“No wonder,” replied he; “you must have flown—indeed, your log proves it. Well, I will send you as soon as you are ready. The Naiad sloop is out, and so is the Driver brig, both in pursuit of three vessels, which have done a great deal of mischief. One is a French brig of fourteen guns, very fast and full of men. She has her consort, a large schooner, who is also a regular clipper. The other vessel is a brigantine, a very fine vessel, built at Baltimore—of course, under French colours: she cruises alone. I don’t know how many guns she carries, but I suspect that both she and the brig will be too much for you; and unless you could catch the schooner away from her consort, you will not be able to do much with the Firefly.”
“I will do my best, sir,” replied I. “I have a very fine set of men on board, and I think, very good officers.”
“Well, at all events, if you can’t fight, you have a good pair of heels to run with,” replied Captain C—; “but dinner’s announced.”
I left early, that I might have some conversation with Mr Fraser. On my return we sat down to some sangoree and cigars; and then he told me that Mr Vanderwelt had left Curaçao about nine months before, and that my last letter directed to him had been forwarded to Holland. He had often heard the history of my saving their lives on board of the pirate vessel from Mr Vanderwelt who made it a constant theme of his discourse; and, added Mr Fraser, “You do not know what a regard he has for you.”
“And little Minnie, sir?” inquired I: “it is now nearly five years since I saw her.”
“Little Minnie is no longer little Minnie, Mr Keene, I can assure you. She was fifteen when she left the island, and had grown a tall and very beautiful girl. All the young men here were mad about her and would have followed her not only to Holland, but to the end of the world, I believe, if they thought that they had the least chance—but from my intimacy with the family, I tell you candidly, that I think if you were to meet again, you would not have a bad one; for she talks incessantly of you when alone with her father: but I must not divulge family secrets.”
“I fear there is little chance of my meeting again with her,” replied I: “I have to carve my way up in my profession, and this war does not appear likely to be over soon. That I should like to see her and her father again, I grant; for I have made but few friendships during my life, and theirs was one of the most agreeable. Where is Mr Vanderwelt settled?”
“He is not in Holland—he is at Hamburg. Well there is no saying; accident may bring you together again, as it did on board of the pirate; and I hope it may.”
Shortly afterwards we went to bed. I must say, his description of Minnie, which was even much more in detail than I have narrated to the reader, did prevent my going to sleep for a long while. Women, as the reader may have seen, never once troubled my thoughts! I had fed upon one sole and absorbing idea, that of being acknowledged by Captain Delmar; this was, and had been, the source and spring of every action, and was the only and daily object of reverie; it was my ambition, and ambition in any shape, in whatever direction it may be led, is so powerful as to swallow up every other passion of the human mind; but still I had a strong affection for Minnie—that is for little Minnie, as I saw her first, with her beautiful large eyes and Madonna countenance, clinging to her father. With the exception of my own relations, who were so much my seniors, I had had nothing to bestow my affections on—had not even made the acquaintance, I may say, of a woman, unless my casual intercourse with Bob Cross’s Mary, indeed, might be so considered. A passion for the other sex was, therefore, new to me; but, although new, it was pleasing, and, perhaps, more pleasing, from being, in the present case, ideal; for I had only a description of Minnie as she was, and a recollection of what she had been. I could, therefore, between the two, fill up the image with what was, to my fancy, the ideal of perfection. I did so again and again, until the night wore away; and, tired out at last, I fell fast asleep.
The next day, after I had been on board of the schooner, and given my orders to Bob Cross, I returned to Mr Fraser, and sat down to write to Mr Vanderwelt; I also wrote to Minnie, which I had never done before. That my night reveries had an effect on me is certain, for I wrote her a long letter; whereas, had I commenced one before my arrival at Curaçao, I should have been puzzled to have made out ten lines. I told her I was sitting in the same chair, that I was sleeping in the same room, that I could not look around me without being reminded of her dear face, and the happy hours we passed together; that Mr Fraser had told me how tall she had grown, and was no longer the little Minnie that used to kiss me. In fact, I wrote quite romantically as well as affectionately, and when I read over my letter, wondered how it was that I had become so eloquent. I begged Mr Vanderwelt to write to me as soon as possible, and tell me all about their doings. I sealed my letter, and then threw myself back in my chair, and once more indulged in the reveries of the night before. I had a new feeling suddenly sprung up in my heart, which threatened to be a formidable rival to my ambition.