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tary guest, and the ladies, are sitting, they are surrounded by the garrison. Griffith and Manual, with his marines, having been reIased, we presume, by the ladies, join their friends, and a fierce parley ensues. Griffith is willing to retreat, but Borroughcliffe insists on detaining the whole party as prisoners. The former is about to hew for himself a passage, when the whole assemblage is appalled by the appearance of the mysterious Pilot, followed by a force which at once looks down all opposition; and the inhabitants of St. Ruth, male and female, are made prisoners of war. The invaders, however, content themselves with taking away only the colonel, Miss Howard, Miss Plowden, and a few necessary domestics. Shortly after they get on board, several hostile vessels are seen bearing down upon the American frigate; she maintains a running fight with them for a short time, but is compelled, by superior force to retreat. In the action, Col. Howard received a wound, of which he dies soon after; having in his last moments bestowed the hands of his niece and ward, on the young lieutenants. Cecilia, we are told, dropped on the shoulder of her husband, and "Katharine received the cold kiss of Barnstable passively."
Of the remainder of this tale, little needs be told. The commander of the frigate had been killed in the last conflict, and Griffith succeeded him. On the day after that circumstance the Pilot took his leave, in a small boat, amid the stormy waves of the North Sea. The crew formed many conjectures about him, but they could never learn, by whose skill they had been extricated from the dangers of the deep; nor, many years afterwards, would captain Griffith, who had been early let into the secret, satisfy the curiosity of his wife. Had they seen our author's pre face, they would have learnt, what we think is prematurely disclosed, that this personage was no other than the redoubtable John Paul Jones, to whom our navy is indebted for examples of the most desperate daring. From his history, the author has derived the idea of this tale, and some of the events in the life of Jones, are sufficiently shadowed forth in these pages. We are not among those who would associate with the name of this extraordinary man aught that is selfish or base; we believe that his ambition sprung from an honourable source, and that his motives, in espousing our cause, were those which a patriot might readily avow. Those relapses into moods of melancholy or reserve, to which objection has been made, may easily be explained by a passage in one of his letters to Lady Selkirk-"I have sacrificed," he says, "not only my favourite scheme of life, but the softer affections of the heart, and my prospects of domestic life;"-we continue the quotation, as further illustrative of his character-" and I am ready to sacrifice my life also with cheerfulness, if that forfeiture
would restore peace and good will among mankind." He is made to observe to Griffith, in the conclusion of these volumes, that their
⚫ acquaintance had not led to what they had wished; but as we are not informed of all the arrangements which had been devised to effect what is here alluded to, we can form no conjecture as to the cause of their disappointment. The author seems to be so fond of steering his ships among the rocks and making them contend with cach other or with the elements, that he has left the tale to get along as well as it can. It must not be denied that most of his incidents are well imagined, and generally well told. But we cannot devest ourselves of the idea that they are all of a secondary character, and we become impatient for something of importance from the Pilot. The dialogues, if we except those of the seamen, with whom we do not presume to meddle, further than to commend their discipline and their decorous deportment, are not in good keeping. The personages do not sufficiently reveal themselves. We are too often told how they looked, and how they felt, and what their words are intended to make others feel. Of his ladies we do not entertain the most exalted opinion. The first appearance of Katharine, in man's attire, seeking for her lover, is not tolerable, as Dogberry would say; and her letter does not raise her in our estimation. Col. Howard is probably intended for a very polite gentleman, but we set him down as a formal old prig, with his incessant " Madam," to two young girls,-his niece and ward! The cockswain, otherwise called Long Tom Coffin, is a character, well-conceived and finely sustained to the last. He reminds us of that race of honest tars, who disappeared with the ballads and songs of Dibdin.
