Jack Hardy: A Story of English Smugglers in the Days of Napoleon
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Title: Jack Hardy: A Story of English Smugglers in the Days of Napoleon
Creator: Herbert Strang
Illustrator: W. Rainey
Release date: July 27, 2013 [eBook #43334]
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/43334
Credits: Produced by Al Haines
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JACK HARDY: A STORY OF ENGLISH SMUGGLERS IN THE DAYS OF NAPOLEON ***
Produced by Al Haines.
[Illustration: Cover]
[Illustration: "Surrender, in the king's name!" shouted Jack. _Page_
121]
JACK HARDY
_A Story of English Smugglers in the Days of Napoleon_
_By_
HERBERT STRANG
_Author of_
Fighting on the Congo
In Clive's Command
On the Trail of the Arabs, etc.
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY
WILLIAM RAINEY, R. I.
INDIANAPOLIS
THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
COPYRIGHT 1906, 1907
THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY
PRESS OF
BRAUNWORTH & CO.
BOOKBINDERS AND PRINTERS
BROOKLYN, N. Y.
*CONTENTS*
CHAPTER
I The Road to Luscombe
II Monsieur De Fronsac
III A Fight in Luscombe Market
IV Congleton's Hollow
V A Midnight Excursion
VI Signals
VII The Best-Laid Schemes
VIII Congleton's Folly
IX Close Quarters
X A Prisoner of France
XI A Break for Freedom
XII The Capture of the *Glorieuse*
XIII Off Luscombe
XIV A Discovery
XV Tar and Feathers
XVI A Run at Sandy Cove
XVII Diamond Cut Diamond
XVIII The Battle of Binsey Cove
XIX Some Appointments
*LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS*
"Surrender, in the king's name!" shouted Jack . . . Frontispiece
"Steady, Mr. Gudgeon, steady!" cried Jack
Jack, with a straight right-hander, sent him spinning over
"If you make a movement, I shall fire"
*JACK HARDY*
*CHAPTER I*
*THE ROAD TO LUSCOMBE*
The first time Jack Hardy met Mr. Nathaniel Gudgeon was also the
occasion of his first visit to Luscombe.
It happened in this way.
"Good-by, my boy," said his father, as Jack clambered on to the roof of
the coach at the _White Hart_, Southwark, "and be sure you don't forget
your Cousin Bastable, or your mother will never forgive you."
"All right, father. I'll take a look at him if I get a chance. I say,
coachman, you'll let me have a drive?"
The coachman could not turn his head, because the collar of his coat was
stiff and his neck brawny; but he screwed his left eye into the corner,
winked, and gave a hoarse chuckle.
"I've seed Jack Tars on donkeys, and orficers on hosses," said he.
"Lor' bless you, I knows 'em."
Which was the beginning of an argument that lasted all the way to
Guildford.
Jack was on his way to Wynport to join H.M.S. _Fury_. Ten miles beyond
Wynport lay the little village of Luscombe, and two miles beyond
Luscombe was Bastable Grange, where his mother's cousin, Humfrey
Bastable, lived. Jack had never seen Mr. Bastable; a hundred years ago
relatives separated by a hundred miles of turnpike road saw very little
of one another. But Mrs. Hardy had been very fond of her Cousin Humfrey
when they were boy and girl together, and now that her son was going
within easy walking distance of Bastable Grange, she insisted that Jack
should go over and pay his respects.
Jack had just been transferred to the _Fury_ from the frigate _Ariadne_,
much to his disgust. In the _Ariadne_ he had hoped to have an
opportunity of joining Admiral Nelson's fleet and fighting the French;
the _Fury_ was engaged in the humdrum and much less heroic work, as Jack
regarded it, of hunting smugglers. But Jack was of a cheerful
disposition, and by the time he arrived at Wynport he had forgotten his
disappointment, for the coachman had let him take the ribbons for five
good miles of the road, and he had nearly upset the coach in a ditch,
nearly massacred a flock of geese, and nearly taken off the wheel of a
carrier's cart, which was excitement enough for one day.
When he arrived at Wynport he found that it would be three or four days
before the _Fury_ was ready for sea. To Jack's eyes she appeared
anything but furious, shored up high and dry in the yard, with huge
balks of timber supporting her hull. "Wretched cockle-shell!" he said
to himself, as he looked at her. But, having several days to spare, he
thought he might as well spend the time in looking up his Cousin
Bastable. Lieutenant Blake, commanding the _Fury_, good-naturedly gave
Mr. Midshipman Hardy leave to visit his mother's relatives, so Jack
slung his valise on to a carrier's cart that would jog to Bastable in
the course of the day, and started to trudge over the cliffs. He had
been told that he might save a matter of an hour by taking the shorter
road by Wickham Ferrers; but it was a bright September day,
exceptionally hot for the time of year, and there was more chance of a
breeze by the cliffs. Besides, Jack preferred when he could to keep
within sight of the sea.
He had no company for the first part of the journey, and that was a
trial to a lad of Jack's sociable disposition. As became a midshipman
of his Majesty's navy, he was ready to talk freely with peer or peasant.
The few people he saw were going in the opposite direction, and though
in pleasant country fashion they "passed the time of day," there was no
occasion for stopping to chat. But, about five miles out of Wynport, he
saw just ahead of him, on the winding white road, a man with a wooden
leg, stumping along beside a donkey-cart. The man had a broad back and
looked a sturdy fellow. The day being hot he had stripped off his coat,
which dangled from a nail in the tail-board of the cart; and he carried
in his left hand a glazed hat.
Jack was almost abreast of the cart when the man heard his footsteps,
turned, and seeming to recognize him, pulled his forelock and said:
"Morning, sir, morning."
"Good morning. Uncommon hot, isn't it? You seem to know me?"
"Not to say know, sir. I've seed ye, that's all. I've been to Wynport;
I goes there twice a week with my old moke here, and a cargo of fruit or
vegetables, times and seasons according. And when I goes to Wynport, in
course I looks up old messmates."
"You've been a sailor, then?"
"Nigh thirty year, sir! Joe Gumley my name: ranked A.B. when I got my
leg shot off in a' action with a French privateer six year ago. In
course I were discharged then. I were a fisherman till they pressed me
for the navy, so when I were no more use to his Majesty, sir, I come
back to my native place, which be Luscombe, sir, and what with fishing
and gardening and such like I manage to make both ends meet, as they
say. I've got a tidy bit of cottage at a low rent from Squire
Bastable--"
"Oh! he's my cousin."
"Now, if you'd said uncle, sir--"
"Well, he's my mother's cousin; my second cousin, I suppose."
"Not having any myself, I don't know second from first. Howsomever, as
I were saying, I've give up the fishing now; but I keep to the
gardening--not an easy job with this stump of mine, 'cos when I'm
digging the misbehaving thing will sink in, and it takes a terrible time
to be always heaving it out. Like as if you was to have to drop anchor
and heave it again every knot you made. But I've got over that there
little contrariness by taking a square bit of board with me now. When
I'm going to dig, down goes the board, I sticks my stump on that, and so
we gets on as merry as you please, 'cos when I want to shift, all I've
got to do is to kick the board along a few inches, and there we are."
"Well, but how came you to know me?"
"Only seed you, sir. I was over at Wynport, as I were saying, and only
this morning I comed across my old messmate, Ben Babbage, what was
pressed along o' me. He's now bo'sun of the _Fury_, and we was having a
smoke and a chat about old times when you come down the yard along o'
the lieutenant, and Ben says to me: 'Joe,' says he, 'that's Mr. Hardy,
the new midshipman.' That's how I knowed your name, but I didn't know
as how you was cousin to squire, though to be sure, now I look at you,
sir, you do seem to have something of his figurehead about you."
"Talking of figureheads, that's a queer-looking thing yonder."
He pointed to a tower that just showed above the trees in the distance.
In shape it was not unlike a mushroom, the top and part of the stalk
being visible.
"That?" said Gumley. "Queer, indeed. That be Congleton's Folly."
"And who was Congleton?"
"A man, sir, leastways a madman. Where he hailed from no one knowed,
but years and years ago, when I was a' infant in arms, Congleton
suddenlike come to Luscombe. He was a man about fifty then, and 'twas
said that having waited to that age to fall in love, he got it very bad
with a widder, who wouldn't have him. Love seems to be like measles,
better had young. Well, Congleton took it so to heart that he made up
his mind to live forlorn and lonely ever more. So he built a kind o'
summer-house in the Hollow yonder; and when he tired o' that he set a
small army o' laborers building the Folly, for so it got to be called;
and there he lived for a dozen years in one room at the top all by
himself, seeing nobody, having his food sent up twice a week by a
pulley. And then he died. Congleton's Folly 'twas called then, and so
it be called to this day: a sort of wilderness all round it, and a
fearsome place on a dark night."
The old tar talked on, Jack doing the listening, until they came to a
spot where, just after the road crossed a deep chine cutting through the
cliff to the sea, there stood a large farm-building by the roadside.
"Is that one of my cousin's farms?" asked Jack.
"No, sir, that be Mr. Gudgeon's freehold."
Jack glanced at it idly. It was an old roving building of stone, with
gables and mullioned windows, many barns and outhouses hemming it in.
Across the road was the farmyard, with a large pond skirting the
roadway; and beyond it a level triangular stretch of pasture and
cornland extending to the edge of the cliff, which here jutted out
prominently into the sea.
Just before they reached the farm-house, Jack noticed a dense cloud of
smoke pouring from one of the chimneys.
"The kitchen chimney's afire, I suppose," he said.
"Ay, ay, sir. Mr. Gudgeon do have a bad lot o' chimbleys. And there's
a many in Luscombe, too. Plenty of jobs hereabouts for a good sweep!
And there's Mr. Gudgeon himself--Nathaniel's his chrisom name."
A very big burly man, curiously short in the legs, made his appearance
in the doorway, and walking backwards across the road, watched the black
column of smoke drifting slowly eastward on the light breeze.
So closely was his attention fixed that he did not at once notice the
pedestrians or the donkey-cart, and not until he had backed almost
across the road did he suddenly catch sight of Joe Gumley. Then he
started slightly, and his attention being now divided between the old
sailor and the chimney on fire, he failed to observe a deep rut left by
a passing wagon, that had evidently been driven into the pond to allow
the horses to drink.
The result of the oversight was unfortunate. One of the short legs
disappeared into the rut; there was a wild flourish of arms; and then
the big unwieldy body toppled backward into the pond.
Jack could not forbear smiling. Gumley gave a quiet chuckle, and to
Jack's surprise stumped on, not offering to help the farmer out. But
the lad sprang forward impulsively, splashed into the water, and held
out his hands to the miserable dripping object still floundering there,
unable to gain a foothold on the clayey mud of the bottom.
"Steady, Mr. Gudgeon, steady!" cried Jack encouragingly. "Haul on, sir.
Yo heave ho! and up we come!"
[Illustration: "Steady, Mr. Gudgeon, steady!" cried Jack]
"Thank'ee, sir," said Mr. Gudgeon, spluttering. He had evidently
swallowed more of the muddied water than he cared for. "But
how--ugh!--how do you--ugh!--know my name, sir?"
"Why, that old sailor man told me--Gumley, you know: we hitched on some
miles up the road there."
"Yes, yes, of course: yes, yes. I'm all of a flutter, sir; my heart
goes pit-a-pat. Ugh! That water is rank, and--and I--I feel quite
upset. It was Gumley; of course it was: and he told you my name. Yes,
to be sure. And you, sir, I might guess, are a king's officer, sir?"
"Oh, yes! My ship's the _Fury_"
"Why, to be sure! Come in, sir. You must dry your boots. Take them
off, sir. I will take off my wet things and be with you in a few
moments. Sit you down, sir."
Mr. Gudgeon had led Jack into a large stone-flagged room, with a low
ceiling of whitewashed rafters. He disappeared, and Jack, left to
himself, took off his boots and stockings and sat on the broad, high
ledge of the window. In one corner he noticed a long leather-bound
telescope, and taking it up he looked out to sea. A few fishing boats
dotted the shining surface, their brown sails just appearing above the
edge of the cliff. In the offing a large lugger lay, apparently hove to.
He was still peering through the glass when the farmer returned,
carrying a tray with bottles and glasses. A servant came after him, and
took away the wet boots and stockings.
"Now, sir," he said. "You have your choice. Here is brandy, and sloe
gin, and cider--"
"Thanks, Mr. Gudgeon, a glass of cider for me; 'tis a cool drink for a
hot day."
"To be sure," rejoined Mr. Gudgeon; "though for myself I find brandy the
best cure for the flutters. You were taking a peep through my
spy-glass, sir?"
"Yes: a good glass."
"Not bad, sir, not bad. And a clear day. But not much to see, sir,
to-day."
"No. There's a lugger in the offing; and French by the cut of her."
"Surely not, sir," cried Mr. Gudgeon, taking up the glass. "Dear, dear!
I'm all in a flutter again, sir. A French lugger, sir! 'Tis surely too
near our coast to be safe."
"Yes, and I hope the _Pandora_ will catch her; she's sailing this
afternoon."
"To be sure, sir. The impudence of these Frenchmen! But I don't think
she's French, after all; there's a lugger much like her down in Luscombe
yonder. And you're an officer of the _Fury_? I've seen the _Fury_ more
than once, sir. She cruised about a good deal last winter on the
lookout for smugglers. But she's laid up at Wynport now, I'm told."
"Yes, or I shouldn't be here."
"Ah! I wondered, now, what brought you to this quiet little place.
Maybe you have friends in the neighborhood, sir?"
"I'm going to see my cousin, Mr. Bastable. I dare say you know him?"
"Know the squire! To be sure: a customer of mine. Ah! as I was saying,
there's a good deal of smuggling on this part of the coast: so the
common talk is, sir. Luscombe yonder is suspected, so 'tis said. Mr.
Goodman, the new riding-officer, has his eye on the village. But up
here on the cliff I don't hear much of what goes on. I keep myself to
myself, sir--lead a quiet life; anything out of the way puts me in a
flutter at once. And when will the _Fury_ be ready for sea?"
"In four or five days."
"To be sure! And you are Mr. Bastable's cousin! Well, now, to be sure!
'Tis early days for the smugglers, sir: they don't begin, so I've heard,
much before October; their work needs dark nights; but I hope you'll put
'em down, sir, I do. They're getting the neighborhood a bad name."
"Well, Mr. Gudgeon, we'll do our best to polish it up for you. Now,
d'you think those things of mine are dry? I am getting hungry, and my
cousin, I hope, keeps a good table."
"To be sure, sir; a fine man, Mr. Bastable. Though I'm only a poor
working farmer, and keep myself to myself, I hope I may count Mr.
Bastable a friend. You will give him my respects, Mr.--?"
"Jack Hardy: that's my name. Thanks for the cider, Mr. Gudgeon: mighty
good stuff. Good-by. I hope you'll be none the worse for your sousing."
"Thank you, sir. I hope not. I shall take no harm unless I get a
return of the flutters."
He went with Jack to the door.
"That is your way, sir," he said, pointing to a path that ran
irregularly across the fields to the right. "The coast winds a good
deal here; you would not think it, but the path will bring you near to
the sea. Bastable Grange is on the cliff, sir, the other side of
Luscombe, a fine airy position, though too near the coast if the French
should land, _I_ say."
Jack set off at a good pace, vaulted the many stiles that crossed the
field path, and in less than half an hour found himself approaching a
fine old red-brick house nestling among trees at the edge of the cliff.
He paused for a few moments before lifting the latch of the gate to take
a look round. There, in a hollow between the two cliffs, lay the
village of Luscombe, its few cottages straggling from the beach up the
slope. Two or three fishing smacks lay alongside the short stone jetty:
others rocked gently in the little bay. A turn of the path hid them
from sight for a minute or two; when next they came into view Jack was
surprised to see one of the smacks making under full sail out to sea.
"Smart work that!" he thought. "There was no sign of her putting off a
few minutes ago. The Luscombe fishers would make good king's men, by the
look of it; they'll have a visit from the press-gang one of these days."
He watched until the smack rounded the point; then he turned, opened the
gate, walked up the gravel path, and pulled the bell at the door of
Bastable Grange.
*CHAPTER II*
*MONSIEUR DE FRONSAC*
Jack was shown into a little snuggery, where he found a red-faced,
blue-eyed gentleman sitting deep in a comfortable arm-chair, his legs
perched on a smaller chair. His black hair was tied in a short queue;
he had curly side whiskers: and he wore the full uniform of the
Dorsetshire yeomanry--a tight red coat with a high stock, white buckskin
breeches, and big Hessian boots that came to the knee.
"A young gentleman to see you, sir," said the servant.
"How d'ye do, Cousin Humfrey?" said Jack, advancing with a smile and
outstretched hand.
"Who in the world are you?" said Mr. Bastable, clutching the arms of his
chair, his eyelids squeezed together oddly.
"Oh! I'm Jack Hardy. Mother said I was to be sure and call. My traps
are coming after."
"They are, are they? You're a pretty cool young spark, aren't you? I
must take it, I suppose, that you're my Cousin Millicent's boy, eh?"
"Of course, Cousin Humfrey. She said you'd be glad to put me up for a
day or two, if I reminded you what friends you and she were, I don't
know how many years ago."
"She did, eh? Well, you'd better give an account of yourself. How old
are you, and what are you doing in these parts? I don't suppose you
came all the way from London to remind me of your mother."
"I'm sixteen, sir, and just appointed to the _Fury_--you know, the
revenue cutter now repairing at Wynport. I've got a few days' leave, so
I've just walked over."
"So I should suppose. Your boots look as if you'd walked through half a
dozen horseponds on the way."
"Only one, cousin," replied Jack, laughing. "That was in helping a
friend of yours, who tumbled over through walking backwards looking at a
chimney on fire: Mr. Gudgeon, the farmer."
"A friend of mine, eh? Well, not exactly," said Mr. Bastable dryly.
"So his chimney was afire."
"Yes, though I must say he took it pretty coolly; didn't seem to
remember it when he got back into the house."
"Oh! You went into the house, then?"
"Yes, he gave me some cider, and drank some brandy himself for the
flutters. He's not quite the shape for the flutters, cousin, is he?
Looks pretty solid."
"And he made himself agreeable, eh? You told him who you were, I
suppose?"
"Oh, yes! And he as good as said he was glad the _Fury_ was getting
ready for sea. Luscombe's getting a bad name for smuggling, it appears,
and 'tis time some of us came along. Don't you think so, cousin?"
"Quite time, quite time!" replied Mr. Bastable. Jack fancied he caught a
twinkle in his half-closed eyes. "Father and mother quite well, eh?
And how long have you been a king's officer?"
"A couple of years, cousin. Of course I had to serve two years as a
volunteer first; then two years ago I was put on the books of the
_Ariadne_, second-rate frigate, Captain Bagot. Why on earth they
transferred me to the _Fury_ I can't tell--just as the _Ariadne_ was
going out to join Admiral Nelson's fleet, too. I call it disgusting."
"No doubt they thought you'd be more useful to the revenue. Well, your
traps are coming after you, you said? Get off those boots and I'll
introduce you to your cousins. I suppose they're your cousins, if I'm
one. Ah! here's the first!"--as the door burst open, and a girl ran in.
She wore a white muslin dress with a pink sash, and a chip hat was
swinging on her arm. Seeing a stranger she stopped, and her cheeks
flushed.
"Come, Kate," said her father, "this is your cousin, Mr. Midshipman
Hardy, come to pay us a visit."
