He patiently followed every whim of Fanny’s fancy, and occupied his time when with her in such employment as he knew would best suit her taste, and in short attacked her at the only vulnerable point, if there was any, which was to render himself pleasing and gradually necessary to her enjoyment, by the amusement he strove to afford her upon every topic, and the instructive character of his general conversation. He saw in Fanny a love for acquiring knowledge on every subject, and he particularly favored it by every means in his power, and actually came to love her warmly by this very intercourse, whose beauty of person alone had first attracted his attention. Two years thus passed, in which Burnet had been a frequent visitor at the cottage, which rendered him by no means an object of indifference to Fanny, who, however, had often told him that she regarded him only as a brother. So far from being discouraged by this, Burnet, who loved most ardently, even thought it a point gained in his favor, and pursued his object with renewed hope. He was forced to acknowledge to his own heart that he loved her irrevocably, and that without her he could never be happy.

He listened, as we have said, to Fanny’s relation of the story of Lovell’s imprisonment, and he soon found that she was more interested in the result of the affair than he could have wished, or perhaps even expected. She talked long and earnestly with him relative to the matter, frankly asking his advice and assistance in the affair. He professed that he could refuse her nothing, and a deeply interesting conversation took place, the purport of which may be revealed in a subsequent chapter. That night Captain Burnet did not depart from the little parlor of the cottage and from Fanny, until long after his usual hour, as was remarked by Mr. and Mrs. Campbell to each other.

About a week dating from the occasion just alluded to, a man dressed in the garb of a common sailor knocked at the door of old widow Herbert’s house, at the foot of Copp’s Hill, ‘North End.’ A neatly dressed woman of some sixty years of age opened the door. She was still hale and hearty notwithstanding three score years had passed over her head. The refinements of civilization had never marred her health or vigorous constitution, for she had never resorted to those means of shortening life practised in these more advanced periods of refinement. No cramping and painful corsets had ever disfigured her fine natural form, nor had her feet even been squeezed into a compass far too small for their size, in order to render them of delicate proportions. No, no the good old practices of the Bay Province seventy and eighty years ago, were productive of hale and hearty old age, long lives, and useful ones, with health to enjoy life’s blessings.

‘I would see your son, my good woman,’ said the stranger to dame Herbert as she appeared at the door.

‘Jack, my boy,’ said the old lady, ‘here’s a friend who would speak to thee, come hither I say, Jack.’

‘Ay, ay, mother.’

The son was making his noonday meal, but he soon answered the call and made his appearance at the door.

‘Your name is Jack Herbert?’ put the stranger inquiringly.

‘That’s it, your honor,’ said Jack, for there was that about the cut of the stranger’s jib, that told him he was something more than a foremast hand, perhaps a captain or a naval officer. None are more ready to pay due deference to rank than Jack-tar, for he is made most to feel its power.

‘I understand,’ said the stranger,’ that you have expressed a willingness to join an enterprise to free a couple of your old messmates from a Spanish prison. Is this the case, my honest fellow?’

‘Aye your honor, I did say as much as that to Bill Lovell’s girl down there at the High Rock fishing hamlet.’

‘Well, I come by her direction – and now do you hold still to your first declaration to her?’

‘That do I, your honor.’

‘Then come with me.’

And Jack followed the stranger to the summit of the hill which commanded a good view of the harbor, indeed its base, which was surrounded by straggling tenements, terminated in the bay itself.

‘Do you see that brig just below us here?’ asked the stranger, pointing to a well appointed vessel of that rig not far from the shore.

‘Ay, ay, sir, she sails to-morrow.’

‘If she gets two more hands.’

‘So I have heard, sir.’

‘Will you ship?’

‘In her?’

‘Yes.’

‘Not I.’

‘With good wages and proper treatment?’ continued the stranger.

‘Why, she’s bound into those infernal Buccanier latitudes d’ye see,’ said Jack Herbert, ‘and I don’t care about going there again unless with a good stout crew and plenty of armament.’

‘You are prevented by fear then,’ said the stranger tauntingly.

‘Why, not exactly, your honor, but you see it’s a wanton tempting of providence to leap straight into a shark’s mouth.’

