in which were kept the governor's deer. Nearly hid among its old trees, yet open to the bay, stood, within a stone's throw of the gate of the fort, the gubernatorial mansion of the earl, a stately Dutch edifice of stone, painted white and ornate with scalloped gables, turret-like chimneys, a cupola, latticed galleries, and "stoopes." The ground before it sloped in a smooth lawn to the glittering beach; and from its door the eye embraced the whole of the far-extended bay, with its green and wooded islands, and a distant glimpse of the sea. On the east of this mansion, which, from its white exterior and imposing appearance, was named by the admiring burghers "Der Vite Sals," or White Hall; a name the site has retained to this day, commenced Pearl, then called Dock street. It was on the corner of this and Broad-street, and within one hundred yards of the White Hall, that the public-house of frau Jost Stoll was situated.
This ancient, well-frequented, and popular inn, the humble progenitor of the numerous costly and palatial hotels that now adorn the modern city, was one story high, and extended far back on both streets, showing a front on each. Its roof was tiled with glazed Dutch tiles, and ascended almost perpendicularly to a great height, where it met a second or super-roof, which was clapped over it like an extinguisher. In its descent towards the ground, however, it look a horizontal curve outward, and projected full seven feet from the walls across the sidewalk, supported along its eaves by a row of rude columns. The gable-ends rose ambitiously above the roof, from which be it said projected sundry dormant windows, which were cut into steps or half-embrasures, giving the building a sort of castellated aspect. Its windows, and they were many of divers shapes, square, circular, oval, and diamond, were placed in all possible positions, as the fancy of the architect dictated. On each street was a broad door, with a narrow carved canopy above it, and beneath a stoop with seats on either side. To these, for the accommodation of her numerous customers, the bustling Dutch hostess had of late placed four long benches, two on each side of the house, against the wall and just beneath a row of windows with little three-cornered panes of glass set in leaden sashes. The advantage of two fronts to the inn is apparent, and was a very great convenience to the worthy citizens. In the summer mornings they were wont to sit on the south and shady side, which looked down the bay; and in the afternoon on the east and now shady side, which commanded not only a side view of the harbour, but a full view of the muddy dock, alive with ducks, at their feet, and the clumsy stone bridge that crossed it. But, since they had begun to watch for the reappearance of the "Ger-Falcon," the name of the vessel which was despatched in pursuit of the pirate, the south front, notwithstanding it was in the month of June, and the level sun lighted up the little windows of the inn like an illumination, had become the most frequented and popular; and, on the evening of the day in question, the east side was deserted by all save a tawny slave, a recumbent Indian, and one or two sleepy dogs. On the south front, therefore, at the time of the opening of the second part of this story, were gathered, towards sunset, beneath the shade of the projecting roof, a motley group, composed of some of the best burghers of New-Amsterdam, and, what is more, the choicest customers of frau Stoll. They were seated on benches on either side of the stoop, the two seats of which were occupied by a little, short, fat member of the corporation, and a tall, thin, long-nosed churchwarden, the chiefest dignitaries of the church and state. Besides these worthies, there were several artisans, and other worthy citizens of the ancient town.
"Dere vill be moche fear dat de tamt pucanier hash got de king's ship, and no te king's ship haav got te pucanier," said one of the worthy burghers, sagely shaking his head after a long look down the bay; and taking his pipe from his mouth and emitting a generous cloud of smoke, he looked round to see how his opinion was received.
"'Tis quite time, Mynheer Vandersplocken, that the ship should be back; but whether she brings a prize or no is another thing," said the warden, blowing through his pipe to ignite the tobacco therein.
"I'll ventur' to say you are right dere, Mynheer Varder," said an antiquated Dutch skipper, blowing forth with his words a volume of smoke that for a time rendered his round, rubicund visage and portly paunch invisible; "dis skipper Kyd ish not to pe taken sho easily. Schnaps and tunder! he would plow up his yocht to de tyfil first. Ay! he vill never haav te hemp cravat, te plack rogue."
"Is he black?" asked the warden, eagerly.
"Ay—ish't plack he ish, schipper Schenk?" repeated the burgher.
"Goot! schipper Schenk, den hash seen him! how doesh dou know dat he ish plack?" asked a third, who, from his greasy apparel, was the tallow-chandler of the town, laying his pipe across his oily knee and looking him in the face with the air of a man who expected to hear something marvellous.
"'Tish not plack in te face I mean, put in te heart," said the skipper. "I have seen him, as you say, Mynheer Schnops; and his hair vas white as te lint, and his eye plue as te sky, and his skin fair as te lantlaty's taughter here. A fair young man he vas to look upon."
"And cruel as fair," said the warden. "Tell us, worthy skipper Schenk, o' the time you saw this bold rover; doubtless it will be a tale to listen to."
"Ay, good schipper!" "Yaw, schipper Schenk, gif us te story," cried several voices.
Ashes were knocked from some of the pipes, and others were refilled; the more distant listeners moved nearer to the skipper, who, looking round with the patronising and superior air of a man who hath seen more danger than his fellows, settled himself into the attitude of a story-teller, and took a long-drawn whiff at his meerschaum:
"It vas in te Long Island Sount," he began, "just after the last line gale. I vas in mine little yocht, te Half Moon, and, haaving carried away my powsprit, put into a creek unter Sachem's Heat to cut another from te treesh dere. I left te men to vork hewing te spar, and valks about on te shore, looking rount, and tinking vat a nice plaace it vas—te Sachem's Heat—for a city, if te lant vas lower, so tat a tyke micht be made all rount it."
"A tyke, sure; vat is te citee mitout te tyke? vera goot," were the approving ejaculations of his listeners.
"Ton't interrupt me, or tish tyfil a pit more you get o' mine shtory. Now vere vas I? Vell, as I vas saying, I vas valking by mineself ven I comes to te oder side of te heatlant, ant tere lay anoder vessel mitout a mast, ant more tan fifty men at vork putting new spars into her. Vell, I vas vondering vat craft it vas, for she vas carry many kuns, vhen somepoty vas lay a hant on mine shoulter, ant I looked rount ant vas see a tall, hantsome, ant fair young man, mit plue eyes ant light locks, mit pistols at belt ant swort py his side.
"'Goot tay, Mynheer Schipper,' says he, in a free ant easy vay. 'Ish tat your craft pelow in te creek?'
"'It ish, mynheer,' says I. 'Dis gale has put us poth into von bipe, if tat ish your craft pelow dere.'
"'It ish, schipper; vill you go on boart?'
"'Ish must get my repairs tone ant pe off,' I sait.
"'I haav a flasche of goot Scheitam, mynheer,' sait he.
"So I vent aboart, ant ve hat a merry time mit te Scheitam ant te bipe.
"'Tis ish te real shuniper from Deutch-lant, captain,' says I, pouring te last trop out of te flasche.
"'It's made from the Italian shuniper, schipper,' says he.
"'Deutch or Italian,' says I, 'it's te oil ov life; ant never pefore tid I trink such shin.'
"'I am glat you like it,' says he; ant he mate a negro, in golt ant green jacket ant brocken, put on anoder flasche.
"By-ant-py, says I, 'Vat's te name o' your craft, captain,' tinking it a ship in te king's navy.
"'Te Silfer Arrow,' says he.
"'Te Silfer Arrow. I haav not hear tis name in te navy.'
"'Nor ever vill,' sait he. 'Fill your glass, schipper, I vill give you a toast.'
"So I filled to te top, ant, rising up, swore I't trink it on mine legs, if he gave te tyfil himself, for te Scheitam vas in me. So I helt on to te taple-corner, ant he sait,
"'I give te healt of Kyt.'
"'Nefer,' sait I; ant smashed my glass on te taple in a tousant atoms. 'I vill trink to te tyfil, put not to Kyt,' says I.
"His eyes flashed like coals ov vire, ant he put his hant on a pistol; put ten he laughed ant sait,
"'Drink to my healt, ten, good schipper.'
"'I'll trink your healt, captain, from te neck ov te flasche, till tere pe not von trop left pehint.'
"'Pledge me, den,' sait he.
"So ve filled, ant I trank a bumper to his goot healt.
"'Very vell, schipper. You haav done as I wished,' he sait, smiling. 'Who, tink you, is your entertainer?'
"'Te'il care I,' sait I; 'I know te Scheitam, tat is enough for schipper Schenk to know.'
"'Did you ever hear of te Adventure Galley?' says he.
"'It's Kyt's vessel,' sait I, 'tat he scours te sea mit.'
"'Look here, schipper, ant reat,' said he, shoving asite a sliting panel above te transum.
"I looked, ant reat, in large letters,
"'The Adventure Galley.'
"'Vat te tyfil!' sait I, laying a hant on my cutlass, 'tish is not te—'
"'Te Adventure Galley, ant I am Captain Kyt,' says he.
"So I drew my cutlass ant mate a lunge at him, supposing I vas in for a death; but he wrested it vrom me, ant mate me sit down ant vinish te pottle, ant we soon got right vell acquainted.
"'Vhen do you leave te creek, schipper Schenk?' says he.
"'It vill take me two tays yet, mit my three men, to set te bowsprit. It's a pad pusiness, dish delay; ant I vish I vas vell out of dis place'—for I pegan to fear for my throat, notmitstanding ve drank Scheitam togedder. But Captain Kyt vas de shentleman. He sent his men to help mine, ant in four hours I vas ready for sea again, sount as ever. He came to see me off, sent two flasches ov de Scheitam, ant shook hants mit me, mit many pleashant vords, ant gave me dis arrow, saying, 'Tese are my passports for my frients. If you ever are in any tanger from my peoplesh, it vill pe your safeguart.' Ant he spoke true; for it hash twice saven my cargoesh."
As the skipper concluded, he held up to view a small silver arrow the length of his fore-finger, on which the warden discovered, as it was passed round from one to the other, the words:
"Respect the sign. Kyd."
"Strange—it ish vonderful—vera goot!" exclaimed severally those to whom it was handed.
"He is not so wicked after all, then, schipper Schenk," said the warden.
The skipper shook his head, and replied mysteriously, "I vish I may alvays gif him a goot vide berth, datsh all, Mynheer Vorden, notmitstanding te Schietam."
"I can tell you a tale that will give you a different opinion, Master Warden," said an English mate, who formed one of the party of listeners.
"By all means let us hear it," said the warden, knocking the ashes from his pipe against his shoe, and refilling the bowl from a leathern pouch by his side wherein he was accustomed to carry a pound of loose Turkish cut.
"Ve vill lishten; tell it, skipper Jack," all cried, directing their eyes first down the bay to see if they could discover an approaching sail, and then turning and fixing them upon the face of the seaman.
"Well, shipmates," said the sailor, dropping from his mouth carefully into the palm of his hand a huge quid of tobacco, and sprinkling a shower of saliva over the pavement; "you see as how it was in the West Indies. Captain Kyd had captured a trader bound from Newport to Barbadoes, and, having taken out all the valuables, set fire to her, with every soul on board save a young gentleman and young lady—one being sweetheart to the other, you must know. These he took on board his vessel, the 'Ventur' Galley, and told the young lady, who was very rich, that if she would pay forty thousand dollars for her ransom, she should go free. So she went into the cabin with him, and wrote the order for the money. 'Now,' says she to him, 'I will not give it to you unless you promise to give me what I love best on earth.' 'Now,' says he to her, 'fair lady, what do you love best on earth?'
"'My betrothed husband,' said she.
"'Would you have his heart rather than all else in the world?' asked he.
"'Yes.'
"'I comply with your demand—but first you must dine with me,' said he.
"So a great dinner was served up, and only Kyd and the lady sat down to it—for he treated her with great respect all the time, and more like a gentleman than a bucanier. After they had dined, she said, 'Now grant me my wish, and let me have what I love best on earth.'
"'You have had it,' said he.
"'Where—what?' she asked, trembling all over at his fearful looks, and hardly knowing what to dread.
"'Your lover's heart.'
"'Where?' she asked.
"'You have just dined off of it,'" said he.
"What became of the lady?" asked the warden, after the exclamations of horror and surprise had subsided.
"She became a maniac, and in three days was buried in the sea," replied the narrator, replacing his quid and taking a hearty draught at a can of ale handed him by Frau Stoll herself.
"Donder ant blixen! I don't pelieve it—tish not true, I vould shwear," said the skipper. "He ish pad enough, put not so pad ash dat—tish one of te itle shtories tat peoplesh frighten von oder mit."
"'Tis said he always gets devil's luck, before he sails, from them as has dealings with the Evil One, and always burns a Bible on his capstan every time he weighs anchor," said the sailor, without regarding the incredulous skipper.