Kate Bastable made the formal little courtesy of those days, to which
Jack returned his best bow.
"I came to tell you dinner is nearly ready, father," said the girl.
"Goodness alive, and I haven't got out of my regimentals yet! Run and
send your mother here, Kate; she must say which room your cousin is to
have. We dine earlier than you fine London folks, my lad. You're a
good trencherman, I'll be bound."
"I'm pretty sharp set after my walk, cousin, and we fellows can usually
do our duty with knife and fork."
"As well as in other matters, eh?--catching smugglers, for instance.
Well, come along; we'll find my wife and see what she can do for you in
the way of slippers."
Jack was perfectly satisfied with his dinner, and with his new-found
relatives. Mrs. Bastable and he became good friends at first sight.
She was a pleasant, fresh-colored woman of forty, quiet in manner and
speech, but with a shrewdly humorous eye. Kate was fifteen. She said
little, but took stock of her new cousin as he chattered at the
dinner-table. The last member of the family was Arthur, a boy of
twelve, who, Jack found afterward, was not nearly so shy as he looked.
An only son, he had not been sent to school, but was tutored at home.
The tutor formed the sixth at table, a slight man of about thirty, with
a very swarthy skin and intensely black eyes, good features, and a
glittering smile. He was introduced to Jack as Monsieur de Fronsac, a
Frenchman of a noble house. He had emigrated a few years before, and
settled in England as a teacher of languages and mathematics. Monsieur
de Fronsac bowed and smiled when the introduction was made, and said
that he was charmed and delighted to meet an officer of the king's so
excellent navy.
Jack found that he was expected to do most of the talking. His cousins
plied him with questions about the latest news in London. What was
happening in India? Had Spain declared war? What did the people in
London think of the chances of a French invasion? Jack was equal to the
demands made upon him.
"Oh, as to India," he said, "a day or two before I left we got advice
that that Mahratta fellow, Holkar, had invaded our territories and
General Wellesley was after him. He'll soon settle his hash. And
Admiral Keith is going to have a shot at those flat-bottomed boats that
Boney has got at Boulogne. They'll never cross the Channel, not they.
Praams they call 'em: miserable tools; a storm would knock 'em to
pieces; they can't hug the wind; and the eight-pounder they've got
mounted aft is a fixture, so that if we laid a small boat alongside, the
gun would be useless, and they'd only have musketry to resist with. And
the poor wretches on board get so seasick if there's the least swell
that they lie about groaning in the hold, too weak to lift a musket.
One of 'em was captured last year by a gun-brig of ours; she'd got a
little leeward of Boulogne and couldn't get back, and our brig had her
by the heels as she was steering large for Calais. Our fellows don't
believe old Boney intends to send 'em across at all, but only wants to
frighten us. By George! I wish he would, though. We'd make ducks and
drakes of his praams, there's not a doubt about that."
"But they might row over in a calm," suggested Mr. Bastable; "then our
cruisers would be helpless."
"Why, if they did, cousin, there'd be a chance for you. I'd like to see
the yeomanry cavalry dashing at 'em as they landed, sabers out, cut and
thrust, ding-dong, over you go. Oh, it won't be so easy as Master Boney
imagines. Don't you think he's off his chump, cousin?--Beg pardon,
Cousin Sylvia, I mean cracked; that is, mad--why, 'tis said he's had a
medal struck to commemorate his invasion; his own precious head on one
side and a figure of Hercules strangling the sea monster on the other.
The sea monster's us, you know, Monsieur. And he's got the words
'Struck at London, 1804,' on the thing--isn't that cool cheek? Better
have waited till he got to London--don't you think so, cousin?"
Thus he chattered on, amusing his relatives with his frank boyish
confidence, and especially pleasing Monsieur de Fronsac, as it appeared,
for the French tutor was constantly showing his teeth as he smiled.
"It is good to hear," he said once. "I like it. I do not lov dis
Napoleon; truly he is a monstair."
"Makes a breakfast of babies, don't he?" said Jack.
"That's rubbish, of course," said Mr. Bastable. "But he's a monster all
the same, as Monsieur says; and I warrant if he does manage to escape
you blue-coated gentlemen of the navy he'll find us redcoats ready to
meet him."
Monsieur de Fronsac retired immediately after dinner.
"Gone to scribble poetry," said Mr. Bastable with a smile, when the door
was shut. "He's a decent fellow, and knows a heap of mathematics. I
fancy he must have been crossed in love, for he's always writing poetry
about the moon or the trees or the sea--so Arthur says, for he never
shows his stuff to me. Now, we're early birds here, Jack. We'll play a
rubber with the ladies, if you please, and then to bed."
At breakfast next morning Mr. Bastable was in particularly good humor.
He had been out early, so he said; there was nothing like a ride before
breakfast for freshening one up and improving one's appetite.
"By the way, Jack," he added, "when I was out I heard that the smugglers
made a capital run last night--the first of the season."
"The villains!" cried Jack; "under my very nose!"
"Taking advantage of the _Fury's_ being laid up for repairs, you see.
But no doubt you'll put a stop to it when once you get to work--eh,
Jack?"
Jack fancied there was something quizzical about his cousin's smile as
he said this, and wondered whether the squire was "smoking" him. But he
answered cheerfully:
"We'll see, cousin. I don't know what sort of man Lieutenant Blake is:
only saw him for the first time yesterday; but if he's anything of a
goer we'll give the smugglers a warm time, I promise them."
"And how will you set about it, cousin?"
"Don't know, for my life!" said Jack with a laugh. "But there are forty
ways of catching flies, and about the same number of tying knots; and
we'll find out a way, you may be sure. By the by, cousin, can you tell
me how to get to the cottage of an old tar named Joe Gumley? I had a
chat with him yesterday as I came here, and I'd like to look him up."
"Yes, I can tell you. He's a tenant of mine. But he won't see you."
"What do you mean?"
"Just what I say. He won't see you. He lives by himself and never
admits a visitor. He's most unpopular with the village folk, and has to
tramp to Wynport to sell his garden stuff."
"Why don't they like him?"
"Ah, well! The truth is he's an oddity, a very queer fellow."
This explanation by no means satisfied Jack, and he made up his mind to
visit Gumley as he had intended. The sailor's cottage stood some
distance farther along the cliff. After breakfast he set off alone
toward it. Within ten minutes he came to a stout wooden fence tipped
with nails, and so high that he could only just see over it. Then the
view of the cottage itself was hidden by a mass of bushes and trees, the
foliage of which, though tinged with autumn brown, was still thick.
There was a gate in the fence, but no latch and no bell.
"An 'I'm-the-king-of-the-Castle' look about this," thought Jack. He
lifted his cane and dealt the gate several smart raps. Immediately he
heard a dog rushing down the garden, barking angrily. Standing on
tiptoe he peered over, and saw an immense bulldog, thick-set,
broad-chested, with an enormous and most ugly head, showing his teeth
viciously. The moment the dog caught sight of Jack he redoubled his
barking and dashed forward against the fence, as if furious to get at
him.
"Good dog, good dog!" said Jack soothingly. "What's the matter with you,
you son of a ten-pounder? I say, Gumley--ahoy! ahoy! Gumley!"
He raised his voice to a singsong, and sent the call rolling toward the
cottage, rather enjoying the din made by himself and the dog, with a
hundred echoes from every dell and hollow in the cliff. In a minute or
two he saw the sailor stumping round the bushes, his head bare, his
shirt open at the neck, a spade in one hand, and in the other a little
square board.
"Oh, 'tis you, Mr. Hardy, sir. I was digging turnips at the back.
Lor', sir, all Luscombe will know you've bin here, with this terrible
row and all."
"I don't care if they do, and it was your dog that made the row."
"A good dog, sir. Living alone by myself, you see, I need a watch-dog.
Come in, sir, come in."
He had removed a padlock, drawn two bolts and loosed two bars on the
inner side, and thrown the gate open. Jack stepped into the garden,
keeping an eye on the bulldog, which had ceased to bark as soon as
Gumley appeared, but walked slowly round and round the visitor, sniffing
at his legs as if choosing the best place for a bite.
"There's no cause for alarm, sir--leastways not while I'm on deck. I'd
best introduce you proper like, then you'll be safe any time, fair
weather or foul. This here's Comely; and this is Mr. Hardy of the
_Fury_: twiggy-voo, as the mounseers say? Now pat him, sir."
Jack felt a little uneasy, but knowing that it is best to put a bold
face on it, whether with dogs or men, he stooped and patted the massive
head. With an expression that seemed to him more sinister than ever, the
dog stuck out a red tongue and licked his hand.
"Now all's snug and shipshape, sir. Comely's your friend for life."
"Queer name that."
"True, sir. It was like this. I had a notion of calling him Handsome,
'cos handsome is as handsome does, and he does most uncommon handsome.
But thinking it over between watches, as you may say, it seemed like
poking fun at the poor beast that couldn't hit back, and I cast about
for a name that would mean the same but not quite so strong. I tacked
about for a time without catching a fair breeze, sir. Then all at once
I remembered a word in my Bible: 'black but comely.' Comely's a good
name, thinks I, and his muzzle's black, and my name's Gumley, so Comely
it shall be: and Comely it is, sir. We're a pair, I can tell you,
Comely and Gumley."
"A capital match," said Jack laughing. "But I say, why do you barricade
yourself in like that?" Gumley had replaced padlock, bolts and bars.
"Any one would think you were making ready to stand a siege."
"Well, sir, I won't say 'tis to be ready for Boney's landing, and I
won't say 'tisn't."
He was now stumping up the path toward the cottage, and said no more.
Jack saw that he did not mean to enlighten him, and changed the subject.
"I say, Gumley, why didn't you help Mr. Gudgeon out yesterday? You went
on and left me to do it."
"Ay, ay, sir. The truth is, Mr. Gudgeon and me bean't, so to say, on
speaking terms."
Jack felt that there was something puzzling about all this. Gumley was
not popular with the villagers, Mr. Bastable had said; the old sailor
had confessed to a feud or at least a coolness between himself and his
neighbor on the opposite cliff. There was an honest look about his
weather-beaten face; he did not seem to Jack morose or ill-tempered.
What was at the bottom of this strange attitude of antagonism, shown by
the man's somewhat elaborate defenses? Well, after all, it did not
matter to Jack; his leave would be up in a few days, and then his duty
would take him to sea.
He sat for some time in Gumley's trim little parlor, where everything
bespoke the handy Jack Tar, chatting about sea life in general and the
_Ariadne_ in particular. Then the talk came round to Jack's new vessel,
the _Fury_, and brought up the question of smuggling.
"Mr. Gudgeon said that a good deal goes on about here," said Jack, "and
by George! my cousin, Mr. Bastable, told me that the villains ran a
cargo ashore only last night. I suppose he met the riding-officer as he
went for his morning canter. Did you hear anything of it?"
"Not a word, sir. I keep myself to myself."
"Yes, Mr. Gudgeon said much the same thing, I remember. But I suppose
you hear talk in the village sometimes?"
"Never bin into the village since I gave up fishing, sir. I get all my
victuals from Wynport, and often don't set eyes on the village folk from
week-end to week-end, except at Church at Wickham Ferrers on Sunday."
"Why you're quite a hermit--almost as bad as Congleton."
"True, sir, but I've never bin crossed in love, 'cos I never seed a maid
I fancied afore I lost my leg, and there's ne'er a maid would take a
fancy to a poor chap with a stump like this. And I'm afeard of going
like Congleton, sir."
"Yes, but, Gumley, never mind about that. Tell me straight out, man; are
the people in Luscombe below there smugglers or not--the whole crew of
'em, I mean?"
"Well, since you put it plain, sir, I wouldn't be surprised if some of
'em think a sight more of French brandy than of Jamaica rum."
"That's no answer, you old rascal. Well, I'm going down to the village
to have a look round. I saw some neat little smacks at the jetty
yesterday, and one of 'em put out pretty smartly, too: was uncommonly
well handled."
"Well, sir, you be a fine, mettlesome young gentleman; but if so be as I
might advise you, I'd say keep your weather-eye open. If so be they are
a smuggling lot below--well, they won't be exactly main pleased to see a
king's officer."
"Bless you, they won't know me. I'm not in uniform, you see. Nobody
knows who I am but my cousins and you and Mr. Gudgeon."
"True, sir; and me and Mr. Gudgeon keeps ourselves to ourselves, to be
sure."
*CHAPTER III*
*A FIGHT IN LUSCOMBE MARKET*
Jack was accompanied to the gate in quite a friendly way by Comely. He
smiled as he heard the click of the lock and bolts behind him, and
thought a good deal about Joe Gumley as he made his way down the steep
cliff path to the fishing village below. It was quite a small village:
a few cottages clustered about a cobbled square, with others climbing
the cliff, each with its little bit of garden.
The harbor was protected by a natural breakwater of rock running out to
sea, and forming an excellent defense against the southwest gales. A few
brawny fishermen were lounging about in jerseys and sou'westers, hands
in pockets, pipe in mouth. Jack tried to enter into conversation with
them, but found them strangely taciturn. They looked hard at him before
answering his questions, used few words, and gave him very little
information. Mr. Bastable laughed when, meeting Jack at luncheon, he
learned how he had spent the morning.
"They're not a talkative set," he said, "and were probably somewhat
overcome by the presence of a king's officer."
"But how did they know I'm a king's officer, cousin? We fellows don't
go blabbing about: I didn't tell 'em, and only Gumley and old Gudgeon
know, besides you and my cousins."
"Perhaps it was Kate that told them. Ladies are great gossips, they
say."
"I'm sure Kate doesn't go gossiping with fishermen; do you, Kate?"
"Indeed, no," said Kate, "'tis a shame to say so, father."
"I didn't say so, now did I, Jack? I said 'perhaps.' You don't suppose
I went and boasted of having a king's officer as my guest, Mr.
Midshipman Hardy; and Mr. Gudgeon and Gumley keep themselves to
themselves, as they told you, my boy."
"Well, I can't make it out, and it doesn't matter."
"Probably they won't know you again in your uniform, Jack."
"Do you wear a dirk, cousin, and a belt with pistols in it?" asked
Arthur eagerly.
"You may be sure he does," said Mr. Bastable; "looks a regular bucaneer,
I've no doubt. You'll give old Gudgeon the flutters if he sees you in
all your war-paint, Jack."
"Oh, come now, cousin!" protested Jack. "Our fellows don't look half so
fierce as you yeomen. Boney will be terrified if he catches sight of
your big hats and red coats."
"De uniform of de yeomen is ver' fine," said Monsieur de Fronsac,
smiling. "It is quite beautiful. Dat is vat I say to Monsieur Arthur;
dat de Monstair Bonaparte vill tr-r-emble ven he see de brave English
yeomen."
Jack was interested in Monsieur de Fronsac. He had never met a Frenchman
before, and he studied him as he might have studied a strange animal.
After lunch he spent some time with the tutor, and learned something of
his history. It appeared that on leaving France, a few years before, he
had gone to live on his estates in Martinique, hoping there to escape
the dangers to which, as a royalist, he would be exposed at home. But
on the advent of Napoleon Bonaparte to power his property had been
confiscated by the Bonapartist governor. He himself had been
proscribed; he fled to Jamaica, thence to London. It was hard for poor
_emigres_ to pick up a living. Happening to hear that a school in
Wynport required a teacher of mathematics he had come down from London,
only to find that the place had been filled. But luckily Mr. Bastable
was at the time in search of a tutor for his son. De Fronsac heard of
it from the master of Wynport school: he applied and was accepted.
"But I hope vun day to get back my estates, ven dat Monstair, dat
impertinent from Corsica, lose his life, or ven he shall be reject from
de throne he goes so impudent to seize."
Jack became a little tired of Monsieur de Fronsac's references to the
Monstair. He never spoke of Bonaparte without tacking on the epithet.
Of course, he had good reason for hating the First Consul if he had lost
all his property and been compelled to teach for a living; but it was
not the English way to call names--and always the same name. Jack set
it down as one of the peculiarities of Frenchmen.
That evening, after dinner, the conversation once more came back to the
subject which was then discussed more often than any other among the
good people of the south coast--the expected landing of the French. Mr.
Bastable was inclined to think that with so long a coast-line open to
him, and so many possible landing-places, Bonaparte would only have to
choose his time carefully to be able, with any kind of luck, to make his
descent. But Jack scoffed at the idea.
"What about Nelson, and Collingwood, and Keith, cousin? They'd smash
him before he got half-way across."
"But Nelson is away in the Mediterranean, isn't he? He can't be
everywhere at once, Jack."
"And every one can't be a Nelson, but we can do our best."
"I wonder where Boney would think of landing. Somewhere west, not
Pevensey like the Conqueror: too near London. The Conqueror sailed from
Boulogne, didn't he?"
"Don't think so, cousin: Boulogne isn't in Normandy."
"Still, I'm pretty sure it was Boulogne. Monsieur will know. We'll ask
him."
"I'll go and find him; hope I shan't interrupt his flow of poetry."
Jack hurried off, and learned that the tutor had gone out some little
time before.
"He said he were gwine fur a promenade," said the servant whom Jack
asked.
"Which way did he go?"
"Down along by Congleton's Hollow, sir."
"Well, I'll go after him. Tell your master I'll be back soon."
A footpath over the fields led to Congleton's Hollow, about a mile and a
half from the Grange. Jack had visited the spot in the afternoon with
his cousin Arthur. They had climbed over the half-ruined wall, and
wandered about in the dense plantation. Under the trees it was quite
dim, even in daylight; and where there were no large trees the ground
was thickly covered with a tangle of bushes and ferns. Blackberries and
nuts grew in abundance, and the boys had gathered them by handfuls,
regardless of scratches, or rents in their clothes. Rabbits scurried
across the path from patches of tall brake; squirrels blinked out of the
foliage. The place had a wild beauty of its own--the romantic charm of
a spot seldom visited by men.
Delightful as it had been in the afternoon sunlight, it seemed to Jack
more delightful still in the dusk of this beautiful September evening.
The moon was just rising, throwing pale shafts of light through the
trees, deepening the shadows. An owl hooted from the top of the Folly;
as Jack picked his way through the brake he heard the whisk of scared
rabbits. By the time he reached a part of the ruined wall whence he
could look over a stretch of open country he had almost forgotten his
errand. He sat on the wall, dangling his legs. There, across the
fields to his right, the moonbeams shone on the weathercock on Gudgeon's
roof. Luscombe was out of sight in the dip of the cliffs, but he
fancied he could hear the grinding of the surf on the shingle.
Suddenly he started. The light southeast breeze blowing toward him
brought the sound of low voices a little way ahead. Was it Monsieur de
Fronsac speaking? Jack thought he recognized the low smooth tones.
Should he go on? That would be to risk overhearing the speakers. He
hesitated; he heard another voice, deeper, rougher; then both voices
together, as if in altercation.
"This won't do!" thought Jack. "I'd better clear out." So he sprang
lightly down from his perch and began to retrace his steps, walking
slowly as he had come, and looking back every now and again to see
whether the tutor was following. At last, just as he reached the first
of half a dozen stiles between himself and the Grange, he saw Monsieur
de Fronsac's figure come into the moonlight from the shade of the trees
half a mile behind. He was alone. Jack sat on the stile and waited.
The Frenchman walked with downcast eyes and for a few moments did not
perceive him. Catching sight of him at length, he seemed to be startled,
for he halted and made a strange upward movement of the right hand. But
his pause was only momentary. He came on again, and as soon as he was
near enough to see clearly who was sitting on the stile, he showed his
teeth in a brilliant smile, and called softly:
"Hi! Monsieur Jack, I see you."