‘Look ye, my good fellow – I’m about to join that craft as her second mate. I’m bound for Cuba, so is that brig. She’s going on her own business, I’m going on mine, which is to aid your old comrades to escape from prison. So far as she goes my way I go hers, and between ourselves, no further. Now if you will trust to me I think we can manage to accomplish this object. How do you like the plan?’

‘I don’t mind shipping in her for such a purpose,’ said Jack Herbert, ‘only she’s got such a cursed bad captain. King George never had a more faithful representative of his own black character than the English captain of that brig yonder. ‘I know it,’ said Jack confidently; why, do ye see they’ve been trying to get me on board there these ten days.’

‘But, my good fellow, I shall be one of your officers, and shall look after your comfort – come, think better of this, you’ll ship, eh?’

After some considerable hesitation, Jack replied: ‘In this case I must, for damme, if I can bear to think of what those honest fellows are suffering off there in Cuba.’

‘There’s my hand, my honest fellow,’ said the stranger. ‘I will go and enter your name on the shipping list, and meet you again to-night, when I will have a more explicit conversation with you and tell you more of my proposed course of conduct for the coming voyage.’

The stranger, whoever he was, had Fanny’s interest near at heart, and had evidently made himself master of the relation of each to the other, as well as the whole matter of young Lovell’s confinement in prison.

Soon after the stranger left Jack Herbert, on his way to the shore, he was passing along one of the narrow and crooked lanes of the North End, as that part of the town was then called, and as it is known to this day, when he heard the groans of some one in distress. He sought the door of a low and poorly built house, from whence the sounds issued, and entering, he found a poor woman suffering from severe sickness, lying there upon a bed of straw. By her side sat a man of about twenty-five years of age, offering her such little comforts and attentions as were in his power.

The room was desolate, and the stranger could see that want and poverty dwelt there. He asked the man what he could do to serve them, and whether he could not procure something for the sufferer, who was moaning most piteously.

‘Arrah, she’s past the nade of it now,’ said the man.

‘Go and get a physician,’ said the gentleman.

‘Get a Doctor is it? And who’ll pay.’

‘I’ll see to that, go quick.’

‘You’ll pay, will ye?’

‘Certainly, be quick I say.’

The physician came at once, but informed them that the woman could not live but a few hours at most, and after prescribing a gentle anodyne he retired.

The stranger paid the Doctor his fee, and after giving some money to the man and bidding him procure whatever should be necessary for his mother, he was just about to leave the miserable apartment when the man said:

‘Hiven bless yees for a jintleman as ye is. Where might I be afther finding ye when I could pay yer back ye know?’

‘Never mind that, my good fellow, at all, it is of no consequence. I’ll call in and see you in the morning.’

‘So do, yer honor, and long life to all such as yees.’

Leaving the poor Irishman in the midst of his grateful acknowledgements, the stranger approached the shore, and making a signal with his hat, a boat was despatched from the brig to carry him on board. He was a noble looking young sailor, and his manner and bearing bespoke a degree of refinement not usual in one of his class. He was of ordinary height, well formed in every limb, and he looked as if his experience as a seaman must have been gained in the navy, for while his countenance wore the browned hue which exposure to the elements always imparts, yet was he one who evidently had never labored before the mast. He was young, certainly not much over twenty years of age, but there was a look of authority about the mild yet determined expression of his countenance, that told of more matured experience.

He was dressed in blue sailor’s pants, and a short Pea Jacket descending about half way to the knee, within the lining of which a close observer might have seen a brace of pistols and the silver haft of a knife, so designed as to cut at both sides while it was bent like the Turkish hanger. As he waved his tarpaulin hat for a signal to the brig, the night breeze played with his short, curly hair, throwing it in dainty curls about his forehead, which, protected by the hat so constantly worn by the seaman, was white as alabaster, and showed in singular contrast with the browned cheek and open neck. – Altogether you would have pronounced him a king’s officer in disguise.

The boat received him, and he was soon on board the brig.