"The last time he was here, when he walked our streets so boldly, with a score of armed bucaniers at his back, before he set sail I heard how he got evil charms from the witch at Hell Gate," observed the warden, in a low, cautious tone.
"I can give ye a wrinkle on that point, I guess," said a lank, half-farmer, half-sailor looking being, who commanded a trader between the Rhode Island plantations and New-York—one of the first of the species now so numerous. "I anchored once, waiting for the flood tide to take me through the gate, close alongside the rock her hut is on. Feeling kind o' neighbourly, and not knowin' then who lived there, I got into my yawl, and pulled ashore to scrape acquaintance and talk a bit. As I came up to the hut I heard a strange noise, and smelt a brimstonish smell, and so thought I'd reconnoitre afore goin' in. Looking through the window, I see the old Witch of Endor and Captain Kyd, as I learned a'terward it was, goin' through the awfullest hellifications ever hearn tell on. She hanged a piece o' yarn round his neck, and then said as how he had a charmed life. Gracious! and the way it lightened and thundered jist then was a sin to death! Blue blazes an' brimstone—great guns and little guns—big devils and little devils, mixed up with owls and hobgoblins, snakes and catamounts, with a sprinkling o' hell-cats and flying sarpents, touched off with the tarnellest yells, 'nough to lift a feller right off his feet by the hair of his head. I thought creation was comin' to an eend, and dropped down on my marrow-bones and prayed away like a disciple. Soon as I could get on my legs, I showed 'um some purty tall walkin' till I got to my yawl again, I tell ye! I expected nothin'd be left o' me when I got there but my eyebrows and shirt risbands."
"She is a fearful woman," said the warden; "and little thanks do we owe them for sending her among us. 'Tis said, before she was transported to the colony from Ireland, that she had spirited away by her foul charms the son of some noble house. Ill has fared the colony the three years she has been in't."
"She shoult pe purned for von vitch vooman," said the skipper; "I would pe te first to make te fagot plaze."
"I'll be there to help you a bit, I guess, too," said the Rhode Islander. "I han't been to Salemtown in New-England for nothin', I guess. The way they do with the critters there is a little the cutest. If they want to tell for sartin if an old woman's a real witch, they throw her into a pond. If she's drownded she's no witch; but if she swims, its gospel proof she is—coz what old woman could swim if she warn't a nat'ral witch. They then tie her to a stake and set fire to her."
"Mit your leave, goot peoplesh, I vill shay vat dey doesh mit vitches in mine countree," said the Dutch burgher, deliberately taking the pipe from his mouth. "Virst, dey tries her py veighing her in te scales mit von Piple; if she be heavier nor te Piple, she ish prove von olt vitch voomans. Dis ish vera goot! Secont, dey tries to shoot her mit silver pulletsh, ant den dey tiesh her heelsh ant het bot' togedder, and drops her into te deep vater. Dat is alsho more vera goot!"
"What are ye gathered here for, ye idle knaves and fat burghers, ye masses of smoked flesh—sponges steeped in ale—and paunches like your own pint-pots, frightening each other's cowardly ears with tales of fear. Who is it ye would kill with your silver bullet, Master Von Schmidt?"
The company started at the harsh, stern voice that addressed them so unexpectedly, and uttered, as they looked up, divers exclamations and interjections of surprise, not unmingled with apprehension. The warden rose from his wooden bench, and, hurrying away, disappeared quickly round the corner of the inn; the tallow-chandler upset his can of ale in his over-eagerness to gain the taproom; the burgher broke the long stem of his pipe by striking it against the door-sill as he crowded in on the tallow-chandler's heels; and on each countenance and in every gesture of those who remained was depicted consternation and anxiety.
The personage who had caused this sudden movement was a female of low stature, deformed and hideous in person, with a stern aspect, and a wild, restless eye—indeed, none other than Elpsy the sorceress. Suspected of having made way with the young Lester—the illegitimate Lester—she had been arrested by the countess and thrown into prison. But confessing nothing on trial, and the circumstances not being sufficient in themselves to convict her, after remaining in prison two years, she was sent, with other criminals and dangerous persons, to the colonies. Forbidden by the worthy burghers to harbour in the town, she had selected, as more in unison with her wild and wandering life, and the mysterious character she claimed, a lonely abode, once a fisherman's lodge, on the rocky islet on the right of the outlet of Hurl Gate, still known as the Witch's Rock. Here she performed her unholy rites, and far and wide her fame spread as a sorceress. Seamen, as they shot through the dangerous pass, propitiated her; and those who would have fair winds sought them of her in full faith. The good came to her for good, and the evil for evil. The tender Dutch maiden would do pilgrimage there to ask after the fate of an absent lover, or seek assurances of his happy and speedy return. There were tales, too, that she favoured the bucaniers who swarmed the coasts, and that their success was owing to the heavy bribes of gold they gave her for prosperous cruises. Occasionally she visited the town, to the consternation of its worthy citizens, who never failed to presage evil to "scot and lot" from her presence.
"What is it ye fear, Master Warden—what is it leads ye to leave your bench, schipper—is't your own shadows ye fear?" she now cried, fixing her eyes darkly and angrily upon each countenance.
"It ish out ov reshpect, Frau Elpshy," replied the half-tipsy schipper, mustering his physical to the aid of his moral courage, and speaking in a deprecatory tone. "We knowsh your power, ant make reverensh to it by getting up, ash you say."
"Ye are a hypocritical and fear-stricken set, all of ye—ever gulping ale, ye have only ale courage. Jost Stoll, woman, give me a can of thy best Island spirits. I have walked far, and am athirst and weary."
The strong potation was given her by the reluctant hostess, who dared not refuse her demand, lest, in the evil that she would visit upon her hearth-stone and roof-tree, she might lose far more than the value of a goblet. The weird woman quaffed the beverage at a draught, and, placing the cup on the bench with an emphasis, turned and looked down the bay with a steady gaze. Every eye followed hers. The sun had just touched the hills of Jersey with his lower edge, and the evening haze lifting from the water gave a dimness to distant objects. For some seconds she continued to gaze, and then suddenly cried,
"He comes!"
"Sail ho!" instantly shouted the Rhode Islander. At the same moment, a universal exclamation from the observers upon the stoope showed that all eyes had discovered the object that had attracted the attention and caused the sudden outcry of the woman.
Far down the bay, near its junction with the sea, diminished to a mere speck by the distance, and appearing not bigger than a snow-flake floating above the water, or a white gull riding on the waves, a vessel was seen entering the Narrows and standing towards the town. Instantly all was excitement. The noise and rumour of its approach flew from the Rondeel on the south even to the wall on the north. The worthy citizens, attended by their fraus and their little folk, maids and matrons, old and young, black and white, slaves and Indians, and everything that had life in New-Amsterdam, assembled in front of Jost Stoll's inn, with their eyes directed down the bay. With a steady, onward course, the vessel came gallantly up the channel, and such was the way she made that she promised to drop anchor off against the fort ere the twilight should be deepened into night. Gradually, as she approached, her form and size began to grow more distinct to the eye, and her proportions to stand out clearer.
"She is a brig—but not the Ger-Falcon, I am thinking," said the warden, who had again taken his place among the crowd, his curiosity overcoming his superstitious fears—albeit, he gave the sorceress a wide berth. Nor indeed was he alone in his aversion to her society; for every one present seemed instinctively to avoid her neighbourhood: so that she stood alone in an open space before the inn, intently watching, without heeding those around her, the advancing sail.
"Vat oder prig can it pe, put te Sher-Falcon," said the skipper. "Dere ish none expected here till next Shaint Andrew's tay. De Barbadoesh packet vash just sail—de Glasgow merchantman ish not due till Christmash, and tere ish put one oder prig dat trade here, vich is gone to te Golt Coast for negroesh. 'Tis te Ger-Falcon, or te pucanier Kyt himself."
"Got forbid!" was the exclamation from every tongue.
"She should carry her colours boldly aloft if she were an honest trader," said the warden. "'Tis suspicious."
"The Ger-Falcon, neighbour, was a square-rigger, I guess," said the Rhode Islander, making a focus of his closed hands, and looking long and scrutinizingly at the stranger; "if I know a mainsail from a spanker, that craft is a 'morfydite, with a reg'lar straight stem for a mainmast."
"It ish true; tish not te king's vesshel," said the schipper, looking eagerly at her. "She ish not square-rigged; nor ish she von 'morfridyte neider. She ish polacca-rigged, and has von cut-vater like a pike's nose. Dat craft ish here for no goot."
As the skipper spoke he felt in his pouch anxiously, and, drawing forth his little arrow, looked at it between doubt and confidence, and, shaking his head bodingly, walked into the taproom to comfort his spirits with a fresh can of "mum."
The oracular shake of the skipper's head seemed to have affected all present. Glances of apprehension and words of trembling inquiry were interchanged; and, fluctuating between hope and fear, they continued anxiously to watch the approaching stranger, at times turning their glances towards the witch, to see if, on her dark features, they could read a confirmation of the fears the skipper's words and mysterious manner had awakened. As the vessel came nearer, it was clearly apparent to the most unpractised eye that she was not the vessel sent out in search of the bucanier, and for which they had so long been on the watch. There was something, too, in the shape and air of the stranger, that roused their suspicions of his pacific character, and the dreaded monosyllable "Kyd" was whispered under breath from one to the other. Many an anxious eye was turned towards the Rondeel, to see if the vigilance of the town's defenders was roused, and, to the confirmation of their fears, they saw that the little garrison was on the alert; that armed men were on the walls; that the tompions were taken from the guns; and that its captain stood with his glass on the outer bastion watching the vessel, while ever and anon an order, hastening the warlike preparations, reached their ears.
The stranger, a long, sharp, polacca-rigged brigantine, came swiftly on, boldly passed Red Hook, disappeared a few moments behind the wooded swell of Governor's Island, and reappeared on the east side, within gunshot of the town. Just as the more timid citizens began to think of withdrawing to the protection of the fort or the covert of their stout stone houses, and just as a warning gun was fired from the Rondeel, she rounded to, her canvass shivered in the wind, her after sails descended to the deck by the run, and her fore sails one after the other rapidly disappeared: a moment afterward, with everything furled, she dropped her anchor, and, swinging slowly round to it, remained, dimly seen through the thickening twilight, as stationary as the island off which she was anchored. After commenting upon her appearance and character, and giving vent to their doubts and suspicions, one by one the worthy citizens retired to their well-defended mansions, trusting to the governor to keep and hold the city should it be placed in peril before the coming dawn. Elpsy was left alone where she had stood all the while, watching the vessel's approach: the red light of the western sky lighted up her dusky features with a baleful glare, and her features worked with some deep, inward emotion. She would one moment strain her eyes towards the reposing vessel, and the next, with an exclamation of disappointment, stride, with an impatient step, to and fro the narrow strand before the alehouse.
"'Tis he," she said, looking fixedly in the direction of the vessel. "'Tis the day he said he should return, and he has not deceived me. Now will I bring about that I have laboured five long years to accomplish. He shall obey me; he shall do it; he shall do what I command—fulfil it to the letter, or he shall die. No boat yet!" she said, pausing and looking over the water. "He waits for night. He will scarce think to meet me here; but he shall not come and go again without seeing me. He escapes me no more. Let me lay my hand on his heart and get his promise to see me, and I will go back to my rock; for I know then he will come to me there."
The stars at length came out, and night took the place of the glowing twilight. The customers of Jost Stoll had returned to their homes, or were seated within, under protection of the massive shutters and bars, which, earlier than at her accustomed time, the fore-guarding landlady had placed over her windows. All was still throughout the town save the tread of the sentinel on the parapet of the Rondeel, the tramp of the night-guard going with quicker and more determined tread than usual to their posts, the regular dash of the waves on the beach, and occasionally the low, deep voice of the weird woman soliloquizing. At length, after many an earnest look and impatient word, the distant dip of oars in the direction of the brigantine reached her ears, and in a few minutes afterward, faintly visible through the darkness, a boat was seen approaching the entrance of the canal below the inn. With a glad exclamation she hastened forward to meet it.
CHAPTER II.
"The stain of crime—the stain of crime Glows in immortal colours there! Not e'en the coursing flood of time Can make that foulest plague-spot fair. My love was thine; it would have stood The test of years, or falsehood even; But thine own hand, imbued in blood, Hath shut to thee both earth and heaven. Away, away! there flows 'tween thee and me The deep, dark ocean of eternity."
The worthy burghers assembled before the inn of frau Jost Stoll had not been alone in their anxiety for the return of the Ger-Falcon, nor in their curiosity about the strange vessel which had sailed so boldly into their harbour.
