The preparations on board the schooner did not require much time to be completed, and, in a few moments, the captain himself made his appearance on deck. It would appear, that except when the schooner was under weigh, he never showed himself to his crew. Like the priests of yore, who swayed mankind, he was no doubt apprehensive, that if he exhibited himself too frequently to vulgar view, the sailors, in getting familiar with his person, should lose much of the veneration and awe which they unquestionably entertained for him, and which seemed to crush their wills to an implicit and blind obedience to his.
When he appeared on deck, he was attired in quite a different fashion to the one in which he was seen in his cabin. He wore black trowsers, with broad stripes of gold on the sides, and a black frock coat, simply but richly ornamented with embroidery of the same precious metal. The red sash, as usual, was folded round his waist, and supported the pistols and poniard; his head was crowned with a flaming cap, in the front of which was wrought the death’s head and dead men’s bones; while, in addition to these things, a beautiful sword, with gold mountings, hung by his side.
“Weigh,” he said, to the officer on duty, as his foot touched the deck; the vessel was immediately put under sail. The light breeze of the morning filled her well-trimmed canvass, and like a creature of life and grace the Black Schooner began to cut through the water. Scarcely a ripple marked where her sharp keel passed, as she moved gracefully over the quiet waters of the gulf.
The hills of the Bocas gradually arose more and more distinctly before her, as she quickly approached them. No scene perhaps in nature is more beautiful than the one which presents itself to the mariner as he sails through the narrow strait that affords a northern passage from the Gulf of Paria.
Standing in the midst of the clearest waters that bathe in graceful ripplings their luxuriant base, are clusters of small islands that are carpeted to the very beach with fresh and never fading verdure. Like a scene in a panorama, or like the trembling shadows which a tropical moon casts over the silent lake or placid stream, those islands seem balancing over a crystal surface, that shines and sends forth a thousand undulating reflections under the pure and clear rays of an undarkened tropical sun: or, as they recede to the eye, in proportion to the progress of the vessel, imagination might convert them into the terrestrial realities of those variegated spots which the musing poet is fond to contemplate, to follow in their course, to speculate and dream upon, in the transparent and lulling pureness of a summer sky. Above these are seen the blossoming coral-trees with their scarlet flowers, that chequer the densely wooded hills, and stand amidst the dense foliage that surrounds them, marked and conspicuous like thousands of growing wreaths, that administering nymphs eternally offer to tropical nature in gratitude for her marvellous and beautiful works.
Over the shining waters themselves that lave these hills and fairy isles, are seen the long-necked pelican, in its shadowy flight, or its fierce headlong plunge after its watery prey; the spiry smoke, as it ascends from some reed-constructed cottage on the shore; the feathery canoe of some solitary fisherman, playing, like a child of the element, on the beautiful sea; the crooked creeks and receding bays that conjure up thoughts of lurking pirates; the sullen growling of the ocean, in long, high, and heaving swells, as it rolls on the ocean-side: all these mark the entrance of the Boca with the boldest and most beautiful features of natural beauty that fancy, in her wildest reveries, can draw and paint; while the gloomily ascending mountains of Paria, on the left side, with their precipitous falls, to be seen far, far away;—mountains, that stand dark and dismal like sulky lions on the crouch, and seem ready to fall—to fill up the narrow straits below, and to bury, far beneath their weight, the frail structure of fragile wood that intrudes with its rash and venturesome burdens into the very shadow of their black brow, tend to add to the scene a solemn and terrifying effect.
The black schooner glided through the narrow outlet, and rose outside on the boisterous billows of the Atlantic.
The captain paced the deck in deep reflection. His dark eyebrows completely hid his eyes, which remained fixed on the deck. Their long and silken lashes swept the handsome young man’s cheeks, his lips were compressed, and his black mustachios imparted a still sterner, and more terrible appearance to his face. He wore the aspect of one whose resolution was taken to do a desperate deed, and whose nature still refused consent and revolted at the thought, like him who sacrifices to principle, and is doomed to drain a cup that makes humanity shudder.
He had directed the schooner to be steered in the course which the ships bound for England generally take, and men were stationed on her tall and raking masts to keep watch. The day passed: night came; still the schooner held her course, and silence reigned on board. Not a sound was heard, save when the shrill pipe called to duty, or told the hour. The next day came, and with it the order to prepare for fight, still there was no vessel in sight. But the captain was not one to give orders in vain. He knew his vessel, he knew the currents, and could tell the precise hour when he would overtake a vessel of whose departure he was apprized.
The sun was just sinking in the horizon, when the man aloft cried out—