"Well, I'm pretty solid, Monsieur," returned Jack with a smile. "The
place looks lonely enough for a ghost, don't it? I'd come to meet you;
got a question to ask."
"Ah! truly de place is romanesque. It demand poesy. Often do I come
here, in evenings ven de moon is bright, to compose poesy. It please
me, it console me in my miseries. I come dis minute from composing a
poem about de moon. Vill I declaim it? Is Monsieur interested?"
"Oh, fire away!" said Jack. He thought he might as well humor this
singular Frenchman. "Stop a bit, is it in French or English? If it's in
French it'll be clean over my head."
"No, it is in English. I compose alvays in English since dat Monstair
have maltreat me. I recite it: listen:
"'_De moon, she shine in de sky_
_O lovely! O sharming!_
_Ven I look, vat can I? I sigh._
_Vat fine zing for farming!_'
"I explain dat: Your so difficult language have not good rhymes: and
dere needs one for 'sharming.' I recollect myself to have seen de
farmers making hay by de moonlight. Dat also vas sharming sight, so I
put him in my verse."
"First-rate," said Jack. "Go on; I like that bit."
"I have no more complete at present. It take so much to seek your
English rhymes. Now in my language--"
And Monsieur de Fronsac began a long course on French poetry, keeping up
a steady flow of talk which lasted till they reached the Grange. Not
till they were entering the drawing-room together did Jack remember the
question he had gone to ask.
"Well, Jack, I'm right, eh?" called Mr. Bastable.
"'Pon my life, cousin, I forgot to ask. Monsieur has been entertaining
me with poetry and things, and drove the question clean out of my head.
Where did William the Conqueror sail from, Monsieur?"
"I do not know, I regret to say."
Mr. Bastable laughed.
"Well, we're none the wiser. Come, Jack, take a hand at cards. We've
been waiting this half-hour."
When Jack was alone in his bedroom, and thought of his meeting with De
Fronsac, he felt vaguely uneasy. Why had the tutor been so anxious to
explain his walk? Why had he talked on and on so glibly about such a
dull subject as French poetry, with the evident desire to prevent Jack
from talking? Why had he made no reference to his companion in the
Hollow? His friends, his private business, were, of course, no concern
of Jack's; but the position of De Fronsac in the Bastable household
scarcely seemed consistent with stealthy meetings in retired spots, and
Jack, without knowing why, did not like it. But he slept none the less
soundly, and had almost forgotten it by the morning.
The third day of his visit Jack had pretty much to himself. The ladies
drove early into Wynport to see a dressmaker, and would not return till
late; Arthur was engaged with his tutor; and Mr. Bastable had to go to
the county town on yeomanry business. Jack spent part of the day in
roaming about the cliffs, and in the afternoon went down to the shore,
to bathe and watch the fishing-boats go out. Dinner had been put back
an hour, so that he delayed his return to the Grange somewhat later than
usual.
As he made his way up the hill, turning off through a narrow lane to the
left, he tripped over a cord that had suddenly been drawn tight in front
of him. There had been rain during the morning, and the place had been
carefully chosen by the practical jokers, who betrayed their presence by
a subdued chuckle from an alley-way on Jack's right as he fell head
forward into a pool of mud.
Jack had served an apprenticeship in the art of practical joking in the
_Ariadne_. Not for nothing had he been for two years a "youngster" in a
midshipman's mess. He knew that the best way to discourage the gentle
sport in others was to take summary vengeance on the joker--if he could
get at him. He picked himself up in a trice, dashed into the
alley-way--so narrow that there was scarcely room for more than one to
pass at a time--and saw before him the back of a hulking form
disappearing into the dusk, and hiding, as Jack judged from the clumping
of heavy boots, a number of his fellow conspirators in front.
The fugitive was tall, but his clumsy body seemed too heavy for his
short legs, and he moved slowly. Jack was upon him just as he emerged
from the narrow alley into the open square of the village. Catching
sight, with the readiness of one accustomed to use his eyes, of a
convenient muck-heap--there were always convenient muck-heaps in town or
country a hundred years ago, when sanitary inspection was still
undreamed of--Jack neatly tripped the burly figure into its soft and
odorous embrace. There was a great yell from the other fugitives, who
stopped their flight when they found that they were not in immediate
danger; and as they closed in toward the spluttering victim, now slowly
raising himself, Jack saw that they were some of the boys and youths of
the village, whose eyes he had often noticed upon him as he passed
through. And there was something strangely familiar in the attitude of
the hobbledehoy struggling clumsily to his feet. He was not a fisher
lad; where had Jack seen him before? The cries of the crowd enlightened
him.
"Fight un, Bill Gudgeon!"
"Heave un into midden, Billy."
"Black his eyes!"
"Give un a nobbier!"
But Bill Gudgeon, like his father, was inclined to keep himself to
himself.
"Not if I knows it," he said slowly, as he sheered off. "Maister and me
be quits now."
"Chok' it all!" cried one of his companions, a sturdily built,
black-browed, bullet-headed fisher youth of some eighteen years. "If so
be you woan't fight, Billy Gudgeon, I will, so there then. Be you
afeard, maister?"
"No, I don't think I'm afraid of you," said Jack, "but I don't see what
we've got to fight about. As your friend yonder said, we're quits. And
I'm in a hurry. Good night."
"Boo! boo!" yelled the rest, encouraged by this seeming display of the
white feather. "Rare plucked un to fight Boney! Afeard of Jan Lamiger!
Boo! boo!"
Jan Lamiger slouched forward as Jack was turning away, and as an earnest
of battle cleverly flicked off his hat. Jack was round in an instant.
"Very well, Jan, or whatever your name is, if you're set on fighting, I
suppose I must oblige you."
He took off his coat, folded it, and placed it carefully on a stone
pillar hard by: then he picked up his hat, set it on top, and rolled up
his shirt-sleeves. The young fisherman meanwhile divested himself of
his jersey, and listened with a smug smile to the encouraging hints and
practical instructions of his mates.
Jack felt a trifle bored. It was much beneath his dignity as a
midshipman of his Majesty King George to be fighting fisher lads in the
open fish-market of Luscombe, but it would have been still more beneath
his dignity to refuse the challenge and have the pack of fisher lads at
his heels. He was relieved to find that the Square was quite deserted
save for the group about him. A few seconds earlier he had had an
impression that there were a number of fisher folk about. The people
had, in fact, hastily retired into their cottages when they saw what was
afoot. They had no objection to the lad's trouncing a king's officer,
but when that officer happened to be a relative of Squire Bastable at
the Grange it was perhaps just as well not to countenance the fight
openly. For they had no doubt that Jan Lamiger would win. He stood
half a head higher than the midshipman, and was probably three stone
heavier. And, moreover, he had some little reputation in the
neighborhood as a boxer and wrestler. Had he not thrown all comers at
Wickham Fair? And knocked Tom Buggins, the light-weight, clean out of
time at Casterbridge only last month?
It was a somewhat rough battle-ground; the cobbles of the Square would
make a hard fall; but neither of the combatants had chosen the spot, nor
did it occur to them to seek a more convenient place for their
encounter.
Those were the days in which skill in the use of the fists was a real
title to consideration among all classes, high and low. And fortunately
for Jack, it was an art cultivated with great perseverance by the young
gentlemen of H.M.S. _Ariadne_. A new midshipman had to fight his way
into the right to call anything his own. So frequent were the battles
on board, that the art had reached a very high degree of perfection.
Even the muscular heroes of the prize-ring might have envied the
quickness of eye, the wariness, the nimbleness of movement, the skill in
feint, of these young warriors.
The group had become by this time enlarged by the addition of several
other boys, big and small, eager to see the fight and the imminent
discomfiture of the king's officer. They drew away to give the
principals fighting room. The two at once got to work. In the first
half-minute Jack found that he had no novice to deal with, and that in
sheer physical strength he was hopelessly outmatched. But the big
lumbering fisher had nothing like the quickness of wit or the science of
the slighter midshipman. Hitherto he had won his bouts by staying power
added to a certain rudimentary knowledge of fisticuffs that might pass
for skill among the yokels at a country fair. But in all his previous
battles he had never met an opponent who forced the pace like this one.
Where was he? He seemed to be on all sides at once. Jan dealt what he
firmly believed was a staggering right-hander, only to hit air and to
feel a smart tap on the left side of his chin. He flung out his left
hand, and before he knew what was happening, he felt a similar tap on
the right side. This kept things even, but it spoilt Jan's temper. He
forgot his science in his irritation, and lurched forward to give full
effect to his weight and height. The result was disastrous. Where did
that whack in the left eye come from? He had hardly realized that he
could not see quite so well as usual, when something very hard and
knobby came into his right eye, and while the stars were still dancing
before him a neat left-hander from Jack sent him reeling back on to the
cobblestones, where he sat up and peered about him dazedly.
It was clear that the battle was over in a single round. There was no
fight left in Jan. The crowd was silent now. Several were assisting
Jan to rise, and Jack quickly rolled down his sleeves, put on his hat
and coat, and walked away, leaving the Square by the alley through which
he had entered it. Perfect stillness reigned in the village; but Jack
was conscious that the windows and doorways were now filled with faces
watching the scene. He smiled as he left the village behind him.
*CHAPTER IV*
*CONGLETON'S HOLLOW*
Jack was beginning to enjoy himself. There is something bracing in
antagonism: the knowledge that he was regarded as an enemy by the people
of Luscombe, so far from daunting him, whetted his appetite for duty.
He made up his mind to say nothing to Mr. Bastable of what had occurred.
When he got back to the Grange he found the household bubbling with an
excitement of its own. Mr. Bastable had brought back with him two new
suits of yeomanry uniform, and Tony, the coachman, and Andrew, the
groom, had just fitted them on and were displaying their finery to the
admiring eyes of Molly, the cook, and Betty, the housemaid. The men
grinned sheepishly as Jack passed them.
"Bean't they fine, Measter Jack?" said Molly, giggling.
"Splendid! You won't be afraid of Boney now."
"Sakes alive, no, sir! But I be mortal afeard o' William's blunderbuss.
It do look a terrible deathly instrument, to be sure; and what would
happen to us if it went off by accident goodness only knows."
William was the gardener, who, though too old and bent to make an
efficient yeoman, had been armed, like Overcombe, the butler, with a
blunderbuss, Mr. Bastable having thought it worth while to give the men
of his household weapons of defense.
"You never know," he said to Jack; "Boney may land or he may not; if he
lands, the more men we have to fight him, the better; and a blunderbuss
behind a wall may do some damage. I'm going to exercise 'em every day."
"And what about Monsieur de Fronsac, cousin? Will you arm him, too?"
"Well, I didn't intend to. I thought I could hardly expect him to fight
against his own countrymen. But he is so bitter against the Monster
that he declares he won't remain neutral. While his countrymen lick the
feet of the Monster, he says, he disowns 'em. He's got a pistol, and
uncommon handy he is with it, too. There he is," he added, as a loud
report was heard; "he's practising behind the coach-house. Let us go and
see what he can do."
De Fronsac smiled when he saw them.
"You see, Messieurs, I exercise myself," he said. As he spoke he
stooped and lifted a horn button from the ground. Walking up to the
wall he placed the button edgewise against a brick; turned, stepped a
dozen paces, swung round, and almost without seeming to take aim, fired.
The button was shattered into small fragments.
Jack could not but envy the Frenchman's skill.
"You must have had plenty of practice, Monsieur," he said.
"Yes, truly. Ve of the noblesse know to use de pistol, assuredly."
Next day there was to be a yeomanry parade at Wickham Ferrers. Arthur
begged off his lessons for the day, wishing to go with Jack to see the
training. There were no horses for them to ride or drive, Mr.
Bastable's three being required to mount himself and his men, so they
had to walk. It was only six miles; they started early, and were on the
field before the troops arrived. They got a good deal of amusement out
of the scene. Many of the yeomen were raw recruits who found the
management of horses and arms at the same time somewhat beyond them.
Falls were frequent, and the officers got very red in the face with the
exertion of commanding and countermanding. When the parade was over,
the two boys had early dinner with Mr. Bastable and the other officers
at the _Wickham Arms_, and started to walk back in the cool of the
evening.
They came by a path that led past the tower once inhabited by the
melancholy Congleton. Jack looked up at it, wondering what sort of place
that lonely room at the top was. But Arthur said that the only doorway
was strongly barricaded, and Jack was not inclined to waste time in
breaking in. Another half-mile brought them to the middle of the
Hollow. Jack had not mentioned the incident of two nights before; it
would seem too much like prying into De Fronsac's affairs; but he was
thinking of it when a shot rang out from the depths of the copse,
followed by a cry. Arthur paused in the act of capturing a belated
butterfly.
"What's that, Jack?"
"A cry for help! Come on!"
He vaulted the wall; after a moment's hesitation Arthur scrambled over;
and they dashed toward the thickest part of the wood, Jack a few yards
ahead. Heedless of scratches and tears they pushed through the tangle
in the direction of the sounds, and, Jack suddenly finding himself
blocked by a thick clump of brambles, Arthur came panting up to him.
"Over there, Jack, I think!" he said. "I heard some one moving."
He pointed to the left. They listened; there was no sound but the
ripple of a tiny stream.
"Let's go on!" said Jack in a whisper, pointing ahead. "'Twas there the
sound first came from."
He disentangled himself from the bush, not without damage to hands and
clothes, and skirting the obstacle, the two pushed still deeper into the
wood, dim in spite of the glow of the westering sun. In a few moments
they saw through the trees a more brightly-lit patch of ground, and came
to an open glade, covered with fern and tall grass run to seed. At the
far side stood the ruins of a large timber summer-house, built of logs
something like those of the pioneers in America of which Jack had read.
It was somewhat dilapidated. But what took his attention immediately
was the figure of a man sitting on one of the fallen logs, apparently
stanching with a red handkerchief a wound in the head.
As the two boys made their appearance at the edge of the glade the man
started and tried to rise; but he staggered back with a groan, and
continuing clumsily to stanch his wound, eyed them sullenly with uneasy
suspicion as they approached.
Jack went up to him impulsively.
"We heard a shot and a cry. Did you call out?" he asked. "You are
hurt. Can we do anything?"
The man was an undersized, mean-featured, ill-conditioned looking
fellow. He had a low beetling brow, and his cheeks were black with the
unshorn growth of several weeks. He was evidently badly hurt, and,
villainous though he looked, Jack was eager to aid him.
"It is nothing," said the man, in a low and surly tone, with a slight
foreign accent. "I am getting better, if only the bleeding would stop!"
Jack could see the handkerchief was drenched with blood.
"You were shot! Who fired?" he asked.
"Ah, who? I want to know. It was all at once. I did not see."
"And how did it happen, then?"
"Why, I walk along, looking straight in front, when behind me a shot is
fired. I feel the pain. I call out; the pain indeed is no little; see,
the bullet cut my scalp three inches long, at least. A little lower, and
without doubt I am a dead man."
"And you did not see who fired?"
"No, how can I? I turn round; but the villain hears you as you come,
and he escapes. That way I hear him go."
He pointed in the direction suggested by Arthur.
"It was some robber, without doubt," he added.
Jack looked uneasily around. Where was the man? Perhaps still in the
copse ready to repeat his shot. But with another glance at the victim
Jack felt that there was something strange in his story. Who would rob
an ill-clad, dirty-looking fellow like this? He did not appear worth
the pains. And what had brought him to the Hollow? He was certainly a
foreigner; the copse was off the highway; what was he doing there?
From beneath his black shaggy brows the man was keenly watching.
Apparently he saw by Jack's expression that doubts were crossing his
mind. Still dabbing his head he began to speak again.
"I am unlucky. I am of Spitalfields, a silk weaver. At Wickham Ferrers
I have at the inn fine silks. I visit the nobility and gentry; they
give me orders. I am on my way to the house of Mr. Bastable--the
squire, people call him. He is rich; his lady will buy my silks."
"But this is not the way to Mr. Bastable's."
"Is it not? They told me there was a short cut through the wood. Ah!
the villains! It is a trap. They had me here to shoot me. Yes, that is
it."
"And your samples?"
The man started.
"Yes, my samples," he said hurriedly, looking round. "They steal them.
But I have others at Wickham Ferrers, at the inn. I go for them at
once."
He rose as he spoke. Erect, he stood a head shorter than Jack.
"I beg you keep close to me till we are out of the wood. Ah! I feel
sick, I am not able to walk so far. I am shaken; I can not wait on a
lady this evening. Can you tell me a lodging in the village?"
"Do you know of one, Arthur?"
"There's old Mother Philpot; she could put him up."
"I thank you. Philpot: I will remember the name."
The boys walked with him until they reached the edge of the plantation.
Then Arthur pointed out the path that led down to the village; the man
refused their offer of further assistance, and when he had gone from
sight they struck off at an angle toward the Grange.
Arthur was greatly excited at the incident, and talked about it all the
way home. Jack was puzzled. It seemed so unlikely that a peddler
carrying silks should go so far out of his way, and that he should be
set upon and robbed of a bundle of samples when the more valuable bulk
of his wares lay at Wickham Ferrers.
At dinner he mentioned the occurrence. Mr. Bastable was as much annoyed
as concerned.
"This won't do," he said. "We're a peaceable and law-abiding folk
here."
"The smugglers, cousin?"
"Oh! the smugglers!" Mr. Bastable's face again wore that strange
quizzical smile that Jack had noticed whenever smuggling was mentioned.
"That's another matter. I say we're a law-abiding folk. There hasn't
been a robbery, an assault, or anything of that kind, for years. So
near the Grange, too. As a justice of the peace, I must see that fellow
and get a description of the assailant; we'll raise the hue and cry and
have him fast by the heels, I warrant him. I'll send Tony to Mother
Philpot at once."
"He said he didn't see the man who fired the shot."
"Nonsense. How could any one take his samples without being seen?"
"Permit me," said De Fronsac, smiling. "From vat Monsieur Jack says, de
poor man is a compatriot. He is a weaver of Spitalfields, but he talk
viz a foreign accent. De French families in Spitalfields have been dere
so many generations dat dey are now English; dey vould have no accent,
and dis poor man must be, as I myself, a victim of de troubles in France
of dis day--perhaps he is a victim of dat Monstair. Vill it not be
convenient dat I go to see him at his lodgment, and speak to him in his
own language, and learn all dat he has to tell?"
"'Tis very good of you, Monsieur; but I don't want to spoil your dinner,
and this must be done at once, or the villain will get away."
"De dinner, it is noding!" said De Fronsac with a smile, not perceiving
the little grimace that for an instant showed itself on Kate's lips, or
the glance exchanged between her and her mother. "I vill go at once. I
do anyzing to serve a friend like you, Monsieur," he said, with a low
bow as he rose.
After De Fronsac's departure the family discussed the incident at
length, Mr. Bastable becoming more and more indignant as he thought of
the outrage committed in that quiet spot and so near his own doors. But
Jack felt very uneasy. He could not help connecting the event with the
voices he had heard in the copse two nights before. The speakers had
seemed to be in altercation; one of them had been De Fronsac. And De
Fronsac had offered to go and question the injured man. Jack wondered
whether he had better tell his cousin what was passing through his mind,
but he did not like to make him uneasy or suspicious if, after all,
there was no cause for it. So he decided to say nothing--at least,
until De Fronsac had reported the result of his interview.
The family were in the drawing-room when the tutor returned.