Between the Rondeel and the alehouse, amid a park of majestic trees with a lawn before it sloping to the water, stood, as has been before described, the ancient White Hall, the gubernatorial residence of the Earl of Bellamont. It was an antiquated, rambling edifice, with divers bastion-like projections, chimneys terminating in turrets, lofty-peaked gables, and long, low wings. Running along the whole front was a balcony, upon which the windows of the second story opened, converting it into an airy and elevated promenade for the occupants of the suite of rooms connecting with it. At the eastern extremity of this terrace, which here wound round an octagonal-shaped tower obtruding from the angle, was a deep curtained window, which led into a boudoir. The slanting rays of the setting sun fell in rich tints through it upon the carpet, and, reflected from its crimson curtains, diffused a roseate light throughout the chamber. Near the centre of this apartment, which was furnished with the most costly articles of luxury, stood a superb harp, with its music lying open upon a stand beside it, as if just deserted. Paintings, of subjects tastefully appropriate for such a scene, from the pencils of the old masters, hung upon the walls, and shelves of gilded books filled the sides of a niche, in which, on a pedestal of black marble, stood a snowy statue of Calliope. In an opposite recess answering to it was a Clio; and in a third, fronting the window, was a Madonna and child, by Guido, before which, on a tall tripod of silver and ivory exquisitely carved, was placed a crucifix of gold, set with precious stones, and several books of prayer and of pious reading.
By the open window which faced the south sat a female, in the white and flowing evening costume of the times. Her face lay in the palm of her right hand, which rested on a slab supported by bronze lions that stood beneath a lofty mirror half hidden in tapestry. A guitar lay unheeded upon her lap, on the silent strings of which her fingers unconsciously lingered, while her eyes were turned towards the sea, whither, it was plain, her thoughts had also flown. At her feet was a silken flag, on which was embroidered the crest of Bellamont—a boar's head—and beneath, in Gothic characters, the letters R. F., the latter unfinished, with the needle left in it. She was exceedingly lovely, beautiful as the houris that awake the glowing lyre of the Persian bard. Her beauty was oriental too—soft, languishing, dreamy, and most dangerous to look upon. The amorous sun lingered and still lingered on her olive brow, rioting on its beauty, and, to the last, entwined his golden rays among her glorious hair. And such hair! It was dark as the midnight cloud. Evenly parted on her forehead, it was turned back from her blue veined temples to the top of the head, and braided to resemble the crest of a helmet; but several flowing waves of the luxuriant braid had burst the bondage of the fillet, and now sported about her superb neck in the gentle evening wind.
Five years had passed, and Kate Bellamont had become the lovely woman she now appeared. She had grown taller, being now a little above the common height, and her ripened figure was moulded in the most finished model of feminine grace. Nothing could be more fascinatingly perfect than the undulating outline of her person; and from the rounded arm and elegant hand, to the symmetrical foot just peeping from beneath her robe, resting its tip on an ottoman, all was grace and harmony. Her features, too, were in keeping with the enhanced beauty of her person. The expression of her face was something loftier and more decided, but blending, nevertheless, much sweetness with that peculiar and graceful dignity becoming a very beautiful woman. Her dark, floating eyes were fuller of passion and thought, and far more fatal to the beholder were their animated glances. The budding loveliness of her ruby, laughing lip had changed to a sweeter and more quiet character; yet love, now a practised archer, lay hidden there still, nestled amid smiles and dimples; perhaps, too, they bore a stronger impress of pride of birth and firmness of character than heretofore. Indeed, all that the youthful maiden had promised was fulfilled in the more matured woman, and the unfolding bud had burst into glorious flower.
As she gazed forth from the window, and looked long and anxiously down the bay, which stretched before her reflecting all the hues of the gorgeously painted sky, a pensive shadow would at times steal across her features, and a sigh escape her bosom; then, with a conscious blush, she would drop her eyes, thrum a nervous note or two on the guitar, and again bend her searching, wishful gaze over the water.
At length, just as the sun was setting, a vessel appeared afar off in the entrance of the harbour, and with an exclamation of joy she bounded to the balcony, and watched, with no less interest than the skipper and his companions had done, its approach towards the town. As it came nearer, a look of disappointment clouded her features, and anxiety and suspicion began to take the place of hope.
"No, it is not he; such was not the fashion of his sails; nor does the flag of England fly from her mast as it is wont to do. Heaven forbid that accident should have befallen him. Oh, that he would return and relieve my anxious watching.—Yet perhaps this stranger may bring me news of him."
As this thought occurred to her, she watched the motions of the vessel with renewed interest, until she dropped anchor within gunshot of the town. The gun from the Rondeel, and the confused murmur of voices from the inn below, increased her curiosity; and the deepening twilight still found her at the window, with her eyes fixed on the scarcely visible hull, as if, although it might not contain him she looked for, it was yet in some way connected with her destinies.
Elpsy, it will be remembered, after her appearance at the inn of Jost Stoll, waited until nightfall, and then, hearing the approach of a boat from the strange vessel, hastened to meet it. It pulled in close by a large rock; and as the person it bore stepped to the beach, she at once knew him by his bearing to be him she sought. He gave a few brief orders to his men, warning them to be guarded against surprise, and then, wrapping his mantle about him, first loosening his sword in its scabbard and bringing his pistols round to be ready for use, he moved across the beach towards the silent inn. She permitted him to pass her unseen, and followed him till he reached the open space in front of the alehouse, when, seeing him pause as if to reconnoitre, she approached him from behind and lightly touched his arm.
Quick as lightning, his hand was upon her throat, and a pistol was held to her heart. But as quickly the hand was released and the weapon put up.
"Is it thou, Elpsy? Thou shouldst come less stealthily upon a man who is accustomed to the use of steel. Had I not recognised thy accursed shape, not to be mistaken even in this faint starlight, thou wouldst have caused me to shed thy blood. What wouldst thou?"
"The fulfilment of thy promise."
"Have they come?"
"All. 'Tis five weeks since the ship that bore them from the old country anchored in the harbour."
"All?"
"All, even thy—that is, even to the Lady Lester!"
"Ah, the poor lady! Does she live?"
"Scarcely. For years she shut herself in her castle; but the Earl of Bellamont, pitying her loneliness and her sorrows, a year since did prevail on her to take up her abode at Castle Cor."
"And so, when he was appointed governor, she came hither with him? I would see her, Elpsy."
"Nay, thou hadst better not. There is one who alone will demand all thy time and thought! Hast thou the will to perform? will no faint-heartedness come over thee?"
"None. I love her still. Time only increases my passion. Five years has given me worldly lessons. I am ready to fulfil the vow I made to thee when in port a few months ago, in expectation of her arrival, and now assert my claim to the rank and title of Lester, for I have been taught that kings have been bastards, and bastards kings."
"And to this title seek to annex that of the house of Bellamont?"
"But will she hear me still? I fear even thy art, aided by thy subtlest filters, could not make her love if love has once died in her heart."
"It will depend on thee—as it chance that thou love her or her title more."
"I care not for her title so I be once more her accepted wooer. Elpsy," he said, with animation, "I have loved this maiden well; never, save when sleeping—nor even then, for my dreams were of her alone—have I ceased to think of her. There is none, save thyself, that know I am not the true Lester?"
"None. Even Lady Lester still mourns thee as her son, and would be first to hail thee."
"The Mark Meredith?"
"Is lost at sea, and so thou art the only claimant."
"Canst prove it?"
"His name appeared, 'tis said, in every print, as one lost in a king's ship, that went down at sea, in a storm off Calais four years ago."
"'Tis better than I thought. Yet he was a brave lad! Does Lady Lester know of thy presence here?"
"She lives secluded in the White Hall, and knows naught that passeth in the world. But did she, am I not beyond the reach of justice, should she seek my death on suspicion of slaying thee? Was I not tried and nothing found against me—as how should there be? I am an exile and under sentence. Ha, ha, law cannot reach me; and man, unaided by it, dare not. I reign here; I rule all minds. It is they who fear, not I. They are the slaves of superstition, and I make them obedient to my will. Even thou, proud man, dost acknowledge my power."
"I do, Elpsy."
"Therefore shalt thou have its aid in thy wooing."
"Nay, first let me try my fortunes on the footing of our former love."
"If she will not listen to thee?"
"She will."
"Wilt thou resign her if she will not?"
He was silent for a moment, and then said,
"What would you have me do?"
"Take her with thee to thy vessel—once there, thy will must be her will. I shall give thee neither rest nor peace, on sea or land, till thou art the acknowledged Earl of Lester, and, by marriage, Lord of Bellamont. Go. Where you see the light burning in yonder window is her chamber. I saw her there as the sun went down. Go, and when thou hast spoken with her, come to my hut and tell me how thou art received. See thou lag not, for I have prepared the rites thou hast sought of me—and if thou wouldst have thy buried treasures hid from mortal eyes, and prosper in what thou undertakest, see thou art with me before the midnight hour."
"Stay, Elpsy; should she discover that Kyd and Lester are the same?"
"Then," said the woman, in a sneering and malicious tone of voice, "thou wilt have to woo the rougher, and 'twill be more to thy credit if thou carry her off. Would it humble thy pride to have her know it?"
"By Heaven, did I believe she did, I would not go near her."
The witch laughed in such a way that he half suspected her of betraying him. He laid his hand on her shoulder, and said quickly,
"Woman, thou hast told her, to gratify thy malicious soul."
"Think you I would crush the seed, when, by a little patience, I can pluck the fruit of the full-grown tree? Go, boy!"
As she spoke she pointed towards the White Hall. He left her without replying, and walked in the direction of the mansion, which stood silent and majestic amid its noble grove of oaks.
As the night advanced, lights were brought into the boudoir of Kate Bellamont. Turning away from the window with a sigh of disappointment, she struck a few sad notes on her guitar, and then, throwing it aside, took up the flag she was embroidering, and began mechanically to ply the needle, occasionally pausing in her graceful toil, with her head inclined towards the open window, as if she fancied she heard sounds from the water. Suddenly she started and sprung to the balcony. The regular dip of oars now struck distinctly upon her ears, each instant approaching nearer and nearer, and a dim object soon advanced from the distant gloom; and, as it came swiftly on, she could distinguish the bodies of men and the outline of a boat boldly relieved against the glassy flood. In a few seconds it was hidden by an oak and a clump of shrubbery, but she could hear it still as it made its way towards the entrance of the canal in front of the "Boat and Anchor," as the inn of Jost Stoll was designated. After listening a while longer, and hearing nothing to confirm her hopes that it bore a message to the White Hall, she re-entered her boudoir and once more resumed her embroidery. This in a little while she restlessly cast aside, and, approaching her harp, struck its golden chords, and, accompanying it by her voice, sung, in a wild and thrilling strain, a popular Irish air. Now slow and solemn sounded the deep, majestic notes; now light and free; now soft, and touching, and most melancholy, even to sadness, they wailed beneath the magic touch of her fingers—her voice, or deep as an angel's trumpet, or soft as a guitar, or clear as a flute, or wild and high like a clarion, following in faultless harmony through the rangeless fields of melody.
"Like an emerald gem on the breast of the sea, Dear Erin, my home! is thy vision to me; As the sun to the day—as the moon to the night, Is thy thought to my soul—'tis its warmth and its light.
"Sweet clime of my kindred—loved land of my birth! The fairest, the dearest, the brightest on earth; Oh! where'er I may roam—howe'er bless'd I may be, My spirit all lonely returns unto thee.
"There first budded passion—there burst into bloom The flower of young hope—though it droop'd to the tomb! But that brief life of love! though whole ages may roll O'er my heart in despondence—'tis fresh in my soul.
"Let the winds wildly blow—let the waves madly rise, Till the storm-sprite's libation is flung in the skies; Still my spirit will seek, o'er the ocean's bright foam, For my home in dear Erin—my own native home!"[A]
[A] Composed by Owen Grenliffe Warren, Esq.
The last notes of the music were trembling on the chords, and the maiden stood as if entranced by her own strains, when a noise like the flitting of a humming-bird in the chamber caused her to start, and, at the same instant, something glittered past her eyes and fell at her feet. She stooped to lift it from the carpet with an exclamation between fear and surprise.
"A silver arrow! What can it mean? Ha! surely I have seen it before—no, no, it cannot be! I will examine it! what strange recollections—what long buried memories start up! I will see if my suspicions are true!"
She held it to the light with a trembling hand, and with undisguised astonishment read:
"Field of Archery, Castle Cor, May, MDCXCIV."
"Merciful Heaven!" she almost shrieked, "it is—it is the same! Who can have done this? Whence came it? 'Tis Lester!"
"It is Lester!" repeated a deep, rich voice.
She turned with a half cry and startled look towards the window, and, to her terror, beheld standing just without on the balcony, in the shadow of the curtain, a tall dark figure enveloped in a cloak, his features shaded by sable plumes drooping over his brow from a Spanish hat looped boldly up in front.
