From that time, the history of the dreaded Red Rover became gradually lost, in the fresher incidents of those eventful seas.  But the mariner, long after was known to shorten the watches of the night, by recounting scenes of mad enterprise that were thought to have occurred under his auspices.  Rumour did not fail to embellish and pervert them, until the real character, and even name, of the individual were confounded with the actors of other atrocities.  Scenes of higher and more ennobling interest, too, were occurring on the Western Continent, to efface the circumstances of a legend that many deemed wild and improbable.  The British colonies of North America had revolted against the government of the Crown, and a weary war was bringing the contest to a successful issue.  Newport, the opening scene of this tale, had been successively occupied by the arms of the King, and by those of that monarch who had sent the chivalry of his nation to aid in stripping his rival of her vast possessions.

The beautiful haven had sheltered hostile fleets, and the peaceful villas had often rung with the merriment of youthful soldiers.  More than twenty years, after the events just related, had been added to the long record of time, when the island town witnessed the rejoicings of another festival.  The allied forces had compelled the most enterprising leader of the British troops to yield himself and army captives to their numbers and skill.  The struggle was believed to be over, and the worthy townsmen had, as usual, been loud in the manifestations of their pleasure.  The rejoicings, however, ceased with the day; and as night gathered over the place, the little city was resuming its customary provincial tranquillity.  A gallant frigate, which lay in the very spot where the vessel of the Rover has first been seen, had already lowered the gay assemblage of friendly ensigns, which had been spread in the usual order of a gala day.  A flag of intermingled colours, and bearing a constellation of bright and rising stars, alone was floating at her gaff.  Just at this moment, another cruiser, but one of far less magnitude, was seen entering the roadstead, bearing also the friendly ensign of the new States.  Headed by the tide, and deserted by the breeze, she soon dropped an anchor, in the pass between Connanicut and Rhodes, when a boat was seen making for the inner harbour, impelled by the arms of six powerful rowers.  As the barge approached a retired and lonely wharf, a solitary observer of its movements was enabled to see that it contained a curtained litter, and a single female form.  Before the curiosity which such a sight would be apt to create, in the breast of one like the spectator mentioned, had time to exercise itself in conjectures, the oars were tossed, the boat had touched the piles, and, borne by the seamen, the litter, attended by the woman, stood before him.

“Tell me, I pray you,” said a voice, in whose tones grief and resignation were singularly combined, “if Captain Henry de Lacey, of the continental marine, has a residence in this town of Newport?”