‘Well, Mr. Channing,’ said the captain of the vessel, who met him as soon as he arrived on board, ‘have you engaged the man whom you promised to get for me yesterday?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘When will he join us? we sail with the morning tide you know.’

‘He will be on board to-morrow morning in good season, sir.’

‘Don’t let him fail, sir, for it will completely man us into our single hand, Mr. Channing. It does seem a pity to sail without the full complement when we have so nearly got it.’

‘I’ll see this man again to-night sir, and make sure of him.’

‘That will be well, sir,’ replied the Captain.

This conversation was held on the quarter deck of the brig Constance which was of about four hundred tons burthen, and a most beautiful specimen of the naval architecture of the day. She was bound ostensibly to the West Indies, but the plan was (as Mr. Channing told Jack Herbert that night) that after touching there she was to proceed to England.

She was well armed carrying a long tom amidships, and half a dozen six pounders, and a crew when her complement was complete, of twenty men before the mast. She was designed as a strong armed trader, and having letters of marque, she was expected to take any vessel belonging to the enemies of England (under whose flag she sailed) provided she was strong enough. Her commander was a tyrant in his disposition and much addicted to the intemperate use of spirituous liquors.

His first mate was a weak, imbecile young man, put on board originally as a sort of supercargo, by the owners, being a son of the principle share holder. The third officer was Mr. Channing whom we have introduced to the reader, and who appeared to be the only person on board worthy of trust as an officer. The captain trusted almost entirely to his first mate who was also inclined to throw all responsibility upon his second, as we shall have occasion to see.

The next morning Mr. Charming called on the poor Irishman as he had promised to do. He learned that the poor woman his mother, had expired during the night, and he found her son with his face buried in his hands, the very picture of honest grief.

‘I condole with you my good man,’ said Channing, ‘but you should remember that your mother has gone to a better world, where she will know no more want, no pain nor hunger – “where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest.”’

‘Do you belave that?’ asked Terrance Mooney.

‘Most certainly, the humblest of God’s creatures is his especial care, and he will gather all his children home in due time,’ said the mate of the brig to the weeping son of the deceased.

‘And no purgatory nather.’

‘If there be any purgatory, my good man, it is here on this earth where there is so much sin and consequent misery.’

‘Arrah, that’s consoulin to be sure if its all true, but the praist tells a mighty dale about that place.’

‘If he would preach more about the love and kindness of our heavenly father, and less of these imaginary places, he would serve the cause of his maker much more faithfully, and lead more sinners to repentance,’ said Channing.

‘Would’nt I be happy if I thought the ould lady had gone to Paradise to live wid the saints?’ said Terrence.

‘Believe me, my good fellow, she’s safe in the hands of the wisdom and power that made her.’

‘That’s consoling to be sure, but here am I, Terrence Moony, wid no mother at all, sure what’s to become of me?’

The thought struck Channing that it wanted yet one man to complete the complement of the brig.

‘How would you like to go to sea with me for good wages and comfortable living, hey Terrence?’ asked the mate.

‘Why there’s nothing to kape me here to be sure, but to see the ould woman dacently buried. When does your honor go to sea, if you plase?’

‘This morning.’

‘Right away is it?’

‘With the ebb tide.’

‘Arrah, that’s soon enough to be sure, could I get my friends to dacently bury her now, but thin I hav’nt the money.’

‘Here’s a few dollars if that will do it,’ said Channing handling Terrence some money for the purpose.

‘Do it, is it? won’t they have a “wake” out of it, and I’ll be far away at the same time they’ll be ating at it.’

‘Well, you must make haste, my man.’

‘Ye’s all ginerosoty, yer honer. I’ll jist fix it all, and thin I’ll follow yees to the end of the earth.’

And Terrence Mooney did arrange for the funeral of his mother, and after a few bitter expressions at parting from her body, he went on board the brig, when he shipped for the voyage to the West Indies.