"I have accomplish' my mission," he said. "I am hot; I valk fast. De
man is indeed, I regret to say, a compatriot. He is in England from a
young man; vid his parents he arrive fourteen years ago, ven de troubles
began. I dink he is honest man. He see only very little bit of de man
vat shoot him, but it seem he vas short, and zick, and vid red hair.
Dat is vun zing he know: de man had de hair red."
"Red-haired men are as common as blackberries in these parts," said Mr.
Bastable. "That won't help us much. Why didn't the fellow use his eyes
to better purpose? I warrant, if a man shot me I'd know a little more
about him. However, I'll send Tony to Wickham Ferrers, and we'll have
some men out scouring the country. Unluckily 'tis getting dark."
Mr. Bastable went to bed later than usual that night, in case the man
should be caught and brought before him as a justice of the peace for
committal. But the searchers had made no discovery, and the squire at
last retired, going round the house with more than usual care to see
that doors and windows were carefully bolted.
Next morning they were seated at breakfast when Tony knocked at the door
and came in with a face full of news.
"Please, sir, there's bin housebreaking now. Mother Philpot's house were
broke into last night, and the Mounseer carried off."
"What! what!" shouted Mr. Bastable with a very red face, holding upright
the knife and fork with which he was carving a fine piece of pickled
pork.
"'Tis true, sir. Mother Philpot were just gwine up along to roost, when
there come a knock at the door. She opened, poor soul, and three men
with faces black as sut pushed past. One caught her by the arm and told
her to be mum and no harm would come o't; t'others went into Mounseer's
chimmer and pulled un out as soon as they'd got his coat and things on,
and took un away. He was all a-shaking, sir. Mother Philpot says, says
she: 'A were a-trembling like an apsen, and so were I!'"
"This is monstrous!" cried Mr. Bastable, pushing back his chair.
"Alas! my compatriot is in danger yet still," said De Fronsac, carefully
folding his napkin.
"And the silks! I had set my heart on a plum-colored dress, Humfrey,"
said Mrs. Bastable.
"Silks! Fiddlesticks! 'tis an outrage; 'tis contempt of court!
'tis--'tis--hang it! I don't know what it isn't. Tony, get my horse
saddled. I'll ride over to Wickham myself, and get the colonel to scour
the country with dragoons, or we'll send to Budmouth for those fellows
of the German Legion, and see what they're good for. We can't allow
this sort of thing in Luscombe, and by George! we won't."
The angry squire strode away, leaving his breakfast unfinished.
"Your poor father will be so hungry, and so bad-tempered all day," said
Mrs. Bastable, whom nothing seemed to ruffle. "Jack, will you carve the
pork? You have not finished, Monsieur de Fronsac?"
"Absolutely, Madame," said the Frenchman with a bow and a smile. "Dere
is yet an hour before ve study; I vill valk to de village and back. De
fresh air it is salubrious; and de fishermen interess me. My estates
vere in Brittany; and in my days of youth I pass much time among
fishermen. Ven I come back, ve vill study de properties of angles,
Monsieur Arthur."
And with a smile Monsieur de Fronsac left the room.
*CHAPTER V*
*A MIDNIGHT EXCURSION*
"I know!" said Arthur that evening, coming up to Jack, who was
practising skittles in an alley behind the house. He looked up slyly in
Jack's face.
"You do, do you? And what do you know?"
"About you."
"Well, I suppose you do. I'm Jack Hardy, son of Major James Hardy, late
of the East India Company's service, and--"
"Didn't he touch you at all?"
"Who? Father? Yes, he used to lay it on pretty thick when I was a
young un like you."
"Jan Lamiger, I mean."
"Oh, that's it, is it? And what do you know about Jan Lamiger, may I
ask?"
"Tony told me. He says Jan Lamiger has got two black eyes and a green
nose. Oh! don't I wish I'd seen it! Just don't I!"
"Well, my young cockchafer, you hold your tongue about it. I don't want
it all over the country that a king's officer has been sparring with a
lout like Jan Lamiger."
"All right. You needn't be stuck up about it. Did he go squash?"
"Your language is not very choice, Master Bastable. Hullo! There's
Gudgeon's chimney on fire again."
"It's always on fire."
"What do you mean?"
"So it is--in the winter."
"Well, I s'pose he doesn't have fires in the summer, but it isn't winter
yet."
"I don't care. I've seen the chimney smoking away like that often
enough; sometimes twice a week."
"That's rather curious, isn't it? Doesn't he ever have 'em swept?"
"I don't know. I asked Bill Gudgeon about it once, and he said they
can't afford sea-coal, and burn up all their muck like that."
"Just the sort of answer I should expect from him. Well, there's your
tutor coming to teach you a, b, ab, b, a, b, bab. Cut away!"
"I say!"
"Well, what is it now?"
"I hate Frenchmen."
"A very wise and proper thing for an English boy."
"And I hate lessons."
"Very wrong. You'll grow up a dunce and disgrace to the name of
Bastable. Cut!"
"Bother!"
He made a wry mouth and went slowly away. Jack smiled.
"He'll do!" he said to himself. "But I wonder why Gudgeon's chimneys
seem so uncommonly foul. I think I must pay Bill's father a visit some
day."
He mentioned the matter of the chimney to Mr. Bastable when that
gentleman returned later in the day, after starting the chase for the
rogues who had dared to disturb the peace of law-abiding Luscombe. Mr.
Bastable laughed.
"Yes, Gudgeon has an uncommon quantity of muck on his farm," he said,
"but some good stuff, too--some uncommonly good stuff."
Jack did not regard this as a very satisfactory explanation.
That night he was roused from a very heavy sleep by a touch on his arm.
"Who's that?" he cried, springing up at once.
"Only me," said Arthur in a whisper. "I say, Jack, I heard some one
moving about below. It seemed to be in De Fronsac's room."
"Well, he's stumping about doing some more poetry perhaps. Go to bed."
"But I believe he's gone out."
"'Tis rather a close night. Perhaps he wanted air."
"I believe he knows something about that fellow who was shot. I watched
his face."
"Oho!"
Jack was surprised to find that the boy's suspicions jumped so nearly
with his own.
"Look here, who've you told that to?"
"Only you."
"That's all right. I'm going out."
"So am I," was the quiet rejoinder.
"I don't think so. I'm not going to make a row opening doors. I'm
going out at the window."
"If you do, I will, too."
"All right. Go and pull on some things and be back here in fifty-nine
seconds. Sharp!"
The boy hurried away.
De Fronsac's room was just below, on the ground floor. It had once been
a parlor, but little used, and when the tutor begged to have it for his
bedroom, Mrs. Bastable made no objection. It had French windows opening
on to the lawn, and De Fronsac said it would be so convenient for him,
for he could go out before the household was astir, and compose poems on
the Dawn, or satiric odes to the Monstair.
Arthur was back as soon as Jack had pulled on his coat, breeches, and
boots.
"Ever climb down a rain-pipe?"
"No."
"Well, you've got to now. I'll go first, to be ready to pick up the
pieces. Hist! What's that?"
Jack had spoken in a whisper. Now through the open window he heard a
sound as of a latch falling. Going to the window he peered cautiously
out from behind the curtain. For a few moments he saw nothing. It was
a dark night, but the moon was rising, and he thought he detected a dark
figure moving along in the shadow of the wall. The figure went
furtively on until the wall ended and a fence began; then Jack lost
sight of it.
"You were right, Arthur," whispered Jack. "Don't look like making up
poetry, either. Come along."
Looking out to make sure that the figure was no longer in sight, he
slipped over the window-sill, slid down the rain-pipe with a sailor's
ease, and in a few seconds stood on the lawn. Arthur hesitated for a
moment at the sill, then, plucking up his courage, he let himself over
and grasped the pipe. For a few feet he managed well enough; then he
lost his head and his grip together, and came down with a rush, to be
caught by Jack, who staggered under his weight.
"Well tried, youngster. No damage done?"
"No," replied Arthur, not thinking it necessary to tell that he had two
or three grazes on his wrists and legs, and that he had knocked his nose
against one of the joints of the pipe.
The two boys hurried down the garden, passed through a gap in the fence
made by removing two of the palings, and set off in the reverse
direction, toward the front of the house. Jack chose this course almost
by instinct; somehow he felt sure that De Fronsac was making toward the
cliff. Between this and the house ran the highroad. On reaching the
road, Jack looked up and down: it ran straight for at least a third of a
mile in each direction. No figure was in sight; yet Jack was sure that
unless De Fronsac had actually run he could not have already got so far
as a third of a mile ahead; and the road lay so white in the moonlight
that no person could move along it without being plainly seen.
"No good going on unless we can see him," said Jack.
"Perhaps he has gone by the beach," suggested Arthur.
"Right. The tide's full, but there's always room to walk at the foot of
the cliffs. We'll chance it."
They ran across the road, vaulted the low wall on the other side, and
doubled over the two fields separating them from the edge of the cliffs.
As they approached the steep zigzag leading down to the shore they went
more carefully. They did not immediately begin the descent, but made
their way to a jutting portion of the cliff whence they could get a good
view of the shore on either hand.
"We can't see him if he's down there," said Arthur, still in a whisper.
"No, the shadow's too black," replied Jack. "And we can't hear him,
either. Wish it was sand! The rollers make such a noise on that
shingle, and the tide's too high for any one to walk on the sands."
But he had hardly finished speaking when, looking to the left, he saw a
black shade on the shingle, at a point where a mass of rocks at the foot
of the cliff interrupted the direct path. It moved a few yards, and
again disappeared. That was enough for Jack.
"There he is!" he whispered. "Take care, youngster; we don't want any
broken necks."
Quickly lowering himself over the steep side of the cliff until his feet
touched the zigzag path, he began to race down as quickly as the need
for quietness permitted, Arthur following somewhat less rapidly. At the
foot he waited for his cousin, then both set off toward the village, the
direction in which they had seen the shadow move.
He almost wished now that he had refused to let Arthur come with him,
for while the sound of one person running on the loose shingle might
pass unheard, it was not so likely that two could run with the same
security. But he did not care to send the boy back now, so they went on
together, more slowly than he would have done alone.
De Fronsac must have walked rapidly, for it was not until they had
nearly reached the village that they caught another glimpse of him.
Then, however, the gap in the cliff brought him well into view, and the
boys had no difficulty in following. He kept straight on across the
deserted harbor and on to the footpath at the other side running up the
cliff,--a short cut for pedestrians leading to the highroad a little
short of Gudgeon's farm. Not far up, however, the path forked, a narrow
track leading down again to the beach, which it reached about two
hundred yards farther east.
Jack had to wait until De Fronsac had disappeared before he followed him
across the open space around the harbor, for if he had chanced to turn
he must have caught sight of any one behind. Thus, when the boys
reached the fork of the path, they were uncertain whether to continue up
the cliff, or to turn down to the right.
"Listen!" said Jack.
Holding their breath they waited. Was that a faint sound from above?
"Let us chance it," said Jack, and up they went, following the steep
winding path until it brought them once more to the highroad. They
glanced up and down; there was nothing to be seen, only Gudgeon's farm
about a stone's throw to the right, and the bare white road winding
down-hill past it and up-hill to the left. They were again at fault;
presumably De Fronsac, to avoid the very loose shingle near the village,
had chosen the cliff path, only to turn to the right and continue his
road by the beach.
"If that's it," said Jack, "we can easily make sure. Remain here by the
wall so that you can't be seen. I'll go on."
He ran on tiptoe along the road past Gudgeon's house standing black and
silent, crossed the little bridge over the chine, and, vaulting the
wall, hastened to the edge of the cliff. He should now at least be
level with the Frenchman if he was still walking along the beach
eastward, for on the road Jack had run much faster than was possible on
the shingle.
Here again, however, the cliff cast a black shadow. He could see
nothing; nor, listening intently, could he detect any sound from below,
save the slow wash of the high tide. But in a few moments his practised
ear caught another sound. Surely that was the faint thud of oars working
in row-locks out at sea. Yes: a quarter of a mile eastward he saw a
boat cross the white path of the moonbeam across the water and creep
shoreward. And beyond, straining his eyes, he thought he saw in the
shimmering moonlight the shape of a larger vessel, motionless.
"Whew!" he whistled softly, "that's the Frenchman's little game!"
He was convinced that there must be some connection between the approach
of the boat and De Fronsac's suspicious movements. What was it? He
thought of Arthur, remaining by himself in Gudgeon's field.
"Better fetch the youngster," he said to himself.
He raced back to the spot and told Arthur what he had seen.
"You had better come with me. Who knows what this will lead to?"
They returned together and hurried along the cliffs, keeping well away
from the edge to avoid being seen.
"She's making for Laxted Cove," said Arthur when he saw the boat.
"How far away?"
"About half a mile. We'll have to fetch round it and approach from the
other side if we're to see what's going on."
"Come on, youngster; hold your wind."
They pounded along at a steady pace over the rough bent. The surface
was very irregular, and more than once the boys tripped and almost fell
headlong as some sudden irregularity of the ground betrayed their steps.
In spite of all their haste, by the time they had reached a point beyond
the cove whence they could look down in security, the boat had already
been beached, and men were landing.
The boys lay flat on their faces, peering over the edge of the cliff
that fell here almost perpendicular to the beach. The men below were
speaking in low tones; Jack caught a few words of French, he thought.
They were apparently impatient to be off. He could not distinguish
their faces, nor even their dress, for having come up the beach from the
water-line they were now in the shadow of the cliffs.
Suddenly there was a low hail; immediately afterward the sound of
footsteps. From the darkness of the undercliff there stepped three men
carrying a heavy bundle. They staggered somewhat noisily across the
shingle toward the waiting boat. Behind them two other figures came out
of the blackness and stood just below the boys, as if watching the
proceedings.
The three men met those who had landed from the boat. Jack saw the
bundle transferred from the one party to the other, and with a start he
recognized that it was the form of a man, well trussed up. It was
carried to the boat and stowed with scant ceremony in the bows. Then
the boat was pushed off, the men wading until she was fairly afloat.
They sprang on board, gave a low farewell to the men on the beach, and
seizing the oars pulled rapidly out to sea.
The men who had borne the prisoner watched the receding boat until it
was lost to sight, then trudged off toward the village. The other two
had already disappeared. Jack wished he could have seen who they were,
but the man nearest him had been all the time in shadow, and the others
had been too far away to be recognized.
"I say, Jack," said Arthur, "what shall you do?"
"That's just what I'm wondering. If I'd only got a few men here I'd go
down to the village and demand an explanation of this strange business,
in the king's name. But if I went alone I'd make a fool of myself."
"I'd go with you."
"Then there'd be two fools instead of one. They could knock us on the
head and send us to join that bundle on the boat. I wonder who he is.
Surely they haven't decoyed De Fronsac here and carried him off to the
Monster!"
"He wouldn't like that, would he?"
"Well, we can't do anything at present. We'd better get back."
"Shall you tell father?"
"Don't know. I'll tell you that to-morrow morning."
They went back over the cliffs. They had just crossed the chine when a
big figure suddenly loomed up to the left, appearing from the zigzag
path leading down to the shore. There was no time to avoid a meeting;
indeed, so suddenly had the man appeared from round a bend in the path
that unless he and the boys had started back simultaneously there must
have been a collision. The moonlight shone full in the face of the big
man, and Jack recognized him even as Arthur whispered:
"I say! old Gudgeon!"
Gudgeon recognized the boys at the same moment.
"Oh, Mr. Hardy, sir!" he said, "you put me in quite a flutter. And you,
too, Master Bastable; well to be sure! As if I had not had enough
flutters for one night! Did you hear a boat, sir?"
"Saw it, too."
"There now! I was kept up late attending to some lambs" ("Pretty old
mutton!" thought Jack.), "and I thought I heard people moving, and I
came out, and I was sure I saw a boat putting out to sea. It gave me
quite a start. Perhaps it was some of those smugglers--a rough lot. But
gracious me! 'tis very late for two young gentlemen to be out; your good
mother would be in a terrible flutter, Master Bastable, if she knew."
"I say, are you going to tell her?"
"I have to consider my duty, Master Bastable. As to Mr. Hardy, of course
he's a king's officer, and can keep any hours the king likes to let him.
But a boy like you, Master Bastable! Really, Mr. Hardy, sir, I'm
surprised at you. But I keep myself to myself, I do, and don't meddle
with no man's business as don't concern me. So this time, Master
Bastable, I won't think it my duty to tell your lady mother what I seed
this night."
"I'm going to tell her myself, and what--"
"Avast there!" interrupted Jack, "you ought to be very much obliged to
Mr. Gudgeon, you young donkey, for not rounding on you. Good night, Mr.
Gudgeon."
And he hauled Arthur away.
"You young idiot!" said Jack, when they were out of earshot. "You were
going to say you would tell your mother all you had seen. We mustn't on
any account let them know what we have found out. That would put them
on their guard at once. Better say nothing at all just yet."
"All right. But why?"
"Because there's something going on which I don't understand. De
Fronsac may be in it; Gudgeon certainly is; and if they think we know
too much it will spoil things. Not a word to any one, mind."
"I say, how am I going to get back into your room? I got down the
rain-pipe, but I couldn't climb up it."
"Don't worry yourself, we'll find a way."
On reaching the house they saw that De Fronsac's windows were shut.
Jack quickly swarmed up the pipe and entered his room. In about a
minute down came the end of a knotted sheet. Arthur caught it, and in a
few minutes was standing beside Jack.
The family were seated at the breakfast-table next morning when De
Fronsac came in.
"Pardon, Madame," he said, "I am late. Last night I see a fine moon; it
drew me out towards de so beautiful sea over dere"--he pointed in a
direction exactly contrary to that taken by the figure followed by the
boys--"and I compose a little poem on de Minotaur--who is, of course,
dat Monstair Bonaparte."
"That's strange, Monsieur," said Jack, at whom Arthur had been staring
very hard while the Frenchman spoke. "I could not sleep last night, and
went out for a stroll, and I could have sworn I saw you coming just the
opposite way."
"Ah! I see you also. I see you drough my curtains--ven you climb up de
pipe. To mariners dat is, of course, as easy as the staircase; but as
for me, I shudder."
"Gave you the flutters, eh, Monsieur?"
"Myself I vould say de tr-r-rembling. De poem I compose, Madame, it
begin--
"'_Is dere a creature vizout shame?_
_Napoleon--so is he name._
_Is dere a creature vizout heart?_
_Ah! yes!--de Monstair Bonaparte._'"
"Yes, but Monsieur," persisted Jack, "I saw some one uncommonly like you
going the other way, towards Laxted Cove."
"Ah, Monsieur Jack, ve have a proverb, 'In the dark all cats are gray.'
Dat you see some vun, it is certain; but me--no, Monsieur Jack, how can
it? I vas composing my poem--over dere."
*CHAPTER VI*
*SIGNALS*
In the course of the morning Jack received from a carrier a note
summoning him to rejoin his ship at once. His cousins were sorry to bid
him good-by, and, though he was eager enough to return to his duty, he
was so much interested in the strange things that had happened since his
arrival at Bastable Grange that he would have liked very well to remain
a few days longer and try to unravel the mystery by which he seemed to
be surrounded. Before leaving he took Arthur aside for a moment.
"Look here, youngster," he said, "keep your eye on De Fronsac. If he
tries to pump out of you what we saw last night, tell him we saw a boat
putting out to sea and wondered whether the smugglers were at work.
Don't say a word about the man we saw put on board. Don't let him think
we suspect him. And it will be as well to take a note of the days when
he reels off poetry."
"All right.--I say!"
"Well?"
"His poetry is fearful rubbish, isn't it?"
