of day; and although, perhaps, none
slept, there were few who were not apparently at rest, and plunged in
the most painful reflections. Still occupying her humble couch, and
shielded from the night air merely by the cloak that covered her own
blood-stained garments, lay the unhappy Clara, her deep groans and
stifled sobs bursting occasionally from her pent-up heart, and falling
on the ears of the mariners like sounds of fearful import, produced by
the mysterious agency that already bore such undivided power over their
thoughts. On the bare deck, at her side, lay her brother, his face
turned upon the planks, as if to shut out all objects from eyes he had
not the power to close; and, with one arm supporting his heavy brow,
while the other, cast around the restless form of his beloved sister,
seemed to offer protection and to impart confidence, even while his
lips denied the accents of consolation. Seated on an empty hen-coop at
their head, was Sir Everard Valletort, his back reposing against the
bulwarks of the vessel, his arms folded across his chest, and his eyes
bent mechanically on the man at the helm, who stood within a few paces
of him,--an attitude of absorption, which he, ever and anon, changed to
one of anxious and enquiring interest, whenever the agitation of Clara
was manifested in the manner already shown.
The main deck and forecastle of the vessel presented a similar picture
of mingled unquietness and repose. Many of the seamen might be seen
seated on the gun-carriages, with their cheeks pressing the rude metal
that served them for a pillow. Others lay along the decks, with their
heads resting on the elevated hatches; while not a few, squatted on
their haunches with their knees doubled up to their very chins,
supported in that position the aching head that rested between their
rough and horny palms. A first glance might have induced the belief
that all were buried in the most profound slumber; but the quick
jerking of a limb,--the fitful, sudden shifting of a position,--the
utter absence of that deep breathing which indicates the
unconsciousness of repose, and the occasional spirting of tobacco juice
upon the deck,--all these symptoms only required to be noticed, to
prove the living silence that reigned throughout was not born either of
apathy or sleep.
At the gangway at which the canoe had approached now stood the
individual already introduced to our readers as Jack Fuller. The same
superstitious terror
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