She would have shrieked, but her surprise and alarm for a moment denied her utterance. She leaned on her harp for support, and gazed on the intruder without the power to move. He advanced a step and stood within the window. The movement restored her presence of mind, and with a degree of self-possession that surprised herself, and in the tone and manner of one who feels herself insulted by intrusion rather than intimidated by the presence of the intruder, she cried,
"Stand, sir, whoever thou art! Approach no nearer, or I alarm the Hall."
As she spoke she extended her hand towards a silver bell that stood on a table near her. Quicker than thought, the stranger's hand was upon hers, and he was kneeling, without cloak or bonnet, at her feet. Surprise, rather than fear, rooted her to the spot. She gazed on him with astonishment; and, as she gazed, her features worked with extraordinary emotion. The light shone full upon his face, and exhibited the features of a fair, handsome man, scarce twenty-five, with light flowing hair, an eye like a hawk's, and a figure of the most noble and manly proportions. He wore a short Flemish cloak of green cloth, richly embroidered, and a short Spanish sword, with a jewelled hilt, hung at his side. His face was lifted to hers with eloquent pleading. She met his gaze with a wild, alarmed look—clasped her hands on her forehead as if she would recall the past, and steadfastly fixed her eyes upon him as if tracing in his features a resemblance that startled her.
"Kate."
Soft were the tones of his deep, rich voice as he spoke, and full of tenderness were his eyes as he lifted them to hers.
"Robert of Lester!" she cried, starting back as if memory had vividly returned at the sound of his voice.
"I am he," was the reply of the stranger, bending his head lowly, as if deprecating her displeasure.
"Leave me, sir," she said, haughtily, though returning love was evidently struggling for the mastery over her sense of right. As she spoke she drew herself up commandingly, though her bosom heaved with emotion, and her averted eyes contradicted her words.
"Dearest Kate!"
"Robert of Lester, I bid you leave me. Your presence is an intrusion, sir."
"Lady," he said, with tenderness, "do you not remember when, five years since, you placed, with your own fair hands, the arrow you now hold in them, in my bonnet."
"Nay, bring not up the past; 'tis buried—long forgotten," she cried, nervously, and in a voice tremulous with feeling. "Would to God you had not appeared to revive it."
"Lady," he continued, in a soft, subdued tone, that touched her heart, "does not love's early dream—"
"That dream is o'er. Oh, that you would cease to recall what will only render me miserable!" she added, with feeling, burying her face in her hands.
"Is there no room for pardon—none for forgiveness? Hear me, Kate! dearest Kate! You who were my playmate in childhood—who in youth first awakened love in this bosom. Dash not the cup of hope for ever to the ground! I have sought thee, and now kneel to thee, to tell thee how fondly, how madly I love—"
"Cease, sir. This is no language for me to hear. Once—but, no matter—'tis past. If you have aught to say touching matters foreign to this, speak, and I can listen; then, prithee depart. Oh, that thou hadst kept away from me for ever! The sight of thee has torn my heart!"
"Then there is hope?"
"None."
"Hast forgotten," he said, with passionate tenderness, "how often we have sailed together on the little mere by Castle More; how together we have pursued the stag through the forests of Castle Cor; how oft we have rambled by the shores of its bay by moonlight, entwined in each other's arms as we walked; how we loved one another, and did pledge in the sight of Heaven undying love—"
"Robert, Robert—" she cried, moved by the touching images he had recalled.
"Have you forgotten," he continued, in the same tone, rising and advancing a step nearer to her, while she leaned against the harp, nor thought to retreat from him, "oh, have you quite forgotten all this? Can you recall it and bid me leave thee? Will you spurn him you have loved and still love—"
"Hold, hold! I love thee not! no, no, I love thee not. You presume too much, sir," she added, starting from her attitude, and with difficulty assuming a haughty bearing. "A maiden may once love, and, finding she has loved unworthily, hate!"
"Dearest Kate," he said, in a tone that reminded her of the days when they were lovers, gently taking her hand.
"Nay, stand back, sir!" she cried, troubled and with difficulty governing the tones of her voice, which returning love fain would have fashioned in its own sweet way.
"Nay, dearest Kate, you love me still! Wherefore this shrinking form and averted eye—this wild look of alarm—this struggle to reprove when your heart gushes with returning love? Why do you gaze on me with looks of horror! At one moment terror is depicted on your face, at another tenderness takes its place. It could not be thus if you scorned me!"
"Robert, I cannot listen to you—'tis dangerous—fatal. If—if I did love you still, thy crimes—"
"Ha! do you know me!"
"As 'the Kyd.'"
"Who told thee this?" he asked, fiercely.
"Elpsy."
"When?"
"Yesterday!"
"The foul fiend!" he cried, pacing the floor. He then muttered, "So—this plan is defeated. I can no longer rewoo her as Lester! Ten minutes since, this false witch told me that none save herself knew that the bastard Lester and Kyd were one! I would have made her believe I had returned from five years of honourable exile, to which her anger had banished me, and penitent, wooed her as Lester, as I have promised the sorceress—for I can do now what then I could not do: five years of crime makes a wonderful difference in a man's feelings! Yet I will deny all. She should believe me before this witch."
Such were the thoughts that run rapidly through his mind as he walked the room. Turning round to her, he said, in the tone of voice that innocence would assume,
"Alas, dearest Kate! has this baleful sorceress, with envenomed breath, instilled her poison in a flower so fair. Alas, and were I 'the Kyd,' would you, with the taproom gossips of the babbling town, believe me such as Rumour with her hundred tongues would make me? Shall I to her refer this altered air—this cold look—this hand that's neither given nor withdrawn? Dost remember when first we parted after our plighted vows beneath the linden by the southern tower of Castle Cor ('twas the third day before thy birthday, I remember it well); thy heart against mine beat wildly—thy head lay upon my breast—my arm encircled thy waist—my lips were pressed to thine—and this 'kerchief, bearing thy initials wrought by thine own fingers, and which I have kept sacred as the pious monk a relic of the cross, was saturate with tears—thy tears, Kate. And thus, though five long years have separated us, do we meet now!"
"'Fore Heaven, sir! hast thou not given cause?" she exclaimed, recovering herself after a brief but terrible struggle with her feelings, for she was fast melting at his words. "Dost remember how thou didst leave me, and to what end? Hast forgotten thy crimes? I am mad to talk with thee. Thou art no longer Lester. In thee alone I see the freebooter, the bucanier, the terrible Kyd! Shame that a noble, for a light word spoken by a spirited maiden in anger, should thus have cast himself away!"
"I had other cause—thou dost yet believe me to be Lester—but—"
"I will hear no palliation—thou hast thrown thyself away—when, if thou hadst really loved me, thou wouldst have come back and sought to heal the breach."
"I would have done it—but—"
"Thou didst not. Therefore are we no longer aught to each other!"
"Thy words tell me what I have scarce dared to hope—that thou wouldst have received and pardoned me! But there was an impassable barrier—"
"Which was thy pride. Fatal, fatal has it been to thee."
"Nay, but a dark stain—"
"Enough, Robert of Lester! I will hear no more in extenuation or plea. Let this interview cease."
She turned from him as she spoke, though it evidently cost her an effort to do so, and made a step towards the door communicating with the main body of the mansion.
"Lady! Kate—dear Kate," he cried, passionately, approaching her and kneeling before her, "you have said you would have received me had I then returned. If thy love was true love, five years should not kill it, but increase it rather. Behold me returned; forget the long lapse of time; see me only at thy feet to atone the deep offence given on thy birthday, which has so long separated us; receive me as if but a day, and not years, had intervened; take me once more to the throne of thy affections; let me again be the Lester of thy early years—the Lester whom thou hast loved—thy Lester—thy—"
"Nay, Robert," she cried, with softness, yet turning her head away as she spoke, as if fearing to trust herself to meet his glance; "nay, it may not be. I pity you; but love!—love?—no, no, it lives no longer. Then art thou not guilty?" she cried, with sudden energy, recoiling from him. "Thou didst make me for the moment forget Kyd in Lester. Go, thou art not the Lester I have known. I no longer love thee, Robert; and if I did, crime on thy part has placed between us a wall high as heaven!"
"I am not so guilty as you believe, lady; but, if I have sinned against thee, thus here at thy feet I do atone my deep offence."
"Rise, sir. I accuse you not; with Heaven lies the knowledge of your guilt. But, if conscience goad thee not to it, why thus a suppliant?"
"Conscience useth neither spur nor exhortation. If I am proved innocent, yet is the homage of my knee still due to thee as the divinity that my soul for years has worshipped."
"Enough, sir! I tremble to hear thee link my name with such gross impiety. Detain me no longer."
"Dear Lady Kate!" he pleaded, entreatingly.
"Release my hand! and remember," she added, with a suddenness characteristic of this capricieuse création, "when you fashion your speech, that you address Lady Catharine of Bellamont!"
She drew back haughtily as she spoke, and the guilty lover bent his head low before the reproof, while resentment and grief were mingled in the expression of his countenance.
"Lady," he said, without looking up, and speaking in a voice apparently modulated by injured feelings, "do you believe the tales of crime men charge me with?"
"How else," she replied, pausing and turning back, losing, in her just resentment, the lover in the pirate, and speaking in tones of virtuous dignity, "How else? 'Tis rife on every tongue. Thy deeds are the undying theme of fireside wonder and village gossip. Nay, mothers use the dreaded name of Kyd to scare rude children to obedience!"
"By the cross!" he cried, starting up and speaking with fierce vehemence, "'tis all a foul invention; an idle tale and lying calumny; the escaped bile of some long-festering sore, nourished and fattened in the breast of scandal. Nay, dear Kate," he continued, changing his manner and voice, and speaking as if he made light of it all, "'tis not worth a passing thought! 'Tis an old-wives' tale only; and for such inventions thou hast too much good sense to crush the hopes of years; thou hast," he added, tenderly, "too deep remembrance of our former love to tear a heart that, like the rootless mistletoe which borrows life from that it clings to, lives only by its hold on thine!"
"Robert," she said, moved by the solemn and impassioned tones of his voice, his pleading look, his face upturned to hers, all eloquent with love and bringing him, as in happier days, before her memory, "Robert, I once loved you—how truly, Heaven and my own heart were witnesses. Thou wert virtuous then, and helmeted with truth, and thy heart was girt about with honour, like plate of proof. Thy look was noble, and thy port such as became the nobleness within. I was proud of thee. Absent, I treasured thee in my heart of hearts, and lived only—was happy only, in thy presence! When Rumour came trumpeting your misdeeds, I was the last to believe them true."
"Kate—dearest Kate—"
"Nay, speak not. Your tongue and eyes are not yet drilled to play their parts together."
"Kate—I entreat—"
"True love for a noble maiden should have been to thee a shield and buckler, Robert, and kept thee from this sad fall."
"Lady, you do me wrong. My hand, but not my heart, has erred—"
"I have not yet done. From one source, that mingles not with the noisy torrent Rumour has let loose throughout the world, I've gathered most certain proof that you are guilty both in heart and hand. Ay, men do not, for very fear, tell the half of what thou hast done."
"This source—the witch?"
"No. Long had I heard of Kyd the outlaw; long had crime and guilt, in shapes most dreadful and appalling, come to my shrinking ears coupled with his name. Night and day, as we crossed the sea, was double watch set, lest he should come upon us unawares. Everywhere did I hear of him and his deeds of blood, till I did believe him to be a demon human only in shape, let on earth for its punishment. 'Twas from one who had been thy prisoner I heard the sanguinary tale. 'Twas told me ere I knew thee other than the world knew thee—for 'twas only yesterday Elpsy told me, what before had crossed my mind as the mere shadow of a suspicion, banished as soon as it came, that thou wert Lester, and that revenge against me had driven thee to piracy. This I believe not; Heaven keep me from answering for thy guilt—rather attribute it to thy own evil passions, and, I fear, an innate love for rapine; for how else wouldst thou have torn thy noble mother's heart (I speak not of hers to whom thy troth was plighted), and foregone thy rank and title among men?"
"If thou didst know all, lady, thou wouldst not judge me thus—"
"Thou canst say nothing I will believe. He who told me is, as once thou wert, the soul of truth and honour!"
"Who is this Daniel come to judgment?" asked the bucanier, with irony.
"A naval officer, who was taken prisoner in the Indian Seas by a rover, and afterward made his escape by stratagem."
"This rover?"
"Thyself."
"There is but one of rank above a common sailor who was my captive and escaped," he muttered, turning away as if recalling the past; "Fitzroy I think was his name; it may be he; if so, I will no longer urge my innocence, but woo her under my proper colours. Pray," he said, abruptly addressing her in a voice in which awakened jealousy was mingled with sarcasm, "hast thou ever chanced to know a youthful officer called Fitzroy?"