Having given the reader an idea of the plot of this tale, we shall now extract one or two passages. Long Tom is a denizen of the ocean, where we have been forbidden to venture; but he will lose nothing by being exhibited on land, after he had discovered the treachery of Dillon, whom, it will be recollected, he had accompanied to the abbey to effect an exchange of prisoners. After securing captain Borroughcliffe and taking from him his pistols, he left the apartment. As he groped his way through the dark passages, he perceived Dillon, whom he followed to the cloisters where the ladies sojourned, in a state of honourable confinement. As Dillon entered, the door was left open, and the huge figure of the son of Neptune, stood behind him, grasping a terrific harpoon in one hand.
"May heaven shield us!" exclaimed Cecilia; clasping her hands in affright, and rising involuntarily from her couch;" are we, too, to be imprisoned and murdered?"
"Surely Miss Howard will not impute to me"-but Dillon observing that the wild looks, not only of Cecilia, but of Katharine and Alice Dunscombe, also, were directed at some other object, turned, and, to his manifest terror, he beheld to gigantic frame of the cockswain, surmounted by an iron visage fixed in settled hostility, in possession of the only passage to or from the apartment.
FEBRUARY 1824.-No. 262 18
"If there's murder to be done," said Tom, after surveying the. astonished group with a stern eye, "its as likely this here liar will be the one to do it, as another; but you have nothing to fear from a man who has followed the seas so long, and has grappled with too many monsters, both fish and flesh, not to know how to treat a helpless woman. None, who know him, will ever say, that Thomas Coffin ever used uncivil language, or unseaman-like conduct, to any of his mother's kind."
"Coffin!" exclaimed Katharine, advancing with a more confidant air, from the corner, into which terror had driven her with her companions.
"Ay, Coffin," continued the old sailor, his grim features gradully relaxing, as he gazed on her bright looks; ""tis a solemn word, but it's a name that passes over the shoals, among the islands, and along the cape, oftener than any other. My father was a Coffin, and my mother was a Joy; and the two names can count more flukes than all the rest in the island together; though the Worths, and the Gar'ners, and the Swaines, dart better harpoons, and set truer lances, than any men who come from the weatherside of the Atlantic."
Katharine listened to this digression in honour of the whalers of Nantucket, with marked complacency, and, when he concluded, she repeated; slowly
"Coffin! this, then, is long-Tom!"
"Ay, ay, long-Tom, and no sham in the name either," returned the cockswain, suffering the stern indignation that had lowered around his hard visage, to relax into a low laugh, as he gazed on her animated features; " the Lord bless your smiling face and bright black eyes, young madam; you have heard of old long-Tom, then? most likely, 'twas something about the blow he strikes at the fish -ah! I'm old and I'm stiff, now, young madam, but afore I was nineteen, I stood at the head of the dance, at a ball on the cape, and that with a partner almost as handsome as yourself-ay! and this was after I had three broad flukes logg'd against my name."
"No," said Katharine, advancing in her eagerness a step or two nigher to the old tar, her cheeks flushing while she spoke, "I had heard of you as the instructer in a seaman's duty, as the faithful cockswain, nay, I may say, as the devoted companion and friend of Mr. Archard Barnstable-but, perhaps, you come now as the bearer of some message or letter from that gentleman.”
The sound of his commander's name suddenly revived the recollection of Coffin, and with it, all the fierce sternness of his manner returned. Bending his eyes keenly on the cowering form of Dillon, he said, in those deep, harsh tones, that seem peculiar to men, who have braved the elements, until they appear to have imbibed some of their roughest qualities
"Liar! how now? what brought old Tom Coffin into these shoals and narrow channels? was it a letter? ha! but by the Lord that
maketh the winds to blow, and teacheth the lost mariner how to steer over the wide waters, you shall sleep this night, villain, on the planks of the Ariel; and if it be the will of God, that beautiful piece of handicraft is to sink at her moorings, like a worthless hulk, ye shall still sleep in her; ay, and a sleep that shall not end, 'till they call all hands, to foot up the days'work of this life, at the close of man's longest voyage."