"Never made any myself, but I fancy I could do as well as he. Good-by.
Remember what I said."
Jack returned to Wynport in a carrier's cart. He went down at once to
the harbor, and was rowed to the _Fury_, which lay at her moorings, just
inside the bar. A stout old mariner was leaning over the side, smoking
a big pipe. One of his eyes was considerably larger than the other; a
big and very bulbous nose seemed to occupy the greater part of his face;
and a long black curl hung in a graceful curve over his right brow.
Guessing instinctively that this could be none other than Ben Babbage,
Gumley's friend, and bo'sun of the cutter, Jack hailed him.
"_Fury_ ahoy!"
"Ay, ay, sir. Morning, sir, morning, leastways good arternoon, seeing
as how we've just took in our cargo of dinner. Glad to see you, sir.
Mr. Blake he said we was to get under way the very minute you came
aboard."
Jack swung himself up, flung a coin to the boatman, and turned to the
old sailor.
"Where's Mr. Blake?"
"Below, sir, a-laying in his bunk, twisted up with rheumatics. You're
in command, sir, _pro tem_, as brother Sol used to say."
"Very well; heave the anchor, and run up the mainsail. You're the
bo'sun, eh?"
"Ay, ay, sir: name Babbage; not Sol, sir; that's my brother, and a much
better chap nor me, though, so far. Ben Babbage my name, sir."
"Well, Babbage, clear the harbor. I'll go and see Mr. Blake and get her
course. You can call me when you've fairly crossed the bar."
"Ay, ay, sir."
Jack went below and found the lieutenant groaning in his bunk. He was a
weather-beaten sea-dog of forty-five, who had long since given up
whatever dreams of promotion he might at one time have entertained.
"You're back, then, Mr. Hardy," he said. "You see me a martyr to
rheumatism: my old enemy serves me like this every time I go to sea.
Babbage gave you my message?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well, I'll tell you what our orders are. French privateers are
careering up and down the Channel, dodging our cruisers and swooping
down on our merchantmen. We've got to cruise at large, keeping one eye
on the French, and t'other on the smugglers. They're expected to be
pretty active just now, when every one's mad with excitement about these
flat-bottomed boats that Boney is going to invade us with. The _Fury_
has got to act as a sort of watch-dog."
"Not much fun about that, sir," said Jack.
"No, sir, no fun, and no glory. Both you and I, I take it, would sooner
sling our hammocks on a frigate or a line-of-battle ship. But we've our
duty to do, sir, and we can't do more than our duty, wherever we are.
Did you find your relatives well?"
"Yes, sir. Do you know Luscombe?"
"No, I've never done this shore-crawling before."
"A good deal of smuggling goes on there, I am told. 'Tis a quiet little
place, almost hidden away in a recess between the cliffs. It doesn't
seem to have been troubled much by the preventive men."
"The last riding-officer was a slack-twisted fellow, it appears, no good
for his job. The new man--I've seen him once or twice here--is
energetic enough, but not too quick-witted, I should say, and a little
inclined to be bumptious."
At this point a sailor put his head in at the little cabin.
"If you please, sir, Mr. Babbage says we're off Minton Point, and waits
for orders."
"Very well, Turley. Go on deck, Mr. Hardy, and take a run down Channel.
Let me know what you think of the _Fury's_ sailing powers; we've nothing
but our speed to trust to if we happen to fall in with the enemy in
force."
All feelings of disappointment vanished from Jack's mind immediately as
he stepped on deck. The _Fury_ was in all respects a model cutter. Jack
had admired the beauty of her lines as she lay in harbor, sitting the
water like a sea-bird, with every promise of speed in the graceful hull,
the long tapering mast and the huge boom extending considerably beyond
the stern. Now heeling slightly to a stiff sou'-sou'-westerly breeze,
with her great spread of canvas she seemed to Jack like a sea-bird in
flight. A stately Indiaman that had left port some time before was
working to windward a mile ahead. In order to test the capacity of the
_Fury_ Jack brought her a few points nearer the wind, and found that he
steadily overhauled the huge vessel. Before nightfall the Indiaman was
nearly hull down, and Jack was satisfied that the _Fury_ had the heels
of most craft he was likely to meet on the coast.
Two small brass guns, one forward and one aft, comprised her whole
armament. Jack could not help contrasting this with the forty huge guns
of the _Ariadne_. The crew consisted of some five and twenty seamen and
marines. Most of them had seen much service, and one and all wished
they were with Nelson chasing the French instead of being engaged in
what they considered the humdrum task of watching the coast. Jack
privately thought it might turn out to be not so very humdrum after all.
He soon made himself acquainted with the crew, and was rather attracted
by a merry-eyed salt named Joe Turley, a handy man who seemed to live to
poke fun at Babbage the bo'sun. Among the men that worthy was variously
known as Cabbage, Artichoke, Brussels sprouts, Sparrow-grass, and
Turnip-tops; he was rarely called by his own name, except to the
officers, when he was always alluded to most respectfully as Mr.
Babbage.
A fortnight passed away, and Jack, as well as every member of the crew,
was growing very tired of the uneventful life. Every day was alike,
save for the weather, and that varied little. The cutter cruised up and
down the Channel between Weymouth and Portsmouth, putting in
occasionally to communicate with the riding-officer and to take in
provisions, but finding nothing of any importance to do. The smugglers
seemed to be quiet; the only vessels sighted were British merchantmen
passing up or down Channel under convoy, or fishing-smacks out from the
English ports. The men grumbled at the lack of chances of obtaining
prize money, and Jack was impatient of the inactivity to which he was
condemned. It was all very well to keep the _Fury_ spick and span, her
deck as white as the sails, her brass rails polished to a dazzling
brilliance; but he would have liked work a little less domestic--work
for the two brass guns that Joe Turley caressed as though they were
living creatures.
"Won't you venture over to the French side, sir?" Jack asked Lieutenant
Blake one day. "We aren't doing any good hugging our own shore."
"No, I won't. I can't blockade a French port with a cutter of two guns.
If we run too close to the French shore we might easily be snapped up,
and for nothing at all. Besides, orders are orders. I've got mine as
plain as a pikestaff, and I can't go beyond 'em."
Jack was disappointed, but clearly there was nothing to be said.
One evening the _Fury_ was making toward Wynport. She had overhauled a
suspicious looking brig passing down Channel, but found that she was a
harmless Portuguese sailing in ballast.
"I know she was a Portuguese," said Joe Turley to his messmates on the
forward deck. "But old Turnip-tops, of course he must take his Bible
oath she was a Spaniard, and so we've wasted three or four hours, on the
very night, too, when we're due at the _Goat and Compasses_."
It had been arranged that half the crew should have a night ashore at
Wynport--the first since the _Fury_ had spread her sails.
"True, old Sparrow-grass is a nuisance, though he's got a good heart.
Here he comes."
The bo'sun came forward and joined the group.
"Well, messmates," he said, "we'll be late at the _Goat and Compasses_,
and I'm sorry for that, but whenever I'm sorry I think of my brother
Sol, who always says, 'Cheer ho! my hearty,' and slaps your back in a
way that warms the very cockles of your heart. I remember--but what's
that light?"
"What light, Mr. Babbage?" said one of the men.
"There, to larboard."
He pointed toward the shore. A strong light was shining intermittently,
remaining steady for a few seconds, then disappearing, then flashing out
again.
"'Tis a signal, sure enough," cried Turley; "but what for? That's the
point."
"No, it ain't the point," said Babbage. "The point's a good deal east
of that light, and it's Bantock Point."
"Well, I meant point in a manner of speaking. The light's at Luscombe;
any one can see that."
"More like at Totley."
"I say Luscombe, Mr. Babbage," was the stubborn rejoinder.
"Totley, I say, and what I say I stick to, as brother Sol says."
"Ahoy, there!" called Jack from amidships. "What do you make of that
light, Babbage?"
"Some one showing a signal from Totley, sir, two miles t'other side of
Luscombe."
"No, it can't be at Totley. That's round a bend of the shore. It's at
or near Luscombe itself. A smugglers' signal, eh?"
"Like as not, sir. They've been too quiet of late: a sure sign of
something brewing, like a calm after a storm, as brother Sol might say."
"I'm pretty sure it's at Luscombe. But 'twill be rather hard to
determine exactly in the darkness. Run her in a little toward shore, so
that we can take a look at things."
A few minutes later the dim outlines of two prominent cliffs to the
northeast and west-north-west respectively could be seen. Jack saw that
he could determine the general direction of the light by those two
well-known landmarks. Accordingly he ordered the cutter to be hove to;
he then took its position with reference to the two cliffs, and the
angle of the light. When this was done he went below and reported to
Lieutenant Blake, who was enjoying a nap in his tiny cabin.
"You did very well, Hardy. We'll return to-morrow and test your
observations. There's no confounded lugger or anything of that sort in
sight, eh?"
"Nothing, sir."
"Well, I'll leave things to you. Run closer in shore, and keep a bright
lookout. If there's nothing in sight, head her for Wynport, but keep a
good offing off Bantock Point."
Carrying out these orders, Jack found that a mile farther in he lost
sight of the light. He thought it worth while to run out again and see
if it had disappeared altogether, but on returning to nearly the same
spot at which the cutter had been hove to, he saw that the light was
burning as brightly as ever. All at once it went out. Jack waited for
some time to see if it reappeared, but the shore remaining in perfect
blackness he saw no good in delaying further, and weathering the Point,
with its spine of jagged rocks running out to sea, ran straight for
Wynport.
They had not gone far when Babbage declared he saw a sail on the weather
beam. Jack instantly put down the helm, but after cruising about for
some time and finding nothing he concluded that the bo'sun had been
mistaken.
"Another facer for old Onions!" whispered Turley.
At Wynport Mr. Blake put up at the _Dolphin_, leaving Jack on board.
Early in the morning Jack met Mr. Goodman, the riding-officer, on his
way to the inn. He had been informed, Goodman said, that the smugglers
had made a run in the night, and that their cargo had been concealed
somewhere about the premises of Gumley, the one-legged mariner on the
hill. This news surprised Jack. It had never occurred to him that
Gumley could have anything to do with the smugglers. But when he
thought of Gumley's seclusion, his mysterious ways, the defenses of his
cottage, and his bulldog, he began to wonder whether dust had been
thrown in his eyes, and the apparently law-abiding gardener was after
all engaged in the illicit trade. He told Lieutenant Blake what he knew
of Gumley.
"Depend upon it, that's your man," cried that officer. "You'd better
search his place, Mr. Goodman."
"Unluckily, sir, most of my men are off rummaging in another direction
and won't be back till to-morrow."
"Well, I'll lend you some of my crew. And as you know the place, Mr.
Hardy, I'll send you in charge."
"Very well, sir," said Jack, and he went off immediately to collect the
men. Within half an hour he set out with a dozen of them, well armed
with pikes and cutlasses. They marched through the fields and over the
cliffs to Luscombe, avoiding the highroad. Arriving at Gumley's
cottage, Jack rapped smartly on the gate and was answered as before by a
furious barking from the dog. Gumley was some time in making his
appearance, and Jack, becoming impatient, pulled off his coat, and
hoisted himself on to the fence. Seeing who it was, Comely ceased to
bark and wagged his tail in friendly recognition. Jack could not help
feeling a little mean as he stooped and patted the dog's head, still
more when Gumley appeared from the direction of the cottage, with his
board in one hand and a fork in the other.
"Morning, sir," he said, with a smile. "I was looking for another visit
from you."
"I'm afraid you won't think me very welcome this time, Gumley," said
Jack gravely. "'Tis an unpleasant job, but I've got to search your
place."
"My place, sir? And what do you expect to find?"
"'Tis reported that the smugglers ran a cargo ashore last night, and
that you've got it, or part of it."
"Me! And you believe it, sir?"
"I don't know anything about it. My orders are to search, and I must do
it. A dozen men are outside: you'd better open the gate and let them
in."
"Very good, sir. But I must lock Comely up first, sir, else he'll leave
the marks of his teeth somewhere. You're a friend of his; I introduced
you proper myself, but I'll not introduce him to any preventive men that
ought to know better than to come a-nosing round my little place. Who
said as how 'twas here the smugglers brought their cargo, sir?"
"I don't know. Mr. Goodman heard it from some one."
"One of those villains down in the village, I'll be bound. Well, I
might have expected it, sooner nor this. I tell you straight out, sir,
never a shilling's worth of smuggled goods have passed my gate. I'm a
king's man, leastwise was till I got my stump, and arter that I wouldn't
demean myself by going a-smuggling. Howsomever, orders is orders, and
search you must. I'll just tie up the dog, sir, and then open the gate,
for Gumley bean't the man to shut his doors upon the king's orders."
Gumley's quiet manner made an impression on Jack, and he was half
inclined to leave his errand unfulfilled. If the man had protested and
blustered Jack would have been at once convinced that he was guilty, but
his readiness to submit to the search was hardly that of a guilty man.
Then it occurred to him that Gumley might be trying to throw dust in his
eyes again. At all events, he could not return to Mr. Blake and confess
that he had not carried out orders; so when the dog was secured and the
men admitted he directed them to begin the search.
It was but the work of a few minutes to ransack the little cottage.
Cupboards were opened, the stone flags of the floor tested, the loft
between the rafters and the roof explored, but nothing was found.
Gumley watched the operations in silence, puffing at a big pipe in which
he was smoking cabbage leaves.
"We'll have to search the garden now, sir," said one of the men.
Gumley took his pipe from his lips.
"The garden!" he said. "Well, mind my artichokes. They bean't ripe,
not till the first frost, and it won't do 'em no good to disturb 'em."
He knew that in expeditions of this kind every inch of ground would
probably be explored. Smugglers had been known to have cunningly devised
hiding-places beneath the soil, under the roots of apple trees, or pear
trees, or raspberry bushes. He watched with a grim smile as the men
spread out over the garden, falling on all fours to smell out any traces
of brandy or tobacco. He said nothing when they dug over a plot of
ground from which he had recently taken the last of his late potatoes.
But when they approached a flourishing bed of artichokes he heaved a
great sigh, and said:
"There goes two-pun-ten in Wynport market, and all in the king's name."
Jack had felt more and more uncomfortable as the search proceeded. When
a square yard of the plot had been cleared of its tall green stalks he
suddenly shouted:
"Give over, men. This is all a blind. There are no smuggled goods
here. Gumley was a king's man like yourselves. I don't believe he has
anything hidden; we'll sheer off and report to Mr. Blake that we can't
find anything. Some one must have a spite against you, Gumley."
"I could have told you that, sir, but I keeps myself to myself, and
'twas not for me to stand up against the king's orders. Messmates all,
I'm sorry you've had your blood warmed for nothing. Bless you, I don't
bear you no ill-will; orders is orders, and God save the king!"
He took off his glazed hat as he spoke.
"Well, Gumley I'm sorry we disturbed you. Look here, take those
artichokes up to the Grange when they're ripe and ask my cousin, the
squire, to give you fifty shillings for them. Say I said so. Now, men,
we'll get back. We owe the smugglers one for this, and we'll pay it
back, all in good time."
*CHAPTER VII*
*THE BEST-LAID SCHEMES*
There was a good deal of grumbling among the men as they trudged back to
Wynport. No man likes to be made a fool of, and a Jack Tar as little as
any.
"This is what comes of doing landlubbers' work instead of fighting the
French on sea," growled Turley.
A heavy rainstorm that came on did not improve their tempers, and when,
just as they marched into Wynport, they were overtaken by Mr. Goodman,
riding at a smart pace from a cross-road, they began to mutter
uncomplimentary remarks about the zealous officer.
"Any luck, Mr. Hardy?" he cried, as he passed.
"None," replied Jack shortly.
"Sorry for that. Perhaps your search was not thorough enough: your men
aren't used to it."
"Confound his impudence!" growled Turley, as the officer rode on. "One
of us is worth three of his landsharks, anyway."
When Jack arrived at the _Dolphin_ Mr. Goodman was just leaving.
"Oh, Hardy!" cried Lieutenant Blake, as he entered, "Mr. Goodman tells
me you've found nothing."
"Not a ghost of a thing, sir. Gumley's as honest as a judge, in my
opinion. Some one has played a scurvy trick on him and us."
"Well, look at this."
He handed Jack a dirty, crumpled piece of paper, on which he read:
"_Mr. Goodman, sir, a runn will be made at binsey cove tonite.--From a
frend._"
"Another trick for certain, sir," said Jack.
"Very likely. Goodman says 'tis a sure sign the run will be made
somewhere else, if made at all, and in the opposite direction. He wants
the cutter to cruise off Totley Point to-night after dark. His idea is
that if we stand away in the afternoon as if for Luscombe, we shall lead
the smugglers off the scent; then if we return after nightfall we shall
take 'em unawares. He'll have a strong force in hiding at Totley Point;
that's where he thinks the run will actually be made, right under his
nose. It would be like the villains. Only a year ago, just after he
came into this district, he got a similar letter, and the cargo was run
miles away."
"Well, sir, if he's been caught that way once, the smugglers will hardly
expect him to fall into the trap a second time."
"I'm not so sure about that. I don't fancy our friend Goodman has much
of a headpiece. If he is the simpleton I imagine he is, he will think
that the smugglers will take your view and expect him to be this time at
Binsey Cove. Therefore, he'll go to Totley. The question is, where will
the run be made?"
"Perhaps the light we saw last night may have something to do with it.
Don't you think, sir, it would be a good plan if I took a boat's crew
and watched the shore off Luscombe, leaving you with the rest of the men
in the _Fury_ to assist Mr. Goodman in case of need?"
"Not a bad idea, Hardy. We'll drop a boat some distance out at sea at
dusk; you can pull in with muffled oars if you come across anything
suspicious."
"The first thing, sir, will be to find out about the light we saw."
"Right. Find Babbage and get the crew together. We'll be off at once."
When the _Fury_ reached the position from which the light had been
observed it was at once seen that, unless Jack had been wrong in his
bearings, the signal had not been made from the village.
"It was more in the direction of Congleton's Hollow, sir," said Jack.
"We can't see the Hollow itself, but there's the Folly to the left; you
can just see it over the trees: a tower where an old hermit lived alone
with his broken heart. That would make an excellent signal station."
"You know it, eh?"
"Yes, sir. But it didn't look as if it was ever used now. The only
doorway is barricaded, and my young cousin told me it had been like that
ever since he could remember. He said the top was supposed to be
dangerous, and the place was boarded up after an accident that happened
ever so many years ago. There was no other way in; the youngster--an
inquisitive little chap--has tried more than once, and always failed."
"Humph! Is it worth trying again?"
"I'd be mighty glad to see, sir. But I couldn't do it in daylight. I
might be seen from the village. Yet I could hardly do much good at
night unless some one happened to be there at the time."
"Well, we can't risk discovery. We don't want to scare the signalers
away."
"Wouldn't it be best to land some distance down the coast one night, and
get to the Folly about daybreak? I'd have the place to myself then."
"Right. We'll bide our time. Meanwhile, there's this anonymous letter
to remember. I gave out at Wynport that we're going to run over to
Weymouth; perhaps that will put our smuggling friends at Luscombe off
the scent."
The _Fury_ kept away all day, returning to a point opposite Luscombe
after nightfall. Lieutenant Blake told off Babbage and Turley and eight
more of the men to accompany Jack, and, a boat being lowered and
provided with muffled oars, the little party set off, while the _Fury_
set a course for Totley Point, where Mr. Goodman had a posse of
preventive men on the watch.
