Neither of the companions of the Alderman made any reply. Each watched the movement of the skiff that contained their messenger, and each seemed to feel an equal interest in the result of his errand. Instead, however, of approaching the spot where his master and his two friends expected him, the negro, though he knew that his boat was necessary to enable the party to recross the inlet, pulled directly for the mouth of the river,—a course that was exactly contrary to the one he was expected to take.
“Rank disobedience!” grumbled the incensed master. “The irreverent dog is deserting us, on this neck of barren sand, where we are cut off from all communication with the interior, and are as completely without intelligence of the state of the market, and other necessaries, as men in a desert!”
“Here comes one that seems disposed to bring us to a parley,” observed Ludlow, whose practised eye had first detected a boat quitting the side of the brigantine, as well as the direction it was about to steer.
The young commander was not deceived; for a light cutter, that played like a bubble on its element; was soon approaching the shore, where the three expectants were seated. When it was near enough to render sight perfectly distinct, and speech audible without an effort, the crew ceased rowing, and permitted the boat to lie in a state of rest. The mariner of the India-shawl then arose in the stern-sheets, and examined the thicket behind the party, with a curious and suspicious eye. After a sufficient search, he signed to his crew to force the cutter still nigher to the land, and spoke:
“Who has affairs with any of the brigantine?” he coolly demanded, wearing the air of one who had no reason to anticipate the object of their visit. “She has little left that can turn to profit, unless she parts with her beauty.”
“Truly, good stranger,” returned the Alderman, laying a sufficient emphasis on the latter word, “here are none disposed to a traffic, which might not be pleasing to the authorities of the country, were its nature known. We come with a desire to be admitted to a conference with the commander of the vessel, on a matter of especial but private concern.”
“Why send a public officer on the duty? I see one, there, in the livery of Queen Anne. We are no lovers of Her Majesty’s servants, and would not willingly form disagreeable acquaintances.”
Ludlow nearly bit through his lip, in endeavoring to repress his anger, at the cool confidence of one who had already treated him with so little ceremony; and then momentarily forgetting his object, in professional pride, and perhaps we might add in the habits of his rank, he interrupted the dialogue—
“If you see the livery of the royal authority,” he said, haughtily, “you must be sensible it is worn by one who is commissioned to cause its rights to be respected. I demand the name and character of yon brigantine?”
“As for character, she is, like any other beauty, something vituperated; nay, some carry their envy so far as to call it cracked! But we are jolly mariners that sail her, and little heed crazy reports at the expense of our mistress. As for a name, we answer any hail that is fairly spoken, and well meant. Call us ‘Honesty,’ if you will, for want of the register.”