The extraordinary vehemence, the language, the attitude of the old seaman, commanding in its energy, and the honest indignation that shone in every look of his keen eyes, together with the nature of the address, and its paralizing effect on Dillon, who quailed before it like the stricken deer, united to keep the female listeners, for many moments, silent through amazement. During this brief period, Tom advanced upon his nerveless victim, and lashing his arms together behind his back, he fastened him, by a strong cord, to the broad canvass belt that he constantly wore around his own body, leaving to himself, by this arrangement, the free use of his arms and weapons of offence, while he secured his captive.
"Surely," said Cecilia, recovering her recollection the first of the astonished group, " Mr. Barnstable has not commissioned you to offer this violence to my uncle's kinsman, under the roof of colonel Howard?-Miss Plowden, your friend has strangely forgotten himself, in this transaction, if this man acts in obedience to his orders!"
"My friend, my cousin Howard," returned Katharine," would never commission his cockswain, or any one, to do an unworthy deed. Speak, honest sailor; why do you commit this outrage on the worthy Mr. Dillon, colonel Howard's kinsman, and a cupboard cousin of St. Ruth's abbey?"
Nay, Cecilia, be patient, and let the stranger have utterance; he may solve the difficulty altogether."
The cockswain, understanding that an explanation was expected from his lips, addressed himself to the task, with an energy suitable both to the subject and to his own feelings. In a very few words, though a little obscured by his peculiar diction, he made his listeners understand the confidence that Barnstable had reposed in Dillon, and the treachery of the latter. They heard him with increased astonishment, and Cecilia hardly allowed him time to conclude, before she exclaimed
"And did colonel Howard, could colonel Howard listen to this treacherous project?"
"Ay, they patched it up among them," returned Tom; "though one part of this cruise will turn out but badly."
"Even Borroughcliffe, cold and hardened as he appears to be by habit, would spurn at such dishonour," added Miss Howard.
"But, Mr. Barnstable?" at length Katharine succeeded in say-,
ing, when her feelings permitted her utterance, "said you not, that soldiers were in quest of him?”
"Ay, ay, young madam," the cockswain replied, smiling with grim ferocity," they are in chase, but he has shifted his anchorage; and even if they should find him, his long pikes would make short work of a dozen red-coats. The Lord of tempests and calms have mercy though, on the schooner! Ah! young madam, she is as lovely to the eyes of an old sea-faring man, as any of your kind can be to human nature.”
"But why this delay?-away then, honest Tom, and reveal the treachery to your commander; you may not yet be too late-why delay a moment?"
"The ship tarries for want of a pilot-I could carry three fathom over the shoals of Nantucket, the darkest night that ever shut the windows of heaven, but I should be likely to run upon breakers in this navigation. As it was, I was near getting into company that I should have had to fight my way out of."
"If that be all, follow me," cried the ardent Katherine; " I will conduct you to a path that leads to the ocean, without approaching the sentinels."
Until this moment, Dillon had entertained a secret expectation of a rescue, but when he heard this proposal, he felt his blood retreating to his heart, from every part of his agitated frame, and his last hope seemed wrested from him. Raising himself from the abject, shrinking attitude, in which both shame and dread had conspired to keep him, as though he had been fettered to the spot, he approached Cecilia, and cried, in tones of horror
"Do not, do not consent, Miss Howard, to abandon me to the fury of this man! your uncle, your honourable uncle, even now, applauded and united with me in my enterprise, which is no more than a common artifice in war,"
My uncle would unite, Mr. Dillon, in no project of deliberate treachery, like this," said Cecilia, coldly.
"He did, I swear by-"
"Liar" interrupted the deep tones of the cockswain.
Dillon shivered with agony and terror, while the sounds of this appalling voice sunk into his inmost soul; but as the gloom of the night, the secret ravines of the cliffs, and the turbulence of the ocean flashed across his imagination, he again yielded to a dread of the horrors to which he should be exposed, in encountering them at the mercy of his powerful enemy, and he continued his solicitations
"Hear me, once more hear me-Miss Howard, I beseech you, hear me; am I not of your own blood and country! will you see me abandoned to the wild, merciless, malignant fury of this man, who will transfix me with that-oh! God! if you had but seen the sight I beheld in the Alacrity!-hear me, Miss Howard, for the