It was more than an hour and a half's steady rowing to the shore, and
Jack was not at all sure where he would strike the beach. Thinking over
the likely places along the shore, he felt certain that the run would
probably be attempted at a spot not far east of the path up which he had
followed De Fronsac. He wished the smugglers to get there before him,
for if the vessel they expected had not yet arrived, they would be
keeping a good watch seaward, and his boat would run a great risk of
being discovered. But he had found out that Turley was born at Wynport
and knew the coast pretty well, having spent several years as a
fisherman in the neighborhood, so that he was likely to recognize any
landmarks as soon as they came in view.
It was a still night, and very dark. The oars made scarcely any noise
as the men pulled steadily in toward the shore. At last Turley declared
that he could just see the copse that crowned a chine leading down to
the beach, near the path that Jack had followed.
"You're sure, Turley?" asked Jack in a whisper.
"Sartin sure, sir."
"He've got cat's eyes, sir," murmured Babbage.
"We need them to-night," said Jack, peering anxiously into the darkness.
"Easy all, men."
He listened for sounds along the shore or from the sea. The breeze was
very slight; it had become less as the boat neared the shore; and if it
continued to die away there would soon be scarcely enough wind to carry
a vessel in.
"We're about half a mile off, I think, Turley?"
"Just so, sir," replied Turley.
Jack was about to give the order to pull in a little closer when the man
just in front of him, who was facing seaward like the other rowers,
raised one hand from his oar, and pointing to the right said in a
whisper:
"Sail on the larboard quarter, sir."
Glancing backward in the direction indicated, Jack could just
distinguish in the distance a black shape gliding slowly up. He felt
his heart jumping; the vessel had come so suddenly, so stealthily out of
the blackness. Could his boat be seen from its deck? It was so low on
the water that he hoped it might pass undetected. The men were
crouching over their oars; there was dead silence in the boat, the crew
scarcely daring to breathe. The dark shape came steadily on; it passed,
and faded again into the darkness. Allowing time for it to get nearly in
shore, Jack ordered the men to give way, and the boat again quickly
moved landward. He knew he was risking discovery, but hoped that the
attention of the watchers on shore would be directed on the larger
vessel, and altogether overlook the smaller.
The coast hereabouts was rocky, and the approach to the shore had to be
made with care. Jack heard low voices ahead; he guessed that the people
on shore were giving directions to those on the vessel.
"Channel's narrow, sir," whispered Turley, "but there's a good depth of
water at all states of the tide; 'tis nigh high tide now, and that there
craft'll be able to run almost on to the beach and save a good deal of
fetching and carrying."
"How far are we out now?"
"About a couple of cables' length, to my thinking, sir."
"Easy all, men. Cutlasses ready!"
Jack had already decided that it would be useless to attempt to land at
any point on either side and creep on the smugglers, for there would
certainly be watchers along the cliff. The attack, if made at all, must
be made direct from the sea. He feared that, when the men gave way for a
final dash in, the boat might strike a rock; but he could still see
dimly the chase ahead, and the tide being high, as Turley had said, he
resolved to take his chance of running aground. The boat had followed
quickly in the wake of the larger vessel; with a little luck a straight
dash might be quite successful, for where the smugglers' craft drew
feet, his own scarcely drew inches, and he was so much excited at the
prospect of his first encounter with the smugglers, that he was prepared
to run no little risk.
Suddenly there was the sound of a sail being run down, of tackle
creaking, of low voices. The smugglers worked quickly, he knew; the
vessel would scarcely have anchored or otherwise made fast before they
began to carry their cargo ashore. The moment was come. He caught his
breath for an instant; then, gripping the tiller ropes firmly, he said:
"Now, men, lay out--send her along!"
The sounds of the muffled oars were smothered in the noise from the
lugger and the men tramping on shore. So intent were the smugglers on
their work that they were unaware of what was upon them. The boat
dashed straight for the lugger, which had swung round so that her bow
was first met. There was a shock; then a loud shout; and as Jack's men
swarmed over on to the lugger's deck, they came face to face with a
small knot of men at the foremast, who had evidently hurriedly collected
to dispute the passage with the boarders.
Now shout answered shout. Barrels were dropped by the carriers and fell
with sharp thuds on the deck or with loud splashes into the water.
Cutlass clashed on cutlass. At the first alarm the men on shore came
dashing back to rejoin their comrades, springing across the long double
plank that formed the gangway, to a bold ledge of rock serving as a kind
of natural quay.
"Surrender, in the king's name!" shouted Jack, rushing forward.
He was answered by a vigorous French oath. Next moment the foremost of
the smugglers, singling out the young officer coming at the head of his
men, aimed a shrewd blow at him with a cutlass. It was so dark that
Jack could barely see the movement, but he just managed to swerve out of
the way; then, shortening his arm he lunged, and felt with no little
satisfaction that the weapon had got home.
At this moment he was almost carried off his feet by the vehemence of
his own men, who in a compact body were sweeping all before them. In the
rush and tumble Jack felt a heavy blow on his head and staggered, saving
his fall by clutching at a halyard and leaning half-stunned against the
mast.
To the din of shouting and blows was now added the shrill screech of the
bo'sun's whistle. Having cleared the deck aft of the mainmast, Babbage
and his men were making a dash for the gangway, upon which the smugglers
were crowding back toward the lugger. But Babbage's zeal had outrun his
discretion. Before he knew it his party was beset on all sides. French
and English cries were mingled in one furious babel. No firearms were
used; the sound of shots would carry far in the still night air, and
might bring support to the king's men from a distance. But cutlasses and
hangers were plied with vigor; the crew of the lugger, reinforced by the
men from shore, outnumbered Jack's party by four to one, and these had
much ado to defend themselves in their turn from the sturdy assaults of
their opponents.
With an effort Jack pulled himself together and pressed forward to lend
a hand. His men were being remorselessly driven back. Doggedly they
fought, yielding only inch by inch; but it was clear that they were
outmatched, and at length, by sheer weight of numbers, they were forced
over the bulwarks into the sea. Turley, who had all his wits about him,
contrived to cut the painter holding the boat to the lugger's side; and,
hardly aware how he came there, Jack found himself hanging to the side
of the boat, unable to do more than cling on for dear life. Two or three
men managed to scramble into the boat; they rowed it ashore. When it
beached, Jack and the men ran up across the shingle toward the cliffs.
In a few minutes they were joined by others of their party, all dripping
wet, and furious with rage at their defeat.
"'Tis all through old Turnip-tops," growled Turley. "The idea of his
losing his head that way!"
"Anybody seen him?" asked Jack, whose teeth were chattering; he had not
yet recovered from the blow on his head.
"Never a man, sir. But there's the lugger making sail. We've lost the
cargo and got nothing for our pains but broken heads and such like."
Jack saw the dim shape of the lugger disappearing seaward. In five
minutes every trace of the smugglers had vanished, except a broken keg
or two on the shingle, from which gusts of the odor of spirits reached
the men gathered in a knot above. By and by Babbage turned up,
declaring that if it hadn't been for Turley the attack would have been a
great success. Before long the party was complete, none having been
killed, though several had had a narrow escape from drowning. They had
been saved by the planks of the gangway, which the smugglers, in their
haste to escape, had allowed to fall into the water.
Jack wondered why the smugglers had fled when it would have been an easy
matter for them to overwhelm the king's men.
"Why, they were afeard, sir," said Babbage. "The noise was enough to
bring all Dorset upon 'em, and how did they know but that the
riding-officer was nigh, ready to come down on 'em? And so he ought to
ha' bin."
"Well, they've let us off easily," said Jack. "We'd better get our boat
afloat and hunt for the _Fury_."
"Ay, sir, and won't Mr. Blake be in a fury when he hears the tale! All
we've got is cuts, bruises, and a ducking!"
*CHAPTER VIII*
*CONGLETON'S FOLLY*
It was several hours before the boat fell in with the _Fury_. Jack and
the men were heartily glad when they saw the cutter's mast-head light.
They scrambled on board, and while the men had to stand a good deal of
rough chaff from their messmates, Jack's account of his failure was
received by Lieutenant Blake with a quizzical smile.
"Ah, my boy, we have to take the rough with the smooth," was all that
officer said. "I suppose you don't feel in very good trim for that
little expedition you proposed?"
"Indeed, sir, I'm ready for anything. I must change my things and have
the best supper the cook can give me; then you can put me on shore when
you please. I've got a bone to pick with those rascals."
Consequently, about half an hour before dawn, Jack was landed at a spot
about two miles east of Congleton's Folly. Lieutenant Blake arranged
that the boat should be in waiting for him three or four hours later
some two miles farther east, at a little cove which was fairly well
sheltered from observation.
"Keep your weather eye open," were the lieutenant's parting words.
Jack climbed the cliff and arrived at the Hollow just as dawn was
breaking. It was a misty morning; the shrubs and grass were thickly
besprinkled with frost; and he was glad he had taken the precaution to
wear a greatcoat of frieze, which kept him warm in spite of the nipping
air.
He came to the Folly, and took a more careful look at it than he had
done when he visited the spot with Arthur. It was a brick tower, about
sixty feet high, built somewhat like a lighthouse, but four-sided, not
rounded. The base was about twenty feet square; the tower tapered to
within a few feet of the top, where it broadened out so that it looked
not unlike a mushroom on a particularly long stalk.
On the side facing the sea was the doorway giving access, as Arthur had
told him, to a spiral staircase leading to the single chamber above.
This overhanging part was supported by stout oaken beams resting on the
brickwork of the central tower. On the inland side, in the floor of
this room, there was a trap-door opening inward; it was through this
that the late Congleton had been accustomed to hoist his provisions.
The summit of the room was crowned by a parapet, crenelated like the
walls of a fort.
The door, as Jack had already seen, was strongly barricaded. On the
inner face of the tower, less exposed than the others to the sea winds,
ivy had grown more than half-way up, and from this a number of sparrows
flew rustling out when Jack appeared.
He walked round and round examining the tower from every point of view.
What a strange man Congleton must have been to choose this lonely spot
in which to pass so many years of a solitary existence! Jack closely
inspected the doorway. The wood was worm-eaten, the heads of the iron
nails thick with rust, and the barricading had been so thoroughly done
that it would take a long time to free the entrance. It was quite clear
that no one had gone either in or out for many years. Yet, if the tower
had indeed been used for signaling, as he suspected, there must be a way
in. Where was it?
He might have thought he was mistaken but for the marks of many feet
around the base of the turret. The grass had recently been trampled
down, especially on the inland side. Could there be another entrance,
concealed by the ivy? He pulled the strong tendrils aside, and more
birds came twittering out; but there was no sign of a second door.
Somewhat perplexed, Jack raised his eyes and scanned the brickwork
above, which the ivy had not yet reached. There was the wooden
trap-door, let in the floor of the turret chamber, and a foot or two of
rusty chain hanging down.
"That must have been part of old Congleton's machinery for hoisting his
stores," thought Jack. "I wonder if the trap-door is fastened."
It was quite clear that it opened inward, for there was no sign of a
bolt outside. When the room was last used a bolt inside might have been
slipped. If not, the trap-door could be opened from below. But how
could it be reached? Only by a ladder, apparently. Was there a ladder
hidden somewhere among the trees? He saw no other means of gaining the
summit, for while the ivy was strong enough to bear his weight for a
good many feet up, the brickwork above was smooth, in spite of the
weathering it had undergone, and offered no grip for hands or feet.
"I must look for that ladder," he thought. But after spending at least
half an hour in searching the surrounding thicket he almost gave up the
problem in despair. There was no sign of a ladder, and he had searched
so carefully that one of the requisite length could not have escaped his
eyes, however well hidden. What could he do? He did not like the idea
of being beaten; especially as he had already failed once in his contest
with the smugglers. Just then there seemed nothing for it but to go
back to the boat, and perhaps bring a number of handy men from the
cutter to break open the doorway. But before doing that he would have
one more look.
He returned to the tower. The mist was clearing somewhat. Once more he
scanned each face of the tower in turn. And now he noticed, on the
inland side, what had escaped him before. On the brickwork between the
ivy and the chamber there were a number of small apertures dotted about,
forming a kind of pattern--a spiral. The holes could not have come by
accident, for they appeared to be at equal distances apart. He counted
ten on the bare portion of the brickwork, and, looking intently,
believed he caught sight of one more where the screen of ivy thinned
off.
His curiosity was now thoroughly awakened. What was the meaning of these
holes? Were there more, concealed beneath the ivy? He pulled the
strands of the plant aside, and with eye and hand examined the wall.
There were no more holes, but what was this? He grasped an iron staple
firmly imbedded in the brickwork; and three feet above, surely that was
another!
"Oho, my hearties!" he thought; "have I got you at last?"
Setting his foot on the lower staple he hoisted himself up, pulled aside
the ivy above his head, and found, as by this time he expected, still
another staple. Without more ado he began to climb, nimbly, eagerly,
until he had to stop, for he had come almost to the top of the ivy, and
there were no more staples! What was to be done now?
True, there were no more staples, but three feet above the last was the
lowest of the holes that had attracted his attention. He was able to
examine it. A circular hole, seemingly drilled with some care; he put
his finger in, but could not touch the end of it. And it appeared to be
bored at a downward angle with the face of the wall. He felt that he
must find out how long it was, though for the moment he did not see what
good the information would be to him. Descending quickly, he found a
long twig, and climbing up again, he inserted it into the hole. About a
foot of the twig went into the wall.
"The hole is made to receive a movable step, or I'm a Dutchman," he said
to himself. "It's long enough, and it's bored downward to prevent the
step from slipping out. A mighty clever notion! The holes must have
cost a deal of work, for the fellow who bored them must have been pretty
awkwardly placed. I wonder if they were made by old Congleton, or after
his time. Now what I want to know is, where are those steps?"
Once more he descended. The steps, wherever they were, were probably
made of iron, and there must be about a dozen of them. Where were they?
Were they carried backwards and forwards between the tower and the house
of the person who used them? That seemed hardly likely. It was much
more probable that they were hidden somewhere near at hand.
Jack hunted about the neighboring thickets. He might easily have
overlooked small objects when searching for the ladder. But after what
seemed a long time he still found no trace of them. Determined not to
give up his quest, he was wondering how best he could make steps for
himself when he caught sight of the summer-house, about two hundred
yards away, where he had found the wounded lace-peddler.
"That's the place to rummage!" he thought.
He hastened to the summer-house. There were two rooms. Part of the
roof had fallen in over one of them, and, encouraged by the marks of
muddy boots about the doorway, Jack decided to search there first. The
room was bare; he turned over the debris on the floor; nothing rewarded
his efforts. But there was the chimney, a wide square recess in the
wall; he would try that.
He almost shouted for joy when, far back in the opening, he came upon
the object of his quest--a pile of rusty iron implements that seemed
exactly suited for the purpose. They were stout rods about a foot long,
with a loop at the end that might serve either as a hand-grip or a step.
And the loop was at just such an angle with the rod as would correspond
with the apertures in the walls.
There were a dozen in all. Gathering them, no light weight, into his
arms, he returned to the tower, and with two of the rods climbed up by
the staples and tried one in the first hole. It fitted exactly. He
fixed the second, then descended for the others. Being a sailor he knew
how to avoid unnecessary expenditure of time; he slung the rest of the
fittings over his shoulder with his handkerchief, and carried them up
with him once for all.
By their aid he mounted to the top of the tower, and found himself just
below the trap-door. But it was not quite within reach. There was the
hanging chain, however, coming through a hole in the floor; would that
stand a tug? He made the attempt, intending to hoist himself up with
one hand, and push with the other against the trap-door. But he found
that when he exerted a little force the chain moved; it seemed hardly
safe to trust to it. He was about to let it go when he noticed that the
trap-door seemed to have risen slightly. Again he pulled at the chain,
using more force. It gave to his tug, and as it descended he saw the
trap-door open slowly upward. The chain at length stuck; the door was
wide open, and a rough rope-ladder was hanging some ten feet below the
hole.
Jack found that if he eased the pressure on the chain the trap-door
tended to fall back. It was a simple matter to prevent this, for, just
at his hand, there was a staple to which the chain could be hooked; it
was evidently intended for that purpose. To swing himself on to the
ladder was the simplest of feats, and in half a minute he had climbed
through the open trap and stood in the turret.
"A fine old musty smell, that's what first struck me," he said
afterward. "The dust of ages; cobwebs galore. Only one window, looking
seaward, and that shut fast. 'Twas stifling to a fellow used to the
fresh air. There was a ramshackle old bedstead in one corner; a
four-poster, with a canopy and crimson hangings; at least, they had been
crimson; the dust was so thick on 'em that I couldn't see what the color
was till I'd rubbed a bit of it off. That was where the old eccentric
breathed his last, I suppose; and no one thought it worth carting away.
In the middle of the room was a deal table and a chair with a broken
back; not another stick of furniture.
"But in the corner near the window I saw something that told a tale--a
pile of kegs, almost reaching to the low roof. 'Empty or full?' thought
I. I lifted one; it was full. I knew they weren't old Congleton's
property, or they'd have disappeared with the rest of his furniture. How
did I know he had any? Why, because I noticed nails on the wall, where
pictures had hung, and a clean patch on one of the walls--cleaner than
the rest, that is--where a bureau or something of the sort had stood.
Besides, no man who'd have a mahogany bedstead and hangings that once
were splendid would have been likely to be satisfied with a deal table
and a common rickety chair. They were the kind of things you'd expect
in a plowman's or a fisherman's kitchen.
"At any rate, I saw that somebody had used the room since Congleton
departed this life, for there were some crumbs on the table, and a
chipped tumbler that smelt uncommonly like the kegs. Ghosts don't eat
bread and cheese and drink spirits! And there was a coil of rope under
the table, and by the window a cheap sort of curtain that just fitted.
I held it up to see; right in the middle of it was a round hole. And
when I came to look at the bed I saw that the mattress had a big dent in
it, and no dust on it. Somebody had had a nap there since old Congleton
died.
"Of course I saw all this in a very few seconds. Then I went on the
prowl. I pulled out the bedstead; by George! didn't it creak! I
thought the old thing would fall to pieces. Behind it was a cupboard,
and in the cupboard a large bull's-eye lantern, and a long cylinder of
cardboard about eighteen inches long. 'What's that for?' I thought. It
didn't strike me at the moment, but I took the things out and put them
on the table. The lamp leaked a little; I found I'd got some spots of
oil on my breeches.
"When I put them on the table I noticed something I'd missed before. In
the middle was a sort of pattern in red chalk--a circle with a tail to
it; and at the edge of the table two parallel strokes. They'd been done
some time, for the marks in the middle were almost hidden by oil stains.
Those stains puzzled me for a bit. I could have understood wine stains
better. But at last I tumbled to it. That was the place where the lamp
was put for the signaling. I set it down on the circular mark; it just
fitted. But I could not make out at first what the two straight strokes
at the edge were for. Then I caught sight of the roll of cardboard and
another idea struck me. I lifted it and stuck it on the bull's-eye; it
fitted like a glove; and when I turned the lantern so that the handle
was over the tail of the circle I found that the cylinder just reached
to the two marks.
"But that only puzzled me more than ever, for the lantern and cylinder
were now pointing straight at old Congleton's bed. Would you believe
it?--I didn't at first think of turning the table round! Of course it
wasn't a fixture, and when I did think of it I saw through the whole
scheme. Turned round, the lantern pointed through the window. The
cylinder was a clever notion. It would prevent the light from the
bull's-eye spreading, so that while it would be seen a good distance out
at sea, it wouldn't attract notice in the neighborhood, except that a
faint glow might be seen from below. But the Folly wasn't in sight from
the village, and there'd be precious few of the ordinary country folk
who'd care to be near the spot after dark. They'd be in mortal fear of
seeing old Congleton's ghost.
