Chapter 22

"Ay marry, let me have him to sit under;
He's like to be a cold soldier."
_Falstaff_.

Barnstable lingered on the sands for a few minutes, until the footsteps
of Dillon and the cockswain were no longer audible, when he ordered his
men to launch their boat once more into the surf. While the seamen
pulled leisurely towards the place he had designated as the point where
he would await the return of Tom, the lieutenant first began to
entertain serious apprehensions concerning the good faith of his
prisoner. Now that Dillon was beyond his control, his imagination
presented, in very vivid colors, several little circumstances in the
other's conduct, which might readily excuse some doubts of his good
faith; and, by the time they had reached the place of rendezvous, and
had cast a light grapnel into the sea, his fears had rendered him
excessively uncomfortable. Leaving the lieutenant to his reflections on
this unpleasant subject, we shall follow Dillon and his fearless and
unsuspecting companion in their progress towards St. Ruth.

The mists to which Tom had alluded in his discussion with his commander
on the state of the weather appeared to be settling nearer to the earth,
and assuming more decidedly the appearance of a fog, hanging above them
in sluggish volumes, but little agitated by the air. The consequent
obscurity added deeply to the gloom of the night, and it would have been
difficult for one less acquainted than Dillon with the surrounding
localities to find the path which led to the dwelling of Colonel Howard.
After some little search, this desirable object was effected; and the
civilian led the way, with rapid strides, towards the abbey.

"Ay, ay!" said Tom, who followed his steps, and equaled his paces,
without any apparent effort, "you shore people have an easy way to find
your course and distance, when you get into the track. I was once left
by the craft I belonged to, in Boston, to find my way to Plymouth, which
is a matter of fifteen leagues, or thereaway; and so, finding nothing
was bound up the bay, after lying-by for a week, I concluded to haul
aboard my land tacks. I spent the better part of another week in a
search for some hooker, on board which I might work my passage across
the country, for money was as scarce then with old Tom Coffin as it is
now, and is likely to be, unless the fisheries get a good luff soon; but
it seems that nothing but your horse-flesh, and horned cattle, and
jackasses, are privileged to do the pulling and hauling in your shore-
hookers; and I was forced to pay a week's wages for a berth, besides
keeping a banyan on a mouthful of bread and cheese, from the time we
hove up in Boston, till we came to in Plymouth town."