"Fitzroy!" she repeated, with embarrassment, while the blood mounted to her cheek in a way in which it never does in a maiden's save when a lover is suddenly named.
"Ay, I said Fitzroy. Is there aught in the name to call up the rich blood to the face? Fitzroy's the name—Rupert Fitzroy, I think!"
In her agitation her eyes involuntarily turned to the spot where she had dropped the colours she was working, and, to her increased confusion, the letters she had just completed met her eye. His glance followed hers, and instantly he exclaimed, with an eye sparkling with jealousy and surprise,
"By the rood! lady, there are the very initials! So this pretty bit of bunting can tell tales! Now, by the cross, I see it all," he said, walking the room with anger and speaking in an under tone; "behind this tale of my deeds she let slip so glibly, and under cover of believing it, she fain would conceal her transferred love. Woman," he cried, sternly addressing her, "know you this Rupert Fitzroy well?"
"You hold no right to question me," she firmly replied, "and I refuse to answer."
"So, I have a rival! 'Tis love for another, and not hatred of the crimes you lay to my charge, that leads you to scorn me thus. The arms of thy house above his name! Ha! 'tis a well-ripened love! I'll find it out; and if he who stands between me and thee be on the sea or wide earth, I will cross blades with him. A proper youth, that thou art ashamed to own him—perhaps the young fisher's lad has taken my place—I have heard he took to the seas."
"Even he, if honourable, were worthier than thou, with the nobility which thou hast dishonoured. But he no longer lives. Lest you give wrong motives to my silence, I will confess to thee that I do know a Captain Fitzroy—Rupert Fitzroy—once your captive by most foul-handed treachery—now as far removed above you as the eagle, that looks unblenching on the sun, above the tortoise."
"You love him?"
"I do."
"Then, by the holy Heaven! thou shalt repent thy love and he, crossing my path ere the sun, that shall rise to-morrow, be a month older."
As he spoke he turned from her and disappeared through the window, leaving her overwhelmed with surprise, wonder, and alarm. She heard him strike the ground as he sprung from the low balcony, and listened with trembling to his departing footsteps as they rapidly crossed the lawn towards the seaside. For a few moments she remained standing as he had left her, as if endeavouring to realize what had passed, her eyes strained, her hands clasped across her forehead, her lips parted.
"Oh God, that this had been spared me!" she cried, with the bitterness of a soul surcharged with intense grief. "Have I seen him? Was it he? His voice—his air—oh, it was Lester's self!—he whom I have never ceased to love—whom—but these are dangerous thoughts—I must think of him no more. Oh crime, crime! what a deep and impassable gulf hast thou placed between us! Yet I have seen him, spoken with him! His hand has pressed mine in gentleness as it was wont. Oh how the past came back! time seemed obliterated, and I could at one moment have given myself up to him—but crime, crime! No, no, I must think no more of him; yet I am not sorry I have beheld him once more. Strange that, after so many years, and years of crime, have elapsed, he should still be dear to me! No, no, he is not dear to me—not he as he is—it is Lester of my youth—it is he that I love—he I alone think of, whose memory I can never cease to cherish; but this guilty being I know not! Yet he is Lester! My poor, poor head—my poor heart—how they strive with one another. Oh that my love could wash out his crimes! But whither do my thoughts wander? The sight of him has made me forget that I am no longer a wild girl at Castle Cor. I must root out his young love, and try no longer to identify myself now with myself then. I am now the betrothed of another—of another who has won me by his sympathy and gentleness, by his nobleness and his honour, by his manly virtues, and the deep devotion of his pure and elevated love. Rupert, I will not be false to thee; the trial is over. Henceforward I will fill my heart with thee alone, though I did tell thee, when thou didst woo me on the sea, that I would not give it all up to thee; that in one part was sacredly embalmed the sad memory of a first, yet unworthy love!"
Such were the conflicting thoughts that were passing through the mind of the troubled maiden, when she was startled by a low tap at the door. It was a second time repeated before she could command her voice to bid the applicant enter. The door slowly opened, and the family confessor of the Earl of Bellamont entered the boudoir. He was a man of commanding figure, with light flowing hair, and a peaked, auburn beard reaching to his breast, giving the appearance of the usual pictorial representations of the Saviour. He was about fifty years of age, and in the full prime and vigour of life. His forehead was white and high, his features noble, and his face eminently handsome, with a gay and youthful expression, while a light smile played constantly about his fine mouth. The under lip had a slight voluptuous fulness, with which the soft expression of his sparkling blue eyes harmonized, while both gave intimation of a liberality in morals by no means in strict conformity with the letter of his order.
Though holding the station of confessor in Lord Bellamont's family, Father Nanfan had not come with him from England. Twenty years before, a hermit had taken up his abode in a cave among the cliffs of Hoboken; his country, name, or order no one knew. He soon acquired great reputation for sanctity, and his fame spread far and wide. At length Governor Fletcher, hearing of him, visited him, and, for some cause which has not transpired, prevailed upon him to live with him as his private secretary. Subsequently, Father Nanfan won the confidence and esteem of the first Robert Livingston and other leaders of the time, and, through his talents, knowledge, and ambition, exercised great influence in the government. He moved the wires of the famous Leslierian rebellion, and, though unacknowledged, was the real leader of the faction. When Bellamont succeeded Fletcher, he had sufficient influence with the party to induce them to adhere to the new governor, who rewarded him by appointing him his private secretary and family confessor. He had been an inmate of the White Hall but a few days, when, concealed beneath his religious guise, Kate Bellamont thought she detected a dangerous and bad man. It might have been imagination, for she confessed that neither by word nor look had he given ground for such suspicion; yet, from the first, she had felt a dislike towards him, and experienced a fear in being alone in his presence, which she could neither define, nor, on any reasonable grounds, defend.
He paused an instant, with his hand upon the half-closed door, as he saw the embarrassment of her manner, and fixed upon her inquiringly his large penetrating eyes, and then said, in a voice the words of which alone conveyed a reproof, for the gentle tone in which they were addressed to her were calculated to alarm from their tenderness rather than from their severity,
"Thou wert not present at vespers, maiden; and, at the bidding of thy noble mother, I have sought thee to learn why of late thy thoughts are more given to earthly than to heavenly things. If thou wilt kneel, I will now confess thee here."
"Nay, father, I will meet thee at matins and there confess. Beshrew me, sir, thou art full bold, and art disposed to carry thy priestly privileges to their full compass, that you intrude upon a lady in her private chamber. Hast heard me, sir? I would be alone; or, if thou wilt remain, thou art at liberty to do so, if first thou wilt move from the door and permit me to pass out."
"Nay, daughter, thou art troubled; the quick flush—the startled eye—the timid aspect—thou dost need to disburden thy heart!"
"I bid thee leave me," she cried, with mingled alarm and aversion.
"Calm your spirits, lady," he said, closing the door, and taking her hand ere she could prevent him, though she instantly withdrew it with a quick impulsive action, and retreated towards the window.
"Lady, I see you know me; you have read aright the admiring expression of my eyes when first I met thee—the devoted deference of my manner—the impassioned tones of my voice. Yes, sweet Lady Catharine, thy charms have fired me—thy image has taken the place of that of the Virgin Mother in my heart; for one smile, one look from thee, I am ready to sacrifice even my hopes of Heaven!"
He kneeled at her feet as he spoke, and his noble features, noble even through the guilt that shadowed them, were animated with passionate ardour.
"Hoary blasphemer, silence! Thank Heaven that gave me secret and instinctive warning of thy black character! Leave me, sir, or I shall call on my father!"
"He is not within hearing," he said, rising and taking both her hands; "and, if thou shouldst rouse his vengeance against me, his life, not mine, would be the sacrifice. So, if thou lovest him, beware!"
"Release me, then, sir. Coward—false priest—unhand me."
"One kiss from those voluptuous lips," he said, throwing his arm about her waist, "for full long have I fasted from beauty's favours."
"Ho, within there!" she shrieked.
Instantly he released her hand, but said, in a hoarse whisper, while his eyes flashed with resentment,
"If thou alarm the house, or give the least shadow of a hint of what has passed, and evil to me do come of it, the lives of all dear to thee shall be the sacrifice. If you will not love me, you shall fear me. Beware!" The next moment, changing his manner, he said, "Lady, it was but a momentary passion; it is passed; thy matchless beauty maddened me; fear me no longer. Forever keep silence, and thou wilt hear no more of my ill-matched love. Wilt thou forgive me, lady?"
"Seek it first of Heaven, dreadful man, if heavenward thou hast the boldness to lift thine eyes."
"Can I now hope to confess thee, maiden?"
"Thou, hypocrite! If it be that thou canst thus deceive thyself, and mingle holiness with sin, I am not to be part with thee in thy sacrilege! No, sir; rather would I ask absolution at the hands of the arch fiend than at thine. I know thee!"
"And of thy knowledge shall thou one day reap the bitter fruit," he said, in a voice and with a changed manner that intimated a threat.
"I do not fear thee, trusting in a power stronger than thou!"
"Thou wouldst have made a sublime priestess! Indignation but adds dignity to thy beauty, and excitement gives richness to thy cheek, brilliancy to thine eyes, and the haughty curl of thy lip is but the more tempting with its ripe fulness unrolled. By Heaven, I will not be thwarted; I am no mewly boy, to be frightened at a woman's frown. I will clasp thee in my arms, and ravish a kiss from that mouth, which even scorn cannot make less lovely, in punishment for thy pride!"
As he spoke he approached, and was about to clasp her in his embrace, when he received a blow from a mace which felled him to the floor, and the next instant the sorceress was standing above him, with one foot upon his chest.
"Ha, ha, ha! we are well met, Father Nanfan. 'Tis thus thou dost assoilzie the souls of maidens, by first teaching them to sin! Oh, thou hypocrite. But there will be a time! Nay, thou canst not get up," she added, pressing the end of her mace hard upon his forehead as he struggled to rise. "Maiden, I have saved thy lips from pollution! and thou, monster, do I not know thee? Oh, ho! Get thee up and go!"
As she spoke she stepped aside from his body, and he rose to his feet, his countenance black with mingled fury and shame.
"Foul witch, I will have thy life—and thou, haughty lady, shalt not escape me!"
He was passing swiftly, with gestures of vengeance, from the room, when the sorceress laid her hand upon him.
"Beware, I bid thee! Me thou canst not injure! her thou shalt not!"
"Who shall hinder me, woman? I will have thee, ere to-morrow's sun, burned at the stake!"
"And I will have thee hung higher than ever Haman was, if thou move a step towards it. I know thee, and thy life is in my hands!"
"Ha! you speak mysteriously!"
"Do I? But there is no mystery about thee that Elpsy cannot unravel."
"Speak, woman!"
"Thou darest not harm me, nor do injury to any one I would protect; for I have the key to thy secret, and, therefore, to thy life."
"Thou! Who am I, then? What secret?" he hoarsely demanded.
She approached him, and whispered low in his ear.
He started back as if he had been struck with a dagger, and, staring upon her with wild surprise, in which intense alarm was mingled, cried,
"Who art thou, in Heaven's name?"
"Elpsy the sorceress!"
"But beside?"
"No matter."
"Wonderful woman! Thy unholy arts could alone have given thee this secret. Thou art indeed to be feared."
"Obey me, then, and secret it shall ever be."
"Speak; what would you?"
"Swear never to harbour revenge against this maiden, or any one of the house of Bellamont; of myself I speak not, for I do not fear thee! Dost thou swear?"
"By the sacred cross, I do."
"Thou art safe, then, so long as thou shalt keep thine oath. Go!"
The priest slowly left the chamber, and, as he closed the door behind him, the sorceress darted from the window upon the balcony, and disappeared in the darkness as suddenly as she had appeared, leaving the maiden overwhelmed with shame, anger, and wonder at the scenes and events in which she had borne so singular a part.
CHAPTER III.
"Lo! now in yonder deep and gloomy cave Th' unholy hags their spells of mischief weave— Raise the infernal chant; while at the sound Dread Spirits seem to dance the caldron round, And fiends of awful shape from earth and hell With direful portents aid the magic spell."
C. Donald McLeod.
When Robert Lester, now Kyd the pirate, left the presence of Kate Bellamont, without seeking the stone steps that descended to the lawn, he leaped from the low balcony to the ground, and strode, at a pace made quick and firm by the strength of his feelings, towards a gate that opened into the lane in which the inn of Jost Stoll was situated. Avoiding the narrow street, though it was silent and deserted, he turned his footsteps aside towards the beach, and, winding round a ledge of rocks wildly piled together, with a few shrubs and a dwarf cedar or two clinging in the clefts, he came to the mouth of the canal, where his boat lay half hidden in the shadow of a huge overhanging rock.