"I was still a little puzzled. What need was there to mark the place of
the lantern so exactly. Anywhere near the window the light would be
seen clearly enough out at sea. But now that I had moved the table I
noticed four red marks on the floor. 'Here's another discovery,' I
thought; 'there's a mark for each leg of the table.' I slewed it around
again, so that the legs stood on the marks. Then it flashed on me; if
the table was always in the same place, and the lantern always exactly
on the marks, the light would always hit the same point out at sea. 'A
very pretty scheme!' says I to myself. 'Good master smugglers have all
their wits about 'em.'
"It was clear as daylight now that the Folly was a signal-station, and
sometimes, as the kegs showed, a storehouse as well. Of course they
used old Congleton's machinery for hoisting the kegs. That coil of
rope, now! I pulled it over, and there, just underneath, was a
pulley--an iron bar fitted with a small grooved wheel, and resting at
each end on a wooden block; little grooves had been chiseled out to keep
the bar steady. And when I came to look at 'em I saw, as I might have
expected, that they'd been oiled not long before.
"By this time I'd found out all I wished to know. The only thing left
to be discovered was, who used the Folly? I made up my mind to get
Lieutenant Blake to let me bring some men to the place one night when we
saw the light, and catch the men in the act. But before I went away I
thought I'd go down the staircase and see if there was anything there.
I couldn't find a door, yet the staircase must lead direct into the
room; there was no other. I had another look at the cupboard, and found
after some trouble that half the back of it was movable--it was a
sliding panel. I pulled it aside; it moved quite easily; and I stepped
through--carefully, I can tell you, for it was pitch dark.
"I got on to the staircase, and went down gingerly, a step at a time.
It was wooden, and the stairs were pretty rotten; they creaked as I
moved, and I clung on to a rope that made a sort of hand-rail, afraid of
pitching head first to the bottom. It smelled very close, and I took
some time to go down, for the stairs were narrow, and as it was a
winding staircase they scarcely gave foothold except at the wall end.
At last I got to the bottom, and then I saw a glint or two of light
coming through chinks in the doorway.
"I had only just got there when I fancied I heard a rustling outside.
'Mercy me!' I thought; 'this isn't signaling time; but I hope no one is
coming for the kegs.' I scrambled up the staircase a good deal quicker
than I picked my way down, and crawled through the hole in the cupboard.
Then I nearly jumped out of my skin, for I saw a man sitting on the
rickety chair. It was Monsieur de Fronsac."
*CHAPTER IX*
*CLOSE QUARTERS*
"Ah, Monsieur Jack!" said De Fronsac, with his agreeable smile; "I see
you!" Jack laughed. It was only the Frenchman after all! His fear that
it might be a smuggler was groundless.
"Yes; I'm too black for a ghost; 'tis a confoundedly dirty place,
Monsieur. But how do you come here?"
"It is ver' simple, ver' simple indeed. I came out in de early morning,
to promenade myself, and to compose a new sonnet on de Monstair. Behold!
Vat do I see? De trap-door of dis tower is open; and, vat is
dis?--assuredly I see steps mounting up to de very sommit. I am
romantic, as you know, Monsieur; I love de bizarre. Can I venture
myself? Dat old Congleton--vat a strange, an eccentric! I vould like
to see de place vere he lived so solitaire. I climb; I have a little
fear; but I make de ascension; I arrive. Ho! Dis, den, is de place.
Vat a magnificent spot for to compose poesy! How beautiful de spectacle
over de blue, blue sea! Magnificent! Glorious! Old Congleton had a
genius, hein? But you, Monsieur Jack, how came you here?"
"The same way as you, Monsieur."
"Ah! remarkable! You do not compose poesy in de early morning! You, I
t'ink--and your good cousin t'inks--you sail on de blue, blue sea. De
steps, too; surely dey are new. Never have I observed dem before. It
is remarkable! Old Congleton--did he ascend de tower in dat manner? Or
perhaps de steps are your vork; you invent dem, Monsieur Jack?"
"No," said Jack shortly. He had never liked De Fronsac's smile.
"Den of whom? Who invent dem? Dey demand much care and skill; yes, and
industry. And for vat good to spend so much time? It vould be easier to
valk up de stairs--if de door is open, of course dat is understood. But
truly it is more romantic--it has more of de fun, as you English say, to
mount on de outside, on little steps, from hand to foot, vun may say.
Yes, and if in my youth I had not lived much among de sailors of my
little village, assuredly I should not have had de courage to make an
attempt so perilous. Ve sailors, indeed, have de firm leg, de fixed
eye."
De Fronsac's eye was certainly fixed--on Jack, who had an uncomfortable
feeling that the Frenchman was not only trying to find out from his
manner what he had discovered, but was talking to gain time. He was
resolving to cut the interview short, when De Fronsac, turning round
suddenly, appeared to catch sight for the first time of the kegs.
"Ah! Voila! Ve have it! Dose barrels Monsieur Jack--you see dem? Dey
are put dere vizout doubt by dese smogglairs. Ah! de rascals!
Certainly ve must tell your good cousin, Monsieur Bastable. He vill
know de means to take. He vill come, and take an inventaire. Certainly
dat is vat ve must do. You come viz me; ve both tell him; ve go at
vunce."
"Very well," said Jack. "We'll go down. Will you go first?"
"I t'ink better you."
"But I opened the trap-door. You won't know how to shut it. You go
first and I'll see that it is properly closed."
"Ver' vell. It is a good idea."
De Fronsac accordingly stepped on to the rope-ladder, and descended with
a rapidity that seemed to show he had indeed had no little experience
amongst seamen. Jack followed, closed the trap-door, and, as he went
down, threw the iron steps one by one to the ground, where the Frenchman
stood awaiting him.
"Now vat shall ve do viz dem?" asked De Fronsac, when Jack stood beside
him. "It vas you dat discovered dem, Monsieur Jack. It is to you to
decide vat ve do. It is right. You vill get great honor viz Monsieur
Bastable, and de Lor' Lieutenant, I t'ink you call de great man of de
county."
Jack did not wish to return the steps to their original hiding-place.
It would be better, he thought, to hide them among the bushes.
Accordingly with De Fronsac's assistance he carried them into the
thicket, and concealed them under a heap of dead leaves.
"Now ve go to de Grange?" said the Frenchman.
"Yes. We shall be rather early; Mr. Bastable will not be up yet."
He intended to keep De Fronsac in sight until he had an opportunity of
sending a messenger to the boat for a number of men to remove the kegs.
He did not feel sure that the Frenchman's visit to the tower was so
accidental as he declared; and a bird in the hand was worth two in the
bush.
They made their way through the undergrowth. With the frost the trees
had now lost nearly all their leaves, which thickly covered the grass.
Jack led the way, the Frenchman following a yard or two behind,
maintaining a running fire of small talk, to which Jack replied with an
occasional monosyllable. On the edge of the Hollow they entered a dense
copse; there was a sudden rustle, and half a dozen rough-clad men with
blackened faces sprang from behind the trees. Jack's hand flew to his
breast-pocket where he kept his pistol, but before he could draw it, De
Fronsac caught his arm, crying:
"Save me, Monsieur Jack, save me!"
In spite of his apparent alarm, his grasp was so firm that Jack was
quite unable to draw his weapon.
"Let me go!" he cried angrily, trying to shake himself free. But De
Fronsac clung to him still more desperately, repeating his cry "Save
me!" In another moment the men were upon him. Then at last the
Frenchman let go his hold, and Jack found himself in the grip of two
stalwart fishers. He struggled violently, but in vain, and in a few
seconds more he was lying on the ground securely gagged and bound.
Then his eyes were bandaged, he was blindfolded, lifted, and carried
rapidly for some distance. When he was set down and the bandage removed
from his eyes, he saw that he was in an underground chamber, dimly lit
through a barred grating in the roof. He tried to speak, but his words
were choked by the gag.
"Now you listen to me," said one of the men, whose voice he thought he
recognized. "'Taint no good shouting or struggling. We've got ye firm,
Mr. Hardy, king's officer though ye be. So long as you give us no
trouble you'll take no harm. I'm gwine to ease that there gag; but if
you shout, I'll clap it on again and keep it there. That's plain. Not
that it be any good shouting, for there's never a soul hereabout but the
men who'll guard ye."
Jack was not so foolish as to spend his strength and his breath
uselessly. He saw that he was helpless, and mentally vowed to be even
with De Fronsac at the first opportunity. Suspicious before, he now
felt certain that the Frenchman had deliberately trapped him, though he
was amazed to find that the poetical tutor was a smuggler.
He remained throughout the day in the under-ground room, guarded all the
time by one man, who sat by the grating and refused to be drawn into any
talk. He was given some bread and cheese, and spirits and water to
drink; and he spent the long hours in wondering what was to become of
him, and in relishing beforehand the punishment he meant to administer
to De Fronsac some day. To think of escape was vain; the men had
evidently brought him down by a ladder, which they had drawn up when
they left, closing and bolting the trap-door.
Who were they? Jack wondered. What was their real connection with De
Fronsac? What would they do with him? What would Babbage and the men
at the boat do when he did not return? What steps would Lieutenant
Blake take when he found, as he must soon do, that his midshipman was
missing? There was no doubt that the smugglers would promptly remove
the kegs and the signaling apparatus from the Folly, and they would have
plenty of time to get clear away before the boat's crew became
suspicious.
Late in the afternoon, as Jack guessed by the dimness of the light
through the grating, he heard voices above. A heavy object was dropped
on the floor; the trap-door was lifted, a ladder let down, and three men
descended into the room.
"You be coming along of us," said the man who had before addressed him.
"Look here, whoever you are--" Jack began; but he said no more, for the
gag was roughly thrust into his mouth, he was once more blindfolded, and
taken up the ladder. Then he was lifted from the floor and lowered into
what he judged to be a large empty water-butt.
"Double up your knees, Mr. Hardy," said the man. "You be going a little
journey."
There was no help for it. Jack feeling, as he afterward said, like a
trussed turkey, sat crouching in the butt. The top was hammered on.
Then the butt was lifted, carried a few steps, and hoisted on to a cart,
which rumbled away. Jack was more angry than alarmed; the men evidently
intended him no harm, or they would have knocked him on the head before
this; but a water-butt, even though holes have been bored in its sides
to let in air, is not the most comfortable of vehicles, and Jack was
beginning to feel cramped and bruised and half-stifled when the cart
stopped. The butt was lowered, not too gently; Jack was pretty well
shaken up. But his former experience was pleasant compared with his
sensations when the butt was rolled round and round on its lower edge,
as he had seen draymen rolling barrels of beer. His head fairly swam by
the time the teetotum movement ceased.
Then he heard voices again, and the creaking of tackle.
"I'm at the shore," he thought. "Surely they're not going to set me
afloat!" The idea of going adrift in a water-butt made him feel
seasick, till he remembered that it was impossible; the butt would fill
with water, and if they wished to drown him they would not have taken so
much trouble.
"Why, 'Zekiel," he heard a man say, "was your tub leaking?"
"A trifle, but we've bunged it up; 'tis all shipshape and seaworthy
now."
"'Tis mortal heavy, blamed if 'tisn't."
"Course it is; 'tis well-nigh full."
Two or three low chuckles followed this sentence. Then the butt was
rolled up what seemed to be a gradual incline, and dropped a foot or two
with a bump that set Jack's bones clashing.
"I'm on a boat," he thought, "this is a voyage of adventure. Wish to
goodness I could knock the top off this cage of mine and get a little
air."
As if in answer to his wish, a few minutes later, when he felt by the
motion that the boat was putting out to sea, the lid was knocked off,
the gag removed, and he drew a long breath of relief.
"I say, you men," he said, in a husky voice that sounded like that of a
stranger, "undo my eyes and hands, and let me out."
There was no answer. He remained in his cramped and uncomfortable
quarters for some hours, his repeated requests to be taken out passing
unheeded. He began to feel very low-spirited. His body ached all over;
his hands were still bound; and the butt was so narrow that he could
hardly shift his position by an inch. His chief feeling was no longer
rage against De Fronsac, but an intense longing to stretch himself. And
then, strange as it appeared to him, he began to feel sleepy.
He was wakened from a half-doze by a loud hail, answered by a fainter
one from a distance. A few seconds later he was released from the butt,
and lowered, still bound, over the side of the vessel into a smaller
boat. The boat did not go far; after a few strokes of the oars Jack
felt a slight bump; he was unceremoniously hoisted again; and when at
last his eyes and hands were unbound, and he had recovered the use of
his sight, he found himself on board a lugger, whose crew had the
swarthy faces and red caps of French fishermen. Greetings were
exchanged between the men of the two vessels; then the French lugger
made sail and stood out into mid-channel.
Jack was too much relieved at having recovered his freedom to mind where
he was going. For a time he had not even the curiosity to ask; it was
quite enough to breathe freely, and use his eyes and stretch his limbs.
But night was drawing on, and when a meager supper was brought to him he
asked in French for what port the vessel was making.
"No port, Monsieur," replied the man with a grin.
"Well, what place, then?"
"Where the captain commands, Monsieur."
"And where does the captain command? Speak out, man."
"Only the captain knows, Monsieur."
Jack gave it up. The man's answers were perfectly polite, but it was
evident he had received orders to tell nothing. Jack was taken below
and made fairly comfortable. When morning dawned and he was allowed to
go on deck there was no land in sight. But about midday a coast-line
came into view, and in the evening, after beating about for hours, a
strong land wind keeping the lugger off shore, the skipper managed to
run into a little cove beneath high cliffs. It was a wild part of the
Norman coast; there were no dwellings where the lugger ran ashore; and
Jack had to tramp for several miles among the Frenchmen, over a rough
road, before they arrived at a little fishing hamlet. Here he had to
share a pallet bed in the auberge with one of the fishermen, two others
occupying a similar bed at the other side of the room.
Jack and his bedfellow both found it difficult to sleep, and the
Frenchman proved more loquacious than any of the others. He could speak
no English save a few words, and his French was so broad a dialect that
Jack, who knew little French at the best, was often at a loss to
understand him. But he understood enough to learn that he had been kept
in an underground chamber near the Hollow until the time came when a
boat might put off, ostensibly for night fishing, really to convey the
prisoner to the French lugger, the whereabouts of which would be known
to the Luscombe smugglers. He had been carried on board the boat from
the cart openly at Luscombe quay.
"Whose boat was it?"
"It was to a man--Monsieur might know him--who calls himself Goujon."
"No, I don't know anybody of that name. Who is he?"
"He is Goujon; that is all."
"Is he a fisherman? What is he like?"
"I have never seen him, Monsieur. For myself, I have never put foot to
land in England. But the captain knows him; ah, yes! the captain knows
Goujon."
And Jack at last went to sleep, wondering who Goujon could be.
*CHAPTER X*
*A PRISONER OF FRANCE*
Next morning Jack was awakened early and told that he must march.
"Very happy," he said, "but where to?"
He had recovered his spirits. No misfortunes, no bufferings, can long
depress a healthy boy of sixteen. Consequently when he learned that he
was to tramp to Boulogne, more than fifty miles away, he received the
information with a smile. His chief thought was: "Perhaps I shall see
that Monstair, Boney himself!" The prospect of a fifty-mile walk in
keen, bright weather did not daunt him.
He was accompanied by the skipper of the lugger and several of the men.
Now that they were on French soil they had lost their reluctance to
talk, and before many miles had been covered Jack was chatting as freely
as his command of the language permitted, and laughing at the
misunderstandings that occurred on both sides. He learned one fact that
made him feel sorry. A few days before, Admiral Keith had exploded some
vessels among a hundred and fifty of the French praams at their
anchorage outside the pier at Boulogne. But this attempt to destroy the
flotilla had not succeeded, the vessels having been separated by
distances too wide for the explosion to have the destructive effect
intended. The French smugglers were much elated at Admiral Keith's
failure, and amused Jack by their confident assertion that before long
Bonaparte, or the Emperor Napoleon, as he was beginning to be called,
would make himself King of England.
Boulogne was reached at the end of the second day's march. Jack was
taken to a commissary of the forces. He did not learn till some time
afterward what story the skipper told. It was to the effect that his
lugger, while making for Boulogne from St. Malo, had been becalmed off
Barfleur, within sight of an English frigate which lay about two miles
astern. A boat had been sent from the frigate to capture the lugger.
Attempting to board, the English crew had been driven back with severe
loss, and this young officer, who had been foremost of the boarding
party, had been left in the Frenchmen's hands.
Whether the commissary believed the story Jack never knew. Certainly it
was acted upon. He was handed over to the keeper of the town prison, and
lodged in the cells below the old belfry tower. Next day, however, he
was removed and conveyed under a guard a few miles westward toward
Etaples. As he left the belfry with other prisoners amid an escort of
gendarmes, he saw riding up the hill towards Wimereux a group of
horsemen, led by a stout little soldier in brilliant uniform. The
gendarmes saluted; the little man gave a curt and careless
acknowledgment, and cantered on. It was Bonaparte himself, riding to
review the army he was collecting for the invasion of England. Jack
recognized him by his likeness to the caricatures he had seen at home.
"'Tis something to have seen the wonderful Boney!" he thought.
Not far from Etaples he was placed with a number of other prisoners, all
English seamen, in an old chateau about a mile from the sea. It had
evidently been at one time a pleasant country-house, but from its partly
dilapidated condition Jack inferred that it had suffered during the
revolutionary riots thirteen or fourteen years before. It was now used
as an overflow prison, the regular prisons of the town being filled.
The English prisoners in France always outnumbered the French prisoners
in England, owing to the greater enterprise of English seamen, which
often led them to attempt impossible feats and threw them into the power
of the enemy.
The prisoners were kept on the top floor of the chateau, several rooms
having been knocked into one. The windows were barred; there were two
stories beneath; outside, the walled park all round the house was
regularly patrolled by sentries; and there was a guard constantly at the
gate. The wall bordering the grounds was about nine feet high and
spiked at the top. These facts were at once noted by Jack, for the
instant he was shut up he began to think of escape; but the outlook was
not promising.
If he wished to escape at the first, his longing was intensified after a
few days of prison regime. There were about seventy prisoners
altogether, and twenty jailers. The treatment was not far short of
brutal. The prisoners had to sleep on coarse pallets of straw, the
stalks cut so short that they were like beds of spikes. The food
consisted of nothing but brown bread and more or less dirty water. One
and a half sous a day were allowed by the government to each prisoner
for the purchase of extra food--a miserably insufficient sum; yet, poor
as it was, it more often found its way into the pockets of the jailers
than into those of the prisoners. The rooms were never properly
cleaned, and the jailers thought nothing of bullying and assaulting
brutally any man who had the audacity to grumble.
Jack had the good luck to be spared some of the worst hardships. He was
allowed the use of a small room off the larger one--a kind of
antechamber, the partition of which was only half demolished where the
separate rooms had been knocked into one for the reception of the
prisoners. A door opened directly on the staircase; it was kept closed,
and it had a grating through which the sentry on duty could watch what
was going on.
The warders, drafted from two companies of infantry in the neighboring
town, were relieved daily. This was a precaution taken, no doubt, to
prevent them from getting tired of their job and relaxing in their
watchfulness. At all hours of the night the steady tramp of the
sentries round the house could be heard by wakeful prisoners above. And
many were wakeful, for their poor fare was ill calculated to encourage
sleep, and as the days passed they shivered with the cold. It did not
occur to the officer in command, a rough-tongued captain who had
apparently risen from the ranks, to provide a fire; and when one of the
prisoners ventured to ask for one, he got a snubbing.
