“I have had my misgivings, since we have dealt with witchcraft!” returned Trysail, whose voice the rattling of the throat had already nearly silenced “I have had misgivings—­but no matter.  Take care of the ship—­I have been thinking of our people—­you’ll have to cut—­they can never lift the anchor—­the wind is here at north.”

“All this is ordered.  Trouble thyself no further about the vessel; she shall be taken care of, I promise you.—­Speak of thy wife, and of thy wishes in England.”

“God bless Mrs. Trysail!  She’ll get a pension, and I hope contentment!  You must give the reef a good, berth, in rounding Montauk—­and you’ll naturally wish to find the anchors again, when the coast is clear—­if you can find it in your conscience, say a good word of poor old Ben Trysail, in the dispatches—­”

The voice of the master sunk to a whisper, and became inaudible.  Ludlow thought he strove to speak again, and he bent his ear to his mouth.

“I say—­the weather-main-swifter and both backstays are gone; Look to the spars, for—­for—­there are sometimes—­heavy puffs at night—­in the Americas!”

The last heavy respiration succeeded, after which came the long silence of death.  The body was removed to the poop, and Ludlow, with a saddened heart, turned to duties that this accident rendered still more imperative.

Notwithstanding the heavy loss, and the originally weakened state of her crew, the sails of the Coquette were soon spread, and the ship moved away in silence; as if sorrowing for those who had fallen at her anchorage.  When the vessel was fairly in motion, her captain ascended to the poop, in order to command a clearer view of all around him, as well as to profit by the situation to arrange his plans for the future.  He found he had been anticipated by the free-trader.

“I owe my ship—­I may say my life, since in such a conflict they would have gone together, to thy succor!” said the young commander, as he approached the motionless form of the smuggler.  “Without it, Queen Anne would have lost a cruiser, and the flag of England a portion of its well-earned glory.”

“May thy royal mistress prove as ready to remember her friends, in emergencies, as mine.  In good truth, there was little time to lose, and trust me, we well understood the extremity.  If we were tardy, it was because whale-boats were to be brought from a distance; for the land lies between my brigantine and the sea.”

“He who came so opportunely, and acted so well, needs no apology.”

“Captain Ludlow, are we friends?”

“It cannot be otherwise.  All minor considerations must be lost in such a service.  If it is your intention to push this illegal trade further, on the coast, I must seek another station.”

“Not so.—­Remain, and do credit to your flag, and the land of your birth.  I have long thought that this is the last time the keel of the Water-Witch will ever plow the American seas.  Before I quit you, I would have an interview with the merchant.  A worse man might have fallen, and just now even a better man might be spared.  I hope no harm has come to him?”