"Who comes," challenged one of several men that were standing around.
He was too much wrapped in his own dark thoughts to hear or give reply, and was only roused to a consciousness of his position by the cocking of pistols and the repetition of the challenge in a sharper tone.
"The Silver Arrow!" he answered, briefly.
"The captain! Advance!" was the reply.
"Ho, Lawrence, you are alert. Yet it should be so, for we are surrounded by enemies. You must learn, nevertheless, to challenge lower under the guns of a fort. By the moving of lights and show of bustle on the ramparts, we have already drawn the attention of the honest Dutch warriors whom our English governors have seen fit to retain to man their works."
"It's to save linstocks, by making them touch off the pieces with their pipes," said Lawrence; "their powder always smells more of tobacco than sulphur."
"A truce to this. Man your oars and put off," said Kyd, in a stern tone.
The men knew by the change in his voice that their chief was in a humour that was not to be disregarded; and scarcely had the orders passed from his lips, before every man was in his seat, with his oars elevated in the air. The coxswain, Lawrence, at the same time took his place at the helm, and in a low tone said,
"All's ready."
"Shove off and let fall," cried Kyd, in the same suppressed tone, springing into the stern-sheets.
"What course, captain?"
"Hell Gate," was the deep response, as he seated himself in the stern and wrapped his cloak about him.
"Give way, lads," followed this information, from the coxswain, and swiftly the barge shot out from the mouth of the canal; doubling the south point of the town, it moved rapidly up the narrow sound between Long and Manhattan Islands, now called East River, and was soon lost in the gloom.
When Kyd parted from Elpsy before the inn, she had remained standing in the place in which he had left her until his form was lost beneath the trees surrounding the White Hall; then, turning towards the street that led by a devious route in the direction of the north gate of the city, she walked a few moments rapidly along in the deep shade cast by the far-projecting roofs of the low Dutch mansions. Suddenly she stopped.
"He may have a faint heart," she muttered, as if her thoughts run upon the interview between the pirate and noble maiden. "She will not now accept him as Lester after I have told her who Lester has become. Oh, I did it to make him use force in his wooing. I would not have him, after all that has passed in the last five years, win her with honour to herself. I would have her humbled. I would have her become Lady Lester against her own will. And if he has remaining in his memory a tithe of her former scorn of him, he will love to repay her thus. Yet I doubt. I will go back and see that I am not thwarted. Never shall I rest, in grave or out, till he is Lord of Lester, and Kate Bellamont his wedded wife."
She turned as she spoke, and, retracing her steps towards the inn, continued on past it towards the wicket that opened into the park, and, gliding beneath the trees, stole towards the window of the maiden's chamber, directed by the light that shone through the foliage that climbed about it. Aided by her white staff, she was cautiously ascending a flight of steps that connected the extremity of the balcony with the lawn, when she heard Kyd's angry words at parting, saw him rush forth, leap to the ground, and take his swift way towards his boat. Her first impulse was to call him back; but, suppressing it, she softly approached the window for the purpose of using her own fearful power over the minds of all with whom she came in contact, in giving a turn more favourable to her design to the alarmed maiden's mind. She was arrested by the entrance of the priest as she was in the act of entering the chamber, and drew instantly back into the shadow. But she gradually moved forward into the light of the lamp, and, as her eyes rested on his features, they grew bloodshotten with the intensity of her gaze. Her face was thrust forward almost into the room, her long scragged neck was stretched to its full length, and her whole person advanced with the utmost eagerness. It could not have been the words of the priest or his manner that caused an excitement so sudden and extraordinary. She evidently discovered in him a resemblance that surprised her, while it filled her soul with a savage and vengeful joy.
"It is he!" she gasped. "Ever before have I met him cowled! He, he alone! I would know him in hell! Ha, I have lived for something! Oh, this knowledge is worth to me mines of gold! I would have sold my soul for it! The same brow, still almost as fair; the same mouth, the same rich light in the eyes, and, save his beard, almost as young as when last we met. Ha! 'tis he. We have met to some purpose now. Ho, ho! am I not getting work to do? This is a new matter on my hands. I will plot upon it. Ha, dares he? The hoary lecher! Nay, she has flung him back! 'Tis a proper maiden!" she added, as she saw the priest foiled in his attempt to sully the purity of the noble girl's lips.
Thus run the current of the weird woman's thoughts. With fierce resentment, she listened to the interview between the confessor and his penitent; and when a second time she saw him approach her with unhallowed lip, she sprung upon him: but whether to save the honour of the maiden's cheek, or prompted by some feminine feeling known only to herself, will, if it is not already so, doubtless by-and-by be apparent.
After she had quitted the chamber she swiftly crossed the lawn towards the inn, turned up the narrow path that bordered the sluggish canal, and, following it to its termination near the wall, turned short round some low stone warehouses to the left, and ascended a narrow, steep street that run along close to the wall, and therefore had obtained the distinctive appellation of Wall-street. Getting close within its deep shadow, she glided along stealthily till she came to a double gate, over which hung a small lamp. Beneath the light, leaning against a guardhouse constructed on one side of the gate, she discovered a man with a firelock to his shoulder and a long pipe in his mouth. A few paces from him walked to and fro a second guard, who from time to time paused in his walk, and, in a listening attitude, looked down the broad, open street that led from the gate to the Rondeel, as if expecting the approach of some one.
"Sacrement Donner vetter! 'Tish aight ov de klock, Hanse," he said, stopping and addressing his comrade as Elpsy approached; "te relief shall 'ave peen here py dish time, heh?"
"It vill pe te Schietam at frau Stoll's vat keeps dem," replied the other, with a grunt of assent.
"Hark, Hanse! dere ish von footshteps along te vall—no heh?"
"Tish te pigs and te cattlesh. An' if it vas de peoplesh, vat matter so dey pe inside ov te valls? It ish against te rogue from te outside ov te vall vot ve keep te guart here for."
"Goot, Hanse. Ve lets nopoty in, to pe shure—nor lets nopoty out neider, heh? Pots gevitter! Vot vas te passvoord, Hanse? I vas licht mein bipe mid te paper te captain left mid us."
"Yorck."
"Yorck. Petween ourshelves, Hanse, Ich don't like dis new name ov our old city ov Nieuve Amstertam. Dese Anclish names pe hart to shpeak. 'Twas a wrong ding, Hanse, to put away te olt name, heh?"
"It vash, mein comrate, no vera koot."
"Pfui Teufel! Ich am klad I vas shmoke it in mein bipe. It vas batriotic, heh, Hanse? Let ush av te olt name pack again, Hanse."
"Vera koot, mein comrate, Ich vill."
"Ich too. Now if the peoplesh shay Yorck, tey shall pe put in de guarthouse for traitor. If tey shay Nieuve Amstertam, den tey pe Kristian peoplesh and honest men."
"If she pe a voman, comrate?"
"Den she shall pe von honest voman, to pe shure."
At this juncture of the embryo conspiracy, hatching in his very stronghold and among his tried warriors, against the Earl of Bellamont's government, striking at its very roots, and teeming with seeds of a civil war, a low, dark figure appeared from behind the guardhouse and suddenly confronted them.
"Himmel tausand! Te vitch—te tyfil!" they both exclaimed in one breath as she stood before them, plainly visible by the light of the lamp that illuminated her wild features, and threw into strong contrasts of light and shadow the prominent angles of her hideous person.
"Let me forth," she said, in a commanding tone, laying her hand with a determined gesture on the heavy bar that was placed against the gates.
The men drew back in alarm, and uttered exorcisms expressive of superstitious fear.
"Will ye not unbar? Brave men are ye to keep watch and guard over a city's gates. Unbolt!"
"Vat, Hanse, heh?" asked one of the men of his comrade, whose arm he had grasped; "sall ve lets her go?"
"It vill pe pest to hav her on te outside, comrate."
"So it vill pe, Hanse. Ve had petter let her out. I vill see if she knows te voord. Vitch vomans, vat ish te password, heh?"
"I give neither password nor countersign. I go and come as I list, and no man can hinder me. Stand aside."
As she spoke she placed her hands on the heavy bar, lifted it from its bed, and threw it at their feet. Then, turning the massive key that remained in the lock, the wide leaves flew open.
"Ve must not let it pe, Hanse, mitout te voord."
"Nor mitout leave, neider, comrate," cried one after the other, both being inspired with sudden energy.
"Ve shall pe shot."
"Ant hung too."
With one impulse they rushed forward to secure the gate, when she closed it fast in their faces, and they heard the key turn in the lock on the outside with a scornful laugh.
"Himmel! It ish lockt insite ve pe, Hanse, heh?"
"Ant she tid not shay Yorck, comrate."
"Nor Nieuve Amstertam neider. If she vas say only Nieuve Amstertam now."
"Tere ish no more need to keep guart, comrate. Nopody can get in."
"Tunder! no more dey can, Hanse, heh? 'Tish after aight o'klock, and te relief ish not been come. Dere ish no more use to keep guart, Hanse, heh?"
"Tyfil, no. Ve vill go ant get some Schietams."
"So ve vill, Hanse, ant a fresh bipe too."
Thus determining, the stalwort guard of the city gates of ancient Amsterdam shouldered their firelocks, and, confident in the security of the city, descended the street together in the direction of the alehouse of frau Jost Stoll, while Elpsy kept on her course through the suburbs. Directly after leaving the gate she turned from the road which, bordered by forests, small farms, and here and there a lonely dwelling, run from the gates in a northerly direction. The path she took was a green lane, famous for lover's rambles, that led towards the East River. She traversed it at a swift running pace, now winding round some vast tree that grew in its centre, now ascending, now descending, as the path accommodated itself to the irregularities of the ground. In a few minutes she came to a romantic spring, open to the sky for many yards around, with greenest verdure covering the earth. She recognised it as a favourite resort for the industrious maidens of the town, who there were accustomed to bleach the linen they wove—and skilful weavers too were the rosy and merry Dutch maidens of that homely day! At evening they would go out to gather their bleaching; and, ere they left the spring on their return, the youths of the town would make their appearance, and, each singling out his sweetheart, take her burden under one arm, while, with the blushing girl hanging on the other, slowly they walked through the shady lane towards the town. Happy times! Gentle customs! Unsophisticated age! Oh, Maiden-lane, busy, shopping Maiden-lane! thy days of romance are passed! Who can identify thee with this green lane! But this is no place to eulogize thee; yet who may travel over the olden-time scenes of New Amsterdam, and not pause to pay them the tribute of a thought!
After leaving the spring, her way faintly lighted by the stars, the sorceress struck into a path that led northeasterly; and, after a rapid walk of nearly a mile, came to the shore of East River at a point that could not have been reached by water without going over nearly twice the distance she had come by the forest. Descending the steep shore, she stopped at the head of a small creek that made a few yards into the land, and drew from beneath the shelter of a thickly-netted grapevine a light Indian birch canoe of the frailest structure. Stepping lightly into it, giving her weight accurately to the centre, she seated herself on the crossbar that constituted both the seat and strengthening brace of the bark: striking the water lightly with a slender paddle, she shot rapidly out of the creek. The moon had just risen, and flecked a trembling path of silvery light along the water. Plying the magic instrument, first on one side and then on the other alternately, she darted along the surface of the water with inconceivable velocity. Her course was northwardly in a line with the shore, close to which she kept. Every few minutes she would cease her toil and bend her ear close to the water, listening for sounds; and then, with a smile of gratification, renew her swift course. At length, as she rounded an elevated point, the distant fall of oars reached her ears in the direction of the town.
"He comes! He has gained on me! I must be there to prepare for him! Hey, my little bark, let us fly now!"
She stood up in the skiff as she spoke, the moonlight streaming on her dark face, flung her cloak from her shoulders, and, tossing back her long red hair, seized the paddle with a firmer grasp, and away like a mad thing flew witch and boat. Soon she turned a headland, and the waves began to be violently agitated, tossing and bubbling round her, while a roar of breaking surges was heard in the direction towards which she was driving. Far and wide the solemn moan of agitated waters filled the air. She shouted with the dash of the waves, and hissed as they bubbled and foamed in her track. Momently the commotion grew wilder and more appalling. The waters seethed like a boiling caldron. Whirlpools turned her skiff round and round like a feather, and yawning gulfs threatened each moment to ingulf her. Yet on she flew, standing upright in the boat, her hair streaming in the wind, her garments flying, and sending the boat irresistibly through the terrible commotion. The passage now became narrow, and on every side frowned black rocks, threatening destruction to the bark that should be dashed against their sides. Suddenly, when it appeared the boat could not survive an instant longer, by a dexterous application of her paddle she forced it from the boiling seas into a placid pool, sheltered by a low ledge, that formed the southern spur of a small islet a few rods square that stood at the mouth of "Hell Gate" on the north side.