Mr. Channing and Jack Herbert were on board in due season, and with the morning tide the brig hoisted her anchor, and spreading her white wings, stood out to sea. The bright sun shone gloriously upon the green islands that dotted the harbor in every direction, they were much larger then than now, and indeed one or two small ones have disappeared entirely. Seventy years of swift running tides have greatly reduced them in point of size, but not in beauty, for they still give a picturesque loveliness to the Bay that a painter’s taste could not improve. St. George’s flag floated from the topmasts of a dozen men of war, which lay at anchor in the harbor, and floated from a number of lofty points in the town. Scarcely had this scene disappeared from the eyes of the crew, when they were summoned aft by the captain, where he made them the following brief and very pertinent speech, it was characteristic of the man.

‘My men, when I’m obeyed quick and well I’m a pretty clever sort of a man, but when I’m thwarted, why then I’m h – I! so look out. I’m captain here, and will be obeyed to the very letter. You’ll know me fast enough when any of you cross me. – There, that will do – now go forward.’

‘Divilish little Christian is there about him,’ said Terrence Mooney to his comrades, ‘and is it bastes that we are entirely?’

The sailers did go forward, but they muttered among themselves that they knew full well what sort of a man the captain was, one of the devil’s own begetting, and the poor fellows made up their minds to plenty of blows, and little duff.’ The captain soon disappeared below, and in an hour or so afterwards was half intoxicated and asleep.

The first mate for some days attended promptly to duty, but he soon began to ‘shirk,’ and the general direction and sailing of the brig as a matter of course fell upon Channing, the next in command. – This none regretted, for although his orders were given in a prompt and decided tone, and implicit obedience was exacted, yet was his voice musical and kind, and his orders were almost anticipated by the promptitude of the willing crew, who soon came to love him for the generous consideration he evinced for their good and that of the vessel.

A little incident occurred on board of the brig, when eight days from port, which showed who really commanded the crew of the Constance. The captain passed the most of his time in the cabin, smoking, drinking, and dozing away the time, and thus kept but a slack look out upon the men, notwithstanding his boast at the outset. – One afternoon when a pretty stiff breeze was blowing from the North West, the mate lay sleeping in his state room leaving the sailing of the brig to his second, while the captain was occupied much the same as usual. After a while the mate awoke and came upon deck. Wishing to make up for his manifest negligence by some appearance of care at least, as he came up on deck he cast his eye aloft, and ordered a reef out of the fore and main topsails.

The crew looked at one another in astonishment, for it was evident to the poorest sailor on board that so far from its being proper to put the brig under any more sail, it would have been more prudent to have furled the canvass in question altogether. – The wind had blown fresh all day, and now as the afternoon advanced, the night breeze began to add its power to the wind that had blown through the day, until the brig under the two sails mentioned, and those close reefed, leaped over the waves with the speed of a racer. The mate repeated his order a second time, but there was no response from the crew, who slunk away in various directions with sullen countenances.

‘Mr. Channing,’ said the mate, ‘these men are absolutely mutinous, sir.’

‘I see it, Mr. Bunning.’

‘What’s to be done, sir?’

‘Do you still think it proper to make that sail?’

‘It was the order, sir.’

‘Forward there,’ said Channing in a tone of voice pitched perhaps a key lower than was his natural voice, ‘lay aloft and shake out the reefs from the fore and main topsails, cheerily men, away there, with a will, I say.’

The order had scarcely left the mouth of the second mate before the agile forms of a score of men sprang lightly up the shrouds to obey the mandate.

‘How is it the men obey you and not me, Mr. Channing?’

‘Mr. Banning, it is blowing pretty fresh as you must see,’ was the reply, and perhaps it is rather crowding the brig to make this new sail just now, but if you think it proper, the men must do it, sir.’

‘Well, put her under what canvass you like,’ said the mate to Channing as he left the deck, not a little mortified at the scene that had just taken place.

Channing rather pitied than blamed his fellow officer, and therefore was determined at any rate that his order should be obeyed; besides, he was not a person to relax the reins of discipline although much loved by the crew. He saw the impropriety of putting the brig under more sail as well as the crew, but it was not for him or them to judge in such a matter when there was a superior officer on deck. The error was soon remedied by the good judgment of Channing, and the beautiful vessel buffeting the waves still sprang on her course in safety, under the care of a higher power than any on board, bending gracefully under the influence of the freshening breeze.