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Title: Wolves of the Sea Being a Tale of the Colonies From the Manuscript of One Geoffry Carlyle, Seaman, Narrating Certain Strange Adventures Which Befell Him Aboard the Pirate Craft "Namur"

Author: Randall Parrish

Release Date: November 22, 2003 [EBook #10210]

Language: English

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WOLVES OF THE SEA

Being a Tale of the Colonies From the Manuscript of One Geoffry
Carlyle, Seaman, Narrating Certain Strange Adventures Which Befell Him
Aboard the Pirate Craft "Namur"

BY RANDALL PARRISH

Author of "When Wilderness Was King," "The Last Voyage of the Donna
Isabel" "Beyond the Frontier" "Contraband" etc.

Frontispiece By FRANK E. SCHOONOVER

1918

FOREWORD

Anson Carlyle, aged twenty-three, the ninth in descent from Captain Geoffry Carlyle, of Glasgow, Scotland, was among the heroic Canadian dead at Vimy Ridge. Unmarried, and the last of his line, what few treasures he possessed fell into alien hands. Among these was a manuscript, apparently written in the year 1687, and which, through nine generations, had been carefully preserved, yet never made public. The paper was yellowed and discolored by years, occasionally a page was missing, and the writing itself had become almost indecipherable. Much indeed had to be traced by use of a microscope. The writer was evidently a man of some education, and clear thought, but exceedingly diffuse, in accordance with the style of his time, and possessing small conception of literary form. In editing this manuscript for modern readers I have therefore been compelled to practically rewrite it entirely, retaining merely the essential facts, with an occasional descriptive passage, although I have conscientiously followed the original development of the tale. In this reconstruction much quaintness of language, as well as appeal to probability, may have been lost, and for this my only excuse is the necessity of thus making the story readable. I have no doubt as to its essential truth, nor do I question the purpose which dominated this rover of the sea in his effort to record the adventures of his younger life. As a picture of those days of blood and courage, as well as a story of love and devotion, I deem it worthy preservation, regretting only the impossibility of now presenting it in print exactly as written by Geoffry Carlyle.

R.P.

CONTENTS

I Sent into Servitude

II The Prison Ship

III Dorothy Fairfax

IV The Shores of Virginia

V The Waters of the Chesapeake

VI Fairfax Speaks with Me

VII The Lieutenant Unmasked

VIII A Victory, and a Defeat

IX A Swim to the Namur

X On the Deck of the Namur

XI The Return of the Boat

XII A Friend in the Forecastle

XIII I Accept a Proposal

XIV I Warn Dorothy

XV The Cabin of the Namur

XVI In Dorothy's Stateroom

XVII A Murder on Board

XVIII A New Conspiracy

XIX Laying the Trap

XX The Deck Is Ours

XXI In Full Possession

XXII The Crew Decides

XXIII The Prisoners Escape

XXIV In Clasp of the Sea

XXV The Open Boat

XXVI A Floating Coffin

XXVII On Board the Slaver

XXVIII A New Plan of Escape

XXIX A Struggle in the Dark

XXX Opening the Treasure Chest

XXXI The Boat Attack

XXXII The Last of the Namur

XXXIII Before the Governor

WOLVES OF THE SEA

CHAPTER I

SENT INTO SERVITUDE

Knowing this to be a narrative of unusual adventure, and one which may never even be read until long after I have departed from this world, when it will be difficult to convince readers that such times as are herein depicted could ever have been reality, I shall endeavor to narrate each incident in the simplest manner possible. My only purpose is truth, and my only witness history. Yet, even now lately as this all happened it is more like the recollections of a dream, dimly remembered at awakening, and, perchance, might remain so, but for the scars upon my body, and the constant memory of a woman's face. These alone combine to bring back in vividness those days that were—days of youth and daring, of desperate, lawless war, of wide ocean peril, and the outstretched hands of love. So that here, where I am writing it all down, here amid quietness and peace, and forgetful of the past, I wander again along a deserted shore, and sail among those isles of a southern sea, the home for many a century of crime and unspeakable cruelty. I will recall the truth, and can do no more.

I can recall that far-away dawn now as the opening portals of a beautiful morning, although at the time my thought was so closely centered upon other things, the deep blue of the sky, and the glimmering gold of the sun scarcely left an impression on my mind. It was still early morning when we were brought out under heavy guard, and marched somberly forth through the opened gates of the gaol. There had been rain during the night, and the cobble-stones of the village street were dark with moisture, slipping under our hob-nailed shoes as we stumbled along down the sharp incline leading to the wharf. Ahead we could perceive a forest of masts, and what seemed like a vast crowd of waiting people. Only the murmur of voices greeting us as we emerged, told that this gathering was not a hostile one, and this truth was emphasized to our minds by the efforts of the guard to hasten our passage. That we had been sentenced to exile, to prolonged servitude in some foreign land, was all that any of us knew—to what special section of the world fate had allotted us remained unknown.

In spite of curses, and an occasional blow, we advanced slowly, marching four abreast, with feet dragging heavily, the chains binding us together clanking dismally with each step, and an armed guard between each file. Experiences have been many since then, yet I recall, as though it were but yesterday, the faces of those who walked in line with me. I was at the right end of my file, and at my shoulder was a boy from Morrownest, a slim, white-faced lad, his weak chin trembling from fear, and his eyes staring about so pleadingly I spoke a word of courage to him, whispering in his ear, lest the guard behind might strike. He glanced aside at me, but with no response in the depths of his eyes, in which I could perceive only a dumb anguish