"Ha, is it not a proper place for a witch, amid the mad waves and gloomy rocks! Oh, 'tis a home I love! The noise of the water is merry music! when it is lashed by a storm, the birds go sweeping and shrieking by like mad, and then it is music sweeter than the harp to Elpsy. So, I have well done my errand, and found him as he landed, and he is now on his way to me. And who besides Robert, have I seen? Ah—have I not made a good night's work of it! Well, it shall go ill with me if I reap not the fruit of what I have learned. Ho, Cusha, slave!"
As she called thus in a harsh, stern tone, she drove her skiff into a crevice in the rocks, where it became firmly fixed, and, stepping from it, she bounded lightly up the precipitous shore to the summit. The top of the rock, which was but a few feet from the water, so far as could be seen by the light of the moon, was a grassy surface, dotted with a few stunted trees and one large oak, that with its broad arms nearly shadowed the entire islet. Between the columns of the trees all around the sky and water were visible. But in one place it was broken by the outline of a large rock and the roof of a low hut placed against it, directly beneath the oak. It was a rude, rough structure, wild and desolate in its appearance. On one side it over-hung the foaming waters, that leaped so high beneath it as to fling the spray upon its roof. In every part of it were crevices, from which, as the sorceress looked towards it on arriving on a level with it, streamed rays of light as if from a bright flame within; while a volume of thick, dark smoke, of an exceedingly fetid and sulphurous smell, curled upward against the sides of the rock, and rolled heavily away among the foliage of the oak.
"The slave is prepared," she said, approaching the hut.
She had taken but a single step towards it when the deep voice of a bloodhound from within broke the silence that reigned.
"The hound is alert! Ho, Sceva!"
At the sound of her voice the alarm bark of the dog was changed into a cry of delight; and, springing against the door, he would have burst it through had she not spoken, and, at the same time, opened it. Instantly the animal sprung upon her and licked her face with his huge tongue, and growled a savage sound of welcome. He was a brute of vast size, and with long, coarse gray hair, stiff, uncouth ears, and immense head; around which, and along his spine to his fore shoulders, the hair grew long and bristly like a boar's mane. His eyes were red and fierce in their expression; and huge tusks, protruding glaringly over either side of his hanging chops, gave him an aspect still more repulsive and savage.
"Down, Sceva, down!" she said, sternly, as he caught his huge paws in the tangled masses of her hair in his rough caresses; "down, I say!" The animal slunk from her and crouched upon a pile of fern in a corner of the hut.
The abode of the sorceress was rude and wild in the extreme. It was a slight frame of branchless firs, constructed against a bare rock, which constituted the east side, or wall of it. The interstices between the upright stakes were filled in with loose limbs of trees, and planks from wrecked fisher's boats; the roof in many places was open to the sky, and in its centre was a large aperture that served for an outlet to the smoke that rose from a fire smouldering beneath a caldron placed underneath. By the fitful glare it sent round, the interior of the hut, with its furniture, was distinctly visible. Entwined about an upright pole that sustained the roof were dead serpents of enormous size, and of brilliant colours, their glittering fangs hideously shining in the firelight. Festoons of toads, lizards, and other revolting reptiles hung from the ceiling, while round the wall were placed human bones arranged in fantastic figures, and ghastly sculls glared on the sight on every side, while all that could affect the imagination was conspicuous to the eyes of the observer. In the caldron in the centre of the hut was seething a dark liquid that emitted a fetid odour, and threw up volumes of smoke, which, unable to escape freely through the roof, hung heavily to within a few feet of the ground floor. Over the caldron bent the figure of an African, who was stirring the liquid with a human thigh bone, and occasionally, with a child's scull, dipping a portion from it and pouring it on the fire beneath, which instantly flamed up fiercely, casting a blue, baleful light throughout the hut. The firelight shone bright upon his person, bringing into relief every feature of his hideous countenance. His head was of huge proportions, and deformed, being perfectly flat on the top, and obtruding in front into a round forehead like an infant's newly born. It was, save a thick fringe of hair that hung shaggy and grisly above his eyes, wholly bald. His eyes were large, and projected red and wild from their beds, while his nose and lips were of enormous dimensions, which, with the total absence of anything like a chin, gave the lower part of his face a brutelike look. Yet there was an extraordinary human intelligence in the expression of his eye, in which dwelt the light of no common intellect.
He rose as the witch entered, and displayed a skeleton-like figure of great height, the low roof compelling him to bend half his length. His neck was long and scraggy; his shoulders bony; his arms and legs lank and attenuated; while his fingers, with the hard skin that clave to them and their long oval nails, resembled, as he himself did altogether, save his huge fleshy head, a dried anatomical preparation. A kilt reaching half way to his knees, and a sort of cape covering his shoulders made of the feathers of owls intermingled with the brilliant dies of snakes' skins, were his only clothing. He wore about his neck as ornaments a string of newts' eyes and serpents' fangs, and on his wrists and ankles were massive bracelets of silver.
"Thy slave welcomes thee," he said, in a voice that corresponded with the hideousness of his appearance.
He lifted his hands to his forehead as he spoke, and made an oriental obeisance nearly to the earth.
"Thou hast obeyed me, Cusha! 'Tis well! See that all be ready for the rites. He comes a second time to secure our aid against the rock and the shoal, the waves and the wind, the hand of man and the bolt of Heaven!"
"Comes he in the right spirit?"
"He fears and obeys."
"'Tis enough."
"Let nothing be wanting to retain our power over the minds of mortals; let our art lose no tithe of its honour. I will now make ready to receive him. He leaves me not till he has done my bidding, and through him my ends are answered. Now let us prepare the rites!"
In the mean while the superstitious victim of the unholy rites in preparation was on his way towards the "Witch's Isle." For nearly an hour the crew had pulled steadily along, and, save now and then a cheering cry from the coxswain, urging them to renewed exertion, not a word was spoken. Silent and thoughtful, revenge and disappointed love mingled with shame the while agitating his breast, he sat by himself in the stern of his boat, and took a retrospect of his past life.
His sense of honour was now blunted, and the experience of a reckless life had made him weigh less nicely his acts, and pay less deference to the opinions of men. He now laughed at and cursed what he called his folly in sacrificing, for a mere boyish notion of honour, his earldom. From the time he had thrown himself on board the Dane at the tower of Hurtel of the Red Hand, up to the moment that found him on his way to the abode of the sorceress, he had been scouring the seas, a bold, reckless, and sanguinary bucanier. Under the name of 'the Kyd,' or al Kyd, the sea-king—which had been given him by the Algerine corsairs, among whom he spread terror whenever he cruised up the Mediterranean—he had filled the world with tales of bloodshed and predatory conflict unparalleled in the annals of piracy. He seemed, from the first moment he placed his feet on the deck of the Dane, to have made a shipwreck of principle; to have buried, as he had said on taking leave of Lady Lester, all human feeling with the filial kiss he placed on her unconscious forehead. Yet it has been seen, in his fight with the yacht which contained the Earl of Bellamont and Grace Fitzgerald, that he had not wholly lost sight of every social tie that bound him to those with whom he had once associated. But this was the last instance of his sympathy with others. Henceforward he seemed to war with mankind as if he would avenge on his species the wrongs of his birth. The instance here given may be thought an exaggerated estimate of the rapid growth of vice. But the daily annals of crime show that it is but a step from virtue to vice, from innocence to crime. And, let the cause be strong enough, there is never an intermediate step.
Had Lester altogether forgotten Kate Bellamont while running this career? No. His thoughts reverted to her daily. Sometimes with the gentle character of his former young love, but oftener taking colour from his present altered character, and then they were resentful. Twice he had resolved to visit Castle Cor, and obtain an interview with her, and, if not by fair, by foul means, make her his bride. But he had been pursued and driven from the coast by cruisers, and his intentions had been foiled. That he loved her still was evident; and if he could have been rewarded with her hand by doing so, he would have deserted his present career for her sake. But these hopes were dissipated from the fear that she might have discovered that Kyd and he were one. This suspicion did at times alone prevent his seeking her out more resolutely and casting himself at her feet.
At length, a few months previous to the arrival of Lord Bellamont to assume the government of New-York, he, with large treasures, came into Long Island Sound; and, after burying them on Gardiner's Island, beneath a certain triangular rock which, it is said, seventy of his men rolled upon the spot, he came through Hell Gate into East River, where he anchored. As he sailed past her rock the witch recognised him, though she had not seen him since they separated at Hurtel's Tower, and at midnight paid him a visit in her skiff. She recovered her former influence over him, crime, as it ever does, having made him superstitious. From her he learned that the Earl of Bellamont was to succeed Governor Fletcher, and that his daughter would probably accompany him to America. Probing his feelings in relation to her, she discovered that he was still attached to her; and to her joy she found, on feeling his moral pulse, that she had less to fear than on a former occasion. From the moment Lester had cast away his title and fled the country, she had given her whole mind to one single object, if she should ever again meet him: viz., to bring about his restoration to his title and estates. She rightly calculated that time and the lawless school in which he had placed himself would lead to a revolution in his feelings. She now found him ripe for her purpose. Learning from him that he was bound on a cruise to intercept a fleet from Barbadoes, and was to sail the following day, by his return she expected, as it turned out, that the Earl of Bellamont would have reached his new government. Therefore, before she left his cabin, she drew from him a promise that he would visit her at her hut the ensuing night; and there, amid the solemnities of her art, take the oath to lay claim to the title of Lester, and woo for the hand of the heiress of Bellamont: in fine, resume the position, notwithstanding all that had passed in the long interim, that he had held before the fatal field of archery at Castle Cor. Ere the next night, however, two frigates from Newport, learning his presence in the waters of Long Island, appeared in sight sailing up the Sound, when, weighing anchor, he sailed down the East River, passed boldly between Brooklyn and the town, exchanged shots with the Rondeel, and, steering down the bay, put to sea. His second appearance, and the events that followed it up to the time when he is approaching the Witch's Island, have already been narrated.
"Give way, men—pull for your lives!" shouted the coxswain, as at length they entered the boiling waters of Hell Gate.
With great exertion and skill, the tide now setting strongly through the gut, they avoided the dangers that beset them on every side, and at length reached the island. Giving orders for his men to remain in the boat and preserve silence, Kyd stepped on shore in a secluded cove at the western extremity of the island most remote from the abode of the sorceress. He passed through a dark ravine, that led with many a rugged step to the top, and, looking round as he reached it, at length discovered the hut he sought. It was calculated, combined with the roar of the sea and the lateness of the hour, and a knowledge of the fearful character of the occupant and of his own evil purposes in seeking it, to affect his mind with gloom and superstitious fears. He cautiously, and not without superstitious awe, approached the door and struck it with the hilt of his sword.
He was answered by the deep growl of the bloodhound, and the moment afterward the sorceress chanted, in a wild, supernatural strain, an Irish weird hymn, the only part of which he could comprehend were the last two lines:
"Enter, mortal, if thou bear Priest nor Bible, cross nor prayer!"
With his drawn sword held firmly in his grasp, he opened the door. Instantly the place was filled with a blue flame, by the light of which the various supernatural paraphernalia of the sorceress's abode were made visible with the most appalling distinctness, while sounds infernal and terrific assailed his ears. He stood a moment filled with alarm, and overpowered by what he saw and heard. The sorceress, clothed in a garment apparently of flame, covered with strange and unearthly figures, her features wrought up to a supernatural degree of excitement and wild enthusiasm, stood before the caldron in a commanding attitude, her hair dishevelled, her long white wand held towards the intruder, and every sinew of her arms and neck distinctly brought into light. A serpent was bound about her temples, and one was entwined around each of her naked arms, while a fourth encircled her waist. Beside her stood a spindle, with a crimson thread upon it. She fixed her eyes on his with an unearthly expression as she extended her wand towards him, and, in a voice that became a priestess of rites so unholy as she performed, addressed him:
"Welcome, mortal! I have waited for thee. Kneel."
"Wherefore?" he asked, as if addressing a supernatural being, his imagination affected by the circumstances and situation in which he was placed, and scarcely recognising, in the fearful appearance and aspect of the sorceress, her whom he had seen and conversed with but a few hours before. "Wherefore should I kneel?"
"To swear."
"The oath?"
"To assume the title of Lester and wed the heiress of Bellamont."
"I have sworn it without thy aid. I have seen her."
"And she has scorned thee."
"She has. Foul witch, thou didst betray me to her!"
"Ha, ha! Thou hast learned this of her." She laughed maliciously. "I told her who thou wert, that she might scorn thee."
