An hour later, all the officers, Harry and Rose, were
assembled in what might be termed the light-house
parlour. The Rev. Mr. Hollins had neither band,
gown, nor surplice; but he had what was far better,
feeling and piety. Without a prayer-book he never
moved; and he read the marriage ceremony with a solemnity
that was communicated to all present. The ring
was that which had been used at the marriage of Rose’s
parents, and which she wore habitually, though not
on the left hand. In a word, Harry and Rose were
as firmly and legally united, on that solitary and
almost unknown islet, as could have been the case,
had they stood up before the altar of mother Trinity
itself, with a bishop to officiate, and a legion of
attendants. After the compliments which succeeded
the ceremony, the whole party sat down to breakfast.
If the supper had been agreeable, the morning meal
was not less so. Rose was timid and blushing,
as became a bride, though she could not but feel how
much more respectable her position became under the
protection of Harry as his wife, than it had been while
she was only his betrothed. The most delicate
deportment, on the part of her companions, soon relieved
her embarrassment however, and the breakfast passed
off without cause for an unhappy moment.
“The ship’s standing in toward the light,
sir,” reported the cockswain of the cutter,
as the party was still lingering around the table,
as if unwilling to bring so pleasant a meal to a close.
“Since the mist has broke away, we see her, sir,
even to her ports and dead-eyes.”
“In that case, Sam, she can’t be very
far off,” answered Wallace. “Ay,
there goes a gun from her, at this moment, as much
as to say, `what has become of all of my boats?’
Run down and let off a musket; perhaps she will make
out to hear that, as we must be rather to windward,
if anything.”
The signal was given and understood. A quarter
of an hour later, the Poughkeepsie began to shorten
sail. Then Wallace stationed himself in the cutter,
in the centre of one of the passages, signalling the
ship to come on. Ten minutes later still, the
noble craft came into the haven, passing the still
burning light, with her topsails just lifting, and
making a graceful sweep under very reduced sail, she
came to the wind, very near the spot where the Swash
had lain only ten hours before, and dropped an anchor.
1. In the palmy days of the service, when Robert
Smith was so long Secretary of the Navy, the ship’s
whisky went by this familiar sobriquet.
CHAPTER V.
The gull has found her place on shore;
The sun gone down again to rest;
And all is still but ocean’s roar;
There stands the man unbless’d.
But see, he moves—he turns,
as asking where
His mates? Why looks he with that
piteous stare?
