The Red Rover: A Tale

by James Fenimore Cooper

“I pledge myself for his faith,” eagerly exclaimed Wilder “Let a gun be fired to leeward. Mind, sir, all the tokens must be amicable—a flag of truce set out at our main, and I will risk every hazard to lead him back into the bosom of society.”

“By George, it would at least be acting a Christian part,” returned the Commander, after a moment’s thought; “and, though we miss knighthood below, lad, for our success, there will be better birth cleared for us aloft.”

No sooner had the warm-hearted, and perhaps a little visionary, Captain of the “Dart,” and his lieutenant, determined on this measure, than they both set eagerly about the means of insuring its success. The helm of the ship was put a-lee; and, as her head came sweeping up into the wind, a sheet of flame flashed from her leeward bow-port, sending the customary amicable intimation across the water, that those who governed her movements would communicate with the possessors of the vessel in sight. At the same instant, a small flag, with a spotless field was seen floating at the topmost elevation of all her spars, whilst the flag of England was lowered from the gaff. A half minute of deep inquietude succeeded these signals, in the bosoms of those who had ordered them to be made. Their suspense was however speedily terminated. A cloud of smoke drove before the wind from the vessel of the Rover, and then the smothered explosion of the answering gun came dull upon their ears. A flag, similar to their own, was seen floating, as it might be, like a dove fanning its wings, far above her tops; but no emblem of any sort was borne at the spar, where the colours which distinguish the national character of a cruiser are usually seen.

“The fellow has the modesty to carry a naked gaff in our presence,” said Bignall, pointing out the circumstance to his companion, as an augury favourable to their success. “We will stand for him until within a reasonable distance, and then you shall take to the boat.”

In conformity with this determination, the “Dart” was brought on the other tack, and several sails were set, in order to quicken her speed. When at the distance of half cannon shot, Wilder suggested to his superior the propriety of arresting their further progress in order to avoid the appearance of hostilities. The boat was immediately lowered into the sea, and manned; a flag of truce set in her bows: and the whole was reported ready to receive the bearer of the message.

“You may hand him this statement of our force, Mr Ark; for, as he is a reasonable man, he will see the advantage it gives us,” said the Captain, after having exhausted his manifold and often repeated instructions. “I think you may promise him indemnity for the past, provided he comply with all my conditions; at all events, you will say that no influence shall be spared to get a complete whitewashing for himself at least. God bless you, boy! Take care to say nothing of the damages we received in the affair of March last; for—ay—for the equinox was blowing heavy at the time, you know. Adieu! and success attend you!”

The boat shoved off from the side of the vessel as he ended, and in a few moments the listening Wilder was borne far beyond the sound of any further words of advisement. Our adventurer had sufficient time to reflect on the extraordinary situation in which he now found himself, during the row to the still distant ship. Once or twice, slight and uneasy glimmerings of distrust, concerning the prudence of the step he was taking, beset his mind; though a recollection of the lofty feeling of the man in whom he confided ever presented itself in sufficient season to prevent the apprehension from gaining any undue ascendency. Notwithstanding the delicacy of his situation, that characteristic interest in his profession, which is rarely dormant in the bosom of a thorough-bred seaman, was strongly stimulated as he approached the vessel of the Rover. The perfect symmetry of her spars the graceful heavings and settings of the whole fabric is it rode, like a marine bird, on the long, regular swells of the trades, and the graceful inclinations of the tapering masts, as they waved across the blue canopy, which was interlaced by all the tracery of her complicated tackle, was not lost on an eye that knew no less how to prize the order of the whole than to admire the beauty of the object itself. There is a high and exquisite taste, which the seaman attains in the study of a machine that all have united to commend, which may be likened to the sensibilities that the artist acquires by close and long contemplation of the noblest monuments of antiquity. It teaches him to detect those imperfections which would escape any less instructed eye; and it heightens the pleasure with which a ship at sea is gazed at, by enabling the mind to keep even pace with the enjoyment of the senses. It is this powerful (and to a landsman incomprehensible) charm that forms the secret tie which binds the mariner so closely to his vessel, and which often leads him to prize her qualities as one would esteem the virtues of a friend, and almost to be equally enamoured of the fair proportions of his ship and of those of his mistress. Other men may have their different inanimate subjects of admiration; but none of their feelings so thoroughly enter into the composition of the being as the affection which the mariner comes, in time, to feel for his vessel. It is his home, his theme of constant and frequently of painful interest, his tabernacle and often his source of pride and exultation. As she gratifies or disappoints his high-wrought expectations in her speed or in the fight, mid shoals and hurricanes, a character for good or luckless qualities is earned, which are as often in reality due to the skill or ignorance of those who guide her, as to any inherent properties of the fabric. Still does the ship itself, in the eyes of the seaman, bear away the laurel of success, or suffer the ignominy of defeat and misfortune; and, when the reverse arrives, the result is merely regarded as some extraordinary departure from the ordinary character of the vessel, as if the construction possessed the powers of entire self-command and perfect volition.

Though not so deeply imbued with that species of superstitious credulity, on this subject, as the inferiors of his profession, Wilder was keenly awake to most of the sensibilities of a mariner. So strongly, indeed, was he alive to this feeling, on the present occasion, that for a moment he forgot the critical nature of his errand, as he drew within plainer view of a vessel that, with justice, might lay claim to be a jewel of the ocean.

“Lay on your oars, lads,” he said, signing to his people to arrest the progress of the boat; “lay on your oars! Did you ever see masts more beautifully in line than those, master Fid, or sails that had a fairer fit?”

The topman, who rowed the stroke-oar of the pinnace cast a look over his shoulder, and, stowing into one of his cheeks a lump that resembled a wad laid by the side of its gun, he was not slow to answer, on an occasion where his opinion was so directly demanded.