"Fiends! Dost thou not wish me to marry her?"
"Yes; but only against her will."
"Otherwise she will never. And, by the cross! I will not bear the haughty scorn with which she has received me. Witch, I am ready to take the oath; but, if I take it, thou shalt give me thy aid in avenging myself.
"On her!"
"Yes, but through her lover."
"Has she a lover?" asked the sorceress, with surprise.
"Did not thy art teach thee this?"
"Who?" she demanded, without replying to his question.
"A certain Captain Fitzroy."
"He who commanded the ship that brought them hither. Where were my wits I did not suspect as much?" she added to herself.
"Dost know him?"
"I have seen him on his deck as I passed in my skiff. He sailed instantly in pursuit of you, or I should have discovered something of this new love. She confessed it?"
"Without hesitation. I have sworn to seek him and cross blades with him."
"First repeat the oath thou hast come hither to take."
"If thou wilt exert all thy skill and art to give me success in my revenge, I will take it."
"Swear."
"Nay. I am told thou hast, as do all of thy unholy craft, an amulet which, worn on the bosom, will give him who for the time wears it a charmed life, and cause him to prosper in all that he undertakes. This amulet I ask of thee."
"First lay thy right hand upon the head of the serpent that binds my waist, and thy left hand upon thy heart, and, kneeling, swear to obey me in resuming thy earldom and thy wooing of Catharine of Bellamont, and it shall be thine."
He knelt, and with solemnity took the oath, repeating each word after her in an audible tone.
"This you promise to do or your soul forfeit."
"This I promise to do or my soul forfeit."
"Or thy soul forfeit!" repeated, from some unknown quarter, a sepulchral voice, that made him start to his feet with mingled surprise and alarm.
"Woman, what hast thou caused me to do?" he asked, with superstitious dread.
"No evil, so thou break not thy oath."
"So thou break not thy oath!" repeated the same voice, close to his ears.
"Sorceress, I will not break my oath," he said, after the surprise at this second interruption had subsided; "but until I have first crossed weapons with this rival lover, I approach her no more. He has gone to seek me, therefore should I meet him. But that he should dare to love where Robert Lester has loved, is ample reason why we should meet. Till I find him, be he above the sea, I neither assume the name of Lester nor see the haughty heiress of Bellamont. So give me success in this, and, after, thy wishes shall be fulfilled to the letter."
"Darest thou delay?" she said, striding up to him and taking him by the breast, while her eyes flashed vindictive fire.
"Thou hast not the whole control over my will, Elpsy. I fear and respect thy power, but I obey it and thee only so far as it chimes with my own ends. I have yielded to thee: now yield to me! Thy wishes, whatever may have prompted them, shall soon enough be realized. If thou wilt give me the amulet, and put thy arts to work and send me prosperous winds, I will, ere the month end, hold this Fitzroy my prisoner; and then, by the cross! in my very cabin shall he be spectator of my bridal. If in a month I do not meet him, I will then do thy pleasure."
The sorceress gradually released her grasp as he continued, and, when he had ended, said,
"'Tis well. Go."
"The amulet?"
"Nay. Thou shalt not have it," she said, firmly.
"By the rood! if thou give it not to me, I will wring thy shrivelled neck for thee," he cried, with sudden impetuosity.
"Lay but the tip o' your least finger upon me, Robert Kyd, that moment shall thy arm be palsied to its shoulder, and thy strength leave thy body, till the infant an hour old shall master thee!"
She stepped back as she spoke, and extended her wand towards him with a menacing gesture.
"Nay, nay, fearful woman," he cried, betraying some alarm at her words and threatening attitude, "I meant not to anger thee. Wilt give the amulet? I cannot go forth on this mission of revenge without it. I know its mysterious and wonderful power, and must avail myself of it on this occasion. Thou shalt have it after."
The sorceress looked troubled at his eager anxiety to possess the mystic seal, and at length said, in a solemn tone of voice, and with a manner calculated to have its effect on an imagination the least tinged with superstition,
"Mortal, thou knowest not what thou seekest! If he who wears this on his breast fail in his last trial of its mystic power, he shall become the slayer of the mother who bore him!"
"What is this to me? I have no mother, sorceress."
"Ha! well, no, no! thou hast not!" she said, with a singular expression. "Yet such is the doom of him in whose hands it fails. Thou shalt not wear it!"
"I will. If I tear it from thee by violence!"
"'Twill then do thee no good. It must be placed around thy neck with solemn rites. Thou shalt have it," she said, suddenly, after a moment's thought, "for thy success is my success. The risk shall be run by me! Hast thou the nerve to go through the initiating rites?"
"I will stop at nothing. Give it me, with every hellish charm thou canst invent. Once my revenge accomplished, take it back."
"But He'll not give thee back the price thou payest for it."
"Ha! Well, be it so! I will not ask it. My soul is as well in the devil's keeping as in my own. The world beyond has for me neither hopes nor fears. My present aims accomplished, I care not for the bugbear future! In the name of the master whom thou servest, give me the amulet!"
"I obey," she said, with wild solemnity. "Slave, appear!"
She cast, as she spoke, a powder upon the flame, which shot up to the roof and filled the place with so dazzling a brilliancy that for an instant he was deprived of sight. The light sunk as suddenly as it had risen, and he saw before him a tall, skeleton-like figure, over whose face played an unearthly glare from the smouldering flame beneath the caldron. It was the slave Cusha. The pirate chief gazed on the hideous being with horror; his sword dropped from his grasp, and an exclamation in the shape of an exorcism escaped his lips. The sorceress witnessed his alarm with a triumphant smile; she then touched and turned her spindle, while the slave, obedient to her nod, kneeled and began to kindle the flame and stir the seething caldron.
The bucanier witnessed these preparations with curiosity not unmingled with dread, yet nevertheless determined to abide by the issue. All at once she began to chant: now in a low, deep voice, now in a high, shrill key, as her words required, the slave at intervals chiming in in a tone so deep and sepulchral that the startled bucanier could not believe that it was human, especially when his eyes rested on the hideous being from whom it proceeded, who grovelled on the earth at his feet.
Witch(to the wizard). "Kindle, kindle!"
Both. "To our tasks!"
Witch(whirling the spindle). "Turn the spindle! Mortal asks A web of proof From charmed woof!"
Wizard. "The pledge, the pledge?"
Witch. "Body and soul To his control, The pledge, the pledge!"
Wizard. "The seal, the seal?"
Witch. "A bleeding lock Of the victim's hair Given to earth, sea, Sky, and air, The seal, the seal!"
As the sorceress chanted this she broke from the thread what she had wound off, and, approaching him, chanted,
"Kneel, mortal, kneel! And let me sever The pledge that makes thee His for ever!"
He kneeled before her with the obedient submission of a child. She then entwined her fingers in a long lock that grew above the left temple, and, drawing from her bosom a dagger, held it above his head and chanted,
"Dost thou believe, Robert Kyd, Robert Kyd, Nor earth nor air, water nor fire, Ball nor steel, nor mortal ire, My potent charm Have power to harm Till it fulfil its destiny?"
"I do."
"Dost thou believe, Robert Kyd, Robert Kyd, That within, without, body and soul, This amulet shall keep thee whole From ball and steel, And mortal ill, Till thou fulfil thy destiny?"
"I do."
"Thus I take the seal and pledge, That, soul and body, thou engage, When thy master calls for thee, Ready, ready thou wilt be."
She severed the lock of hair from his temples as she ceased, and commenced dividing it into four equal parts. When she had done so she stepped backward, and, standing in the attitude of a priestess about to perform an idolatrous sacrifice, cast a lock into the air, chanting in the same wild manner,
"Prince of Air! take the pledge!"
As she ceased a gust of wind swept over the islet, as if, so it appeared to the imagination of the excited victim of the rites, acknowledging the sacrifice. She then cast a lock upon the ground and chanted,
"Prince of Earth! take the pledge!"
Instantly the ground on which he stood seemed to tremble; he heard a deep rumbling as if in caverns beneath; and the little island appeared to shake as if an earthquake had answered the appeal.
"Prince of Sea! take the pledge!"
She cast a third lock into the caldron as she repeated the line: the water boiled and hissed with a great noise, and the waves from the sea at the same time seemed to dash with a louder roar against the rocks below, and flung their spray with a heavy dash upon the roof. A fourth lock she cast into the flames, chanting,
"Prince of Fire! take the pledge!"
Instantly the place was illuminated as if with the most brilliant flashes of lightning, while the loudest thunder seemed to explode at his feet.
He started upright at this, for hitherto he had continued to kneel, overcome by what he was both a witness of and a trembling participator in, and with every sign of mortal wonder and dread, cried,
"Sorceress! avaunt! I will no more of this!"
"Peace, mortal, peace! Cease, mortal, cease! See no word by thee be spoken Lest our magic charm be broken!"
As she chanted this reproof, she turned to the slave and continued in the same strain,
"Hast thou the murderous lead From the grave of the dead?"
"'Tis here," he said, prostrating himself, and giving to her, with divers mysterious ceremonies, a leaden bullet.
"Sought you the grave at midnight deep— Dug you down where dead men sleep— Search'd you—found you this charm'd ball— Did you this in silence all?"
"I did," answered the monster, prostrating himself.
"Slave, 'tis well. From fire and air We now prepare Our mystic spell!"
She commenced walking around the caldron, drawing mystic figures on the ground and in the air. At the end of the first circuit she chanted, with slow and solemn gestures and growing energy,
"A brother's hand must have shaped the lead"—
at the end of the second, with more spirit, she sung,
"From a brother's hand the ball have sped."
The third time she chanted, in a still more excited manner, while she danced about the caldron,
"And a brother's heart the ball have bled."
As she ended her third sibylline circuit around the fire, she turned to the slave and said,
"Is such this lead? Swear by thy head!"
"It is," he responded, crossing his clasped hands across his forehead, and prostrating himself to the ground.
"'Tis well.
"Fire and water, perform thy task, A charmed life a mortal asks."
She now poured the water from the caldron, and, casting the lead into it, continued to dance round it, her gestures gradually increasing in wildness and energy, while in a low, monotonous tone she chanted unintelligibly certain mystic words, derived from the ancient Irish incantations. With folded arms the bucanier watched her aloof. At length she poured the melted lead into a shallow vessel containing water, when with a hissing noise it spread itself out into a shape resembling a human heart. Instantly the hut was darkened; loud unearthly noises filled the place; blue flames shot upward from the head of the sorceress and wizard slave, and, to the astonished bucanier, the apartment seemed to be filled with demoniac forms, flitting and gibbering about him.
Aghast and horror-struck, he cried aloud,
"Merciful Heaven, protect me!"
No sooner had the words gone from his mouth than the whole hellish confusion and uproar ceased, while, with an expression of fierce wrath, she cried,
"By that word thou hast taken from the charm one half its power. It will protect thee from ball, but not from steel; from earth and fire, but not from water and air; else, with this amulet against thy heart, thou wouldst bear a charmed life."
"'Tis nothing lost," he answered, recklessly.
"If ball can harm me not, a strong arm, quick eye, and faithful cutlass shall protect me against steel. Thou hast ensured me victory in love and revenge?"
"I have."
"More I ask not. Water can scarce drown one whose home is on the sea. Air I fear not!"
"Take heed, lest one day thou die not in it!"
"Ha! what mean you?"
"Nothing. Kneel while I hang this amulet about thy neck."
Attaching to it a strand of her own long hair, she suspended it about his neck as he kneeled before her, chanting,
"Mystic charm, Shield from harm! Winds and waves, Be his slaves! Mortal, naught can injure thee, Spread thy sail and sweep the sea! Vengeance now is in thy hand. Be thy foe on sea or land! If thy oath be kept not well, Ill befall thee with this spell!"
Instantly thunder seemed to shake the hut, which was filled with a sulphurous flame, while a repetition of the sounds he had before heard filled him with consternation; and, ere he could rise to his feet, he was struck to the earth by an unseen hand.
When he recovered himself the hut was deserted, and, save a ray of moonlight streaming through the roof, buried in total darkness. Confused, his senses overpowered, and his imagination excited by the scenes he had been so prominent and passive an actor in, he left the hut, the door of which was wide open, sought his boat, and roused his men, who, save Lawrence, had fallen asleep.
Giving his orders briefly, he put out from the Witch's Isle, and at midnight stood on the deck of his vessel. Shortly afterward he got under weigh, sailed down the Narrows and put out to sea. When the morning broke, great was the surprise and delight of the worthy people of New Amsterdam to find that the stranger had departed as silently and mysteriously as he had come; and many were the sage conjectures ventured the following evening by the worthies that gathered, as usual, about the stoop of the "Boat and Anchor," as to his character; and, sooth to say, they hit not far from the truth.