Chapter 21

Thief. "'Tis in the malice of mankind, that he thus advises us not to
have us thrive in our mystery."--_Timon of Athens._

Throughout the whole of that day, no change occurred in the weather. The
sleeping ocean lay like a waving and glittering mirror, smooth and
polished on its surface, though, as usual, the long rising and falling of
a heavy ground-swell announced the commotion that was in action within
some distant horizon. From the time that he left the deck, until the sun
laved its burnished orb in the sea, the individual, who so well knew how
to keep alive his authority among the untamed tempers that he governed,
was seen no more. Satisfied with his victory, he no longer seemed to
apprehend that it was possible any should be bold enough to dare to plot
the overthrow of his power. This apparent confidence in himself did not
fail to impress his people favourably. As no neglect of duty was
overlooked, nor any offence left to go unpunished, an eye, that was not
seen, was believed by the crew to be ever on them, and an invisible hand
was thought to be at all times uplifted, ready to strike or to reward. It
was by a similar system of energy in moments of need, and of forbearance
when authority was irksome, that this extraordinary man had so long
succeeded, as well in keeping down domestic treason, as in eluding the
utmost address and industry of his open enemies.

When the watch was set for the night, however, and the ship lay in the
customary silence of the hour, the form of the Rover was again seen
walking swiftly to and fro across the poop, of which he was now the
solitary occupant. The vessel had drifted in the stream of the Gulf so far
to the northward, that the little mound of blue had long sunk below the
edge of the ocean; and she was again surrounded, so far as human eye
might see, by an interminable world of water. As not a breath of air was
stirring, the sails had been handed, the tall and naked spars rearing
themselves, in the gloom of the evening, like those of a ship which rested
at her anchors. In short, it was one of those hours of entire repose that
the elements occasionally grant to such adventurers as trust their
fortunes to the capricious government of the treacherous and unstable
winds.

Even the men, whose duty it was to be on the alert, were emboldened, by
the general tranquillity, to become careless on their watch, and to cast
their persons between the guns, or on different portions of the vessel,
seeking that rest which the forms of discipline and good order prohibited
them from enjoying in their hammocks. Here and there, indeed, the head of
a drowsy officer was seen nodding with the lazy heaving of the ship, as he
leaned against the bulwarks, or rested his person on the