Jack was the only officer among the captives. He learned afterward that
officers were often liberated on parole, but this was entirely in the
discretion of the district commandant, and Jack was unlucky in coming
into the hands of a bully. He tried to keep cheerful, but it was hard in
such depressing surroundings. The only pleasant part of the day was the
short interval allowed for exercise in the park. A space was roped off
within which the prisoners might run or walk; it was a considerable
distance from the wall, and sentries with loaded muskets stood on guard.
There was thus no chance of making a dash for liberty; but the
opportunity of stretching their legs in the open for twenty minutes was
a boon to men accustomed to the freedom of life on the sea.
Thus four months passed. Every day was like another. A little news
came to the prisoners at times through the jailers--how further attempts
to destroy the flotilla of praams at Boulogne had been defeated; how the
English had attacked in vain Fort Rouge at Calais Harbor; how Napoleon
had been at last crowned emperor by the pope in the church of Notre
Dame. But the news which Jack eagerly awaited, of a great victory won
by Admiral Nelson at sea, never came.
One day in February, when snow was falling, a new batch of prisoners was
brought in, to the disgust of the others, for the room was already
overcrowded. But Jack was pleased and vexed at once to see that the new
arrivals were no other than Babbage, Turley, and a dozen more from the
_Fury_.
"Well! I never did see!" ejaculated the bo'sun, when Jack hailed him.
"Bless my eyes, sir, but I thought as you was gone to glory--leastways
to Davy Jones, and so did we all. How did you go for to come to this
here dirty old hulk of a French prison, sir?"
Jack told the whole story.
"What happened to you and the boat?" he asked.
"Why, sir, we waited for you three hours or more, as we was bid, and
when you didn't come back, I said as how we ought to go up along and
find you."
"No, you didn't!" interrupted Turley; "that was me. You said our orders
was to wait for Mr. Hardy three hours, and the three hours being up,
'twas our dooty to go back and tell Mr. Blake. There, then, old
Sparrow-grass!"
Evidently Turley supposed that on French ground the claims of discipline
might be ignored. But he was mistaken.
"What do you mean by Sparrow-grass?" demanded Jack as sternly as he
could.
"Well, sir, I know that his rightful name is Ben Babbage, but among
ourselves, sir, when we thinks of it, we calls him Turnip--"
"That'll do, Turley. You'll call Mr. Babbage by his right name, here
and anywhere else; remember that. Go on, Babbage."
"Well, sir, as I was saying, I said as how we ought to go up along and
find you. So go we did; but though we spent a couple of hours
a-prowling round that there tower, and about the village, and went up to
the Grange and all, never a word did we hear of you. So we had to give
it up, and we went back and reported you missing to Mr. Blake. He put
in at Luscombe himself, and raised a deal of dust, sir, but 'twas no
good. So he reported you to the admiral at Portsmouth as missing, and
we got another officer in your place, a slack-twisted young--beg pardon,
sir, I was a-going to do what Turley done, sir, call names; but I
won't--leastways, not in your hearing, sir."
"And how did you become prisoners, too?"
"Why, sir, a Mounseer's sloop set on us t'other day when we was running
before a stiff gale. The poor little _Fury's_ topmast was carried away
and the mainmast sprung. The sloop hugged us till the wind dropped;
then she came up alongside and boarded. She had three times our number,
and they must have bred different Frenchmen in the days when one
Englishman was equal to three; we did our best, as you may believe; she
lost half her men, but the other half was still double what was left of
us, so we had to haul down our colors, in a manner of speaking. Mr.
Blake and the new midshipman have been marched off, I did hear, to a
place called Verdun; here's the rest of us, what was left, and if you'll
look out of the window, you'll see the poor little _Fury_ lying off the
quay there. I s'pose they'll patch her up and call her by a new name,
and that's enough to make any Englishman's blood boil, it is."
Jack was angry as Babbage at the success of the sloop in capturing the
cutter. But he felt somewhat cheered at the sight of the faces of his
messmates; and their presence, strangely enough, set him again thinking
of escape. Babbage was a seasoned and knowing old salt, and Jack
resolved to have a long and private talk with him at the first
opportunity.
But though in the course of a week they had many such talks--in the park
while exercising, in the little antechamber at dead of night--they
almost despaired of hitting upon any likely plan of regaining their
liberty. There was no chance of silencing the sentries at the head of
the staircase; any attempt to break open the door would at once be heard
outside, and the whole force of warders, all soldiers, would be on the
alert. The bars across the windows might indeed be loosened or forcibly
wrenched out, and the bedclothes--if the material of which they were
made was not too poor--might be torn up and knotted to form a rope; but
a small light was kept burning in the room all night, and any work at
the windows would certainly be seen by the sentries at the door and by
the men patrolling outside.
"Ah now! if only brother Sol was here!" sighed Babbage one evening, when
Jack and he had been talking over every plan that suggested itself,
possible and impossible.
"What could he do?" asked Jack.
"'Twas a saying of his, sir, 'Nary a way in but a way out,' though I
said to him, 'What about a mouse-trap?' Ah, brother Sol 'ud see the way
out of this here trap if any man could."
"Well, I wish this brother Sol of yours would get himself captured and
come here. Where is he?"
"I don't know, sir; I haven't seed him for four and twenty year. But
well I mind the last thing he said to me when he went away. 'Ben,' says
he, 'God bless you!' I never forgot them feeling words, sir."
"I suppose not. As he isn't here we must do without him. We _must_ get
out somehow, Babbage. I, for one, am not going to rot in France for
half a dozen years. Is there anything we haven't thought of?"
Babbage pursed his lips and pondered.
"We've thought of everything from window to ground," he said presently.
"The only thing we haven't thought of is the roof, and we want to go
down, not up--leastways, not yet."
"I don't know. What about the chimney?"
"No good, sir. Haven't I seed the sergeant of the guard poke his nose
up every day to see if the bars are safe? They're just fixed so that no
nat'ral man's head could pass between. Must ha' bin done a purpose."
"Does the sergeant examine them carefully?"
"No, sir; he just stoops down, and cocks his head around, and gives a
squint up, and many's the time I'd ha' liked to take advantage of the
sitivation to kick him, only I thought I'd better not. 'Kicks is poor
tricks,' too, as brother Sol used to say."
"Well, I'll come into your room to-night, and have a look at them.
Luckily the chimney is on the same side as the door; the sentry won't
see me. We might be able to loosen those bars and clear the chimney."
"And what then, sir?"
"I'd climb the roof and take a look round. Can't say more at present."
"Very good, sir."
In the small hours Jack crept quietly into the larger room and got into
the chimney unobserved. The bars were just above his head, and he very
soon decided that with a sufficiently hard implement he could loosen the
mortar about their ends. That was the doubtful matter. The knives
supplied to a few of the prisoners who were given meat for their dinner
were removed by the jailers after the meal, and all weapons had of
course been taken from the men before they were brought into the room.
But next morning Jack managed to force a long rusty nail out of one of
the planks of the floor of his room; it seemed to him stout and strong
enough for his purpose.
It was necessary to take the rest of the prisoners into his confidence.
He got Babbage to tell them what he had in view, and as they were all
Englishmen, with just as keen a longing for liberty as himself, there
was no fear of their betraying him. As soon as the jailers had
distributed the morning rations he slipped into the chimney. Half a
dozen of the men, gathered as if casually near the fireplace, screened
him from any one who might suddenly enter the room. He began to scrape
away the mortar at one end of each of the bars, working as quickly as he
could. Turley swept up with his hand the flakes of mortar that fell to
the floor. By the evening Jack had worked so well that one bar was
loosened sufficiently to be bent down when the time came. Then he got
some of the men to tear off scraps of their woolen shirts, and with
these he filled up the holes, so that even if the bar was tested by the
sergeant there was a good chance that it would hold well enough to
prevent discovery.
The scraping occupied him for two more days--one bar a day. By the time
he had finished he found that the nail which had served him so well was
worn to within half an inch of the head.
He determined to make an expedition up the chimney on that third
evening, if circumstances proved favorable. After the evening meal of
bread and water he got Ben to use his strength in bending down the bars.
Then he crawled through and began to ascend. It was a tight fit. The
chimney was narrow; but Jack, never stout, had grown thin on the prison
fare, and he wormed his way up by the aid of projecting bricks left for
the chimney-sweep; those were the days of chimney climbing. The flue
was not very dirty; evidently no fires had been lighted below for a long
time.
He reached the top without mishap. There was no chimney-pot. Looking
cautiously out, showing as little of his head as possible, he saw the
sea rippling far below in the distance, shining ruddy in the glow of the
setting sun. A strong easterly breeze was blowing. To the right lay
the harbor and town. To the left were two sloops and three or four
praams; alongside the nearest sloop a coasting brig; then two fishing
smacks. A cable's length from these lay the _Fury_, now apparently
refitted with new main- and topmasts, and eastward of her, a little
farther out, a lugger and another smack. Jack guessed that, besides the
_Fury_, only the sloops and the praams were likely to be armed with
cannon, though the lugger might carry a small gun.
The immediate surroundings of the chateau were out of sight, except to
his left, being screened by the parapet of the flat roof some feet away
from the chimney. Except at one point, where the roof of an outbuilding
rose nearly to the same elevation as the part where he was perched,
there was a sheer drop of fifteen feet from the top of the
chimney-stack.
It was a sloping roof, and Jack made up his mind to crawl down it until
he came to a chimney of the outbuilding, from which a thin spiral of
smoke was rising. But he waited until the dusk had deepened before he
thought it safe to emerge. Then he crept carefully down till he reached
the smoking chimney. The roof there was not quite as high as the other;
the drop was about five feet; and he guessed from the position that
below the chimney were the servants' quarters. Two other chimneys beyond
were smoking; these, he thought, must belong to the rooms occupied by
the guard. The other chimneys, from which no smoke was rising, could
only be reached by dropping some twelve feet and climbing an equal
distance; and to do that would involve the risk of being seen or heard.
Jack placed his hand on the side of the chimney from which a thin smoke
was coming. There was so little heat in the bricks that he guessed the
fire below had been allowed to die down. His guess was confirmed when
he put his hand in the air over the mouth of the chimney: it was
scarcely warm. He resolved to climb down and find out whither the
chimney led. Thin as it was, the smoke in the narrow space was rather
suffocating, and he felt a certain dread lest he should cough and betray
his presence. There seemed no end to the chimney, as step by step he
let himself down, moving with extreme caution to avoid making any sound
that could be heard below. As he approached the bottom he was relieved
to find that the heat did not perceptibly increase. The fire must be
almost dead. He was dislodging soot from the walls; would it be seen by
the persons in the room? Perhaps if they saw it they would think it due
to the strong wind. Perhaps there was nobody in the room. He heard no
voices, no sound of movement, though he saw there was a light. The
chimney was a good deal wider at the point he had reached, and he
wondered if it led to the kitchen.
Waiting a little to make sure that the room was unoccupied, he at length
ventured to slip down to the grate and peep into the room. It was empty
of people. A large table stood in the middle; kitchen utensils hung
from pegs on the walls; the door was ajar, and he now heard voices,
proceeding evidently from an adjoining room.
On the hearth was a long iron poker. "That may prove useful," he
thought; and leaping lightly down he seized it. A large chopper hung to
a nail at the side of the chimney. This also he secured. Then creeping
to the door, he peeped round from the level of the floor. Three men
were seated at a table enjoying their supper. This was apparently the
cook's room. The men were very much at their ease. A large fire of
logs threw a glow upon their faces; a bottle of wine had been emptied;
the smell of fried onions teased Jack's appetite. He listened to the
men's conversation.
"_Monsieur le capitaine_ will bring two guests to supper," said one.
"_Peste!_" growled a second, the fattest of all, by whom, as Jack now
saw, a cook's white cap lay, "he will keep us up late. _Monsieur le
capitaine_ is so particular. A supper fit for Bonaparte is not good
enough for him. The kitchen fire will have to be made up. Go and see
to it, Jules."
The man addressed scraped his plate and drank his wine before lazily
rising to do the cook's bidding. Jack flew back with the speed of a
hare, and before the man had pushed back his chair the adventurer was
several feet up the chimney, grasping his precious spoil, the poker and
the chopper.
*CHAPTER XI*
*A BREAK FOR FREEDOM*
"By Jove!" thought Jack with a chuckle as he scrambled out of the
chimney, "won't there be a rumpus when the cook misses his poker!
Luckily, he'll never think it has gone aloft!"
It was a very sooty object that descended, after pausing to make sure
that all was safe, into the prisoners' room. Jack was immediately
surrounded by a group of the _Fury's_ men, so eager to hear what had
happened that they raised their voices and provoked an angry reprimand
from the sentry at the door.
"Silence, you donkeys!" whispered Jack.
"Avast your jabber!" said Babbage, scowling upon Turley. "Me and Mr.
Hardy have got to lay the course for this little venture."
After this the men behaved more discreetly, and left Jack alone with
Babbage.
"Now, Babbage," said Jack, when he had finished his story, "we're going
to escape, and I'll tell you how."
"Not up the chimbley, sir? I'd squeeze myself as small as I could, but
I'm afeard I should stick fast and spoil the whole boiling."
"No, no; you're too fat for the chimney. You'll be left in charge till
you hear a hubbub below; then you're to break open the door and make a
dash for it at the head of the men."
"Why, I'll obey orders, sir; Ben Babbage always obeys orders; but,
begging your pardon, it beats me how I'm to break the door open with a
poker and a chopper--"
"Babbage, if you make any more difficulties you'll never see your
brother Sol, for here you'll stay. You shall have other tools by and
by. You understand, nothing is to be done until you hear the signal; it
will be loud enough, I promise you. I shall wait until the captain's
guests have gone. That will probably be late; so there'll be plenty of
time for us to make a rope. No, don't speak. I haven't done yet.
We'll tear up the coverlets--they're precious thin, but we haven't any
better--and twist up a rope long enough to reach from the top of the
chimney to the bottom: about fifty feet, I should think. Then I'll take
it with me and four or five of the men, Turley for one--
"Begging your pardon, sir--
"What?"
"Begging your pardon, sir,--not Turley, but me."
"Oh, very well! You're too fat for the chimney at present, as you owned
yourself, but we could get something off you with the chopper."
Babbage grinned sheepishly, and made no further suggestions.
Several hours later, Jack, at the window, heard loud voices and laughter
in the courtyard below. The captain's guests were evidently departing.
Allowing an hour to pass, sufficient, he thought, for the captain and
the servants to have settled into their beauty sleep, he signed to his
four selected men, and led the way up the chimney, Turley carrying the
rope. They clambered across the roof and came to the kitchen chimney.
"Now, Turley," said Jack, "pay out the rope as I go down. By George!
'tis a good deal hotter than when I was here before."
He got down into the chimney, leaving the four men on the roof. It was
indeed very hot; the kitchen fire, made up for cooking the supper, had
evidently not yet died down. Fortunately there was little smoke; even
without it the air was so stifling that Jack was surprised that he
reached the bottom safely. He jumped when his feet touched the grate;
they were protected only by his stockings.
There was no light in the room, but the glow of the dying fire was
strong enough to show him that it was empty. He tiptoed to the three
doors. The back door was locked and bolted; the door of the cook's room
was closed but not locked, and he heard snores from within; the third
door, leading to the rest of the house, he supposed, was ajar, and a dim
light came through the opening.
A little more light was necessary. Not without a tremor, Jack ventured
to put on the embers one or two small chips of wood that were drying at
the side of the grate. They kindled, and lit the room with a dancing
flame, which Jack fervently hoped would not attract the attention of the
sentry outside. He had already seen that the shutters of the window
were closed; he trusted there was no chink to betray him.
The first thing was to get arms of some kind for his men. A poker and a
chopper he had already purloined, much to the mystification of the cook,
no doubt. Ah! there was a rolling-pin hanging by a loop from a nail in
the wall. Down it came; in a trice he tied it to the thin rope. Giving
this a gentle tug, he saw the rolling-pin disappear up the chimney.
Then he looked round quickly for more weapons. Yes; there was a cleaver,
a gridiron, a frying-pan.
"I must have them," he said to himself. By the time he had taken them
down from their nails, the rope was hanging once more within reach. One
by one they followed the rolling-pin. Another hunt on tiptoe round the
room yielded a brass candlestick, a braizing-pan, several dish-covers
which he rejected as being too clumsy to wield, a big soup-ladle, and a
couple of long carving-knives. There were saucepans in plenty, but too
big for his purpose. He had to be content with the ten articles he had
obtained--rude weapons, indeed, but likely to be formidable in the hands
of determined and desperate men. As the utensils of metal passed up the
chimney they clicked more than once on the wall, and Jack's heart beat
faster as he wondered if the sounds would be heard. But no doubt there
were mice and rats behind these old walls; blessed rats and mice!
After waiting a little to make sure that the cook and his assistants had
not been disturbed, he prepared to go farther afield. Creeping to the
door that stood ajar, he pushed it a little. It moved with a creak which
must surely, Jack thought, be heard all over the house. He waited
breathlessly; there was no sound. But he could not risk a continuous
creaking. Taking his courage in both hands he pushed the door quickly,
stopping it with a jerk. It made never a sound. Jack saw by the light
of a small lamp that it opened into a narrow passage, with a door at the
end. He crept along the wall. The farther door was not closed. He
peeped in.
"The _salle a manger_!" he thought. There was the table at which the
captain had entertained his guests.
To the left there was another passage at right angles to the first. A
narrow staircase led, he supposed, to the servants' rooms. A few steps
along the passage brought him to the entrance hall, from which sprang
the main staircase. He looked up. He was at the bottom of a deep well,
extending, it appeared, to the top of the mansion. He shrank back into
the shade of the huge post at the foot of the stairs; for if the
sentries outside the prisoners' room chanced to hear a movement below
and looked over, they would certainly see him.
Then he cast back, and came to the back staircase. The steps were of
stone; he might ascend without the danger of creaking; and he must see
whither these stairs led. He went up the steps in pitch darkness, and
found himself on a landing. Groping along the wall, he knew that he was
in a stone-flagged corridor. Ah! at the end there was a streak of
light. Tiptoeing along, he came to a door partly open. Dared he peep
round it? He paused for a few seconds.
"Hang it!" he said to himself, "I wish my heart wouldn't thump so!" He
listened: how these Frenchmen snored! Were they all asleep? He took a
step forward; then felt a sudden unreasoning fear, and stole back for
several yards. In a few seconds he had collected himself and returned to
the door.
Now he ventured to put his head into the room. A dozen men--he would
have said a score at the first moment--were asleep on rough settles
against the wall. They had their clothes on, as if in bivouac, ready
for action at a moment's notice. A smoky lamp hung from a bracket on
the wall. In the corner of the fireplace, where there was a faint glow,
were stacked the men's muskets. The key of the room was on the inside.
Having taken all this in at a glance, Jack carefully withdrew, returned
along the passage and down the stairs, and arrived once more at the
kitchen. Two sharp tugs at the rope brought Turley to his side; at
short intervals the other three appeared.
"All safe!" whispered Jack. "You've taken the things to Babbage,
Turley?"
"Ay, ay, sir."
"That's well. Now, Turley, that's the cook's room. You'll stay and
watch the door. If any one tries to break out, you'll know what to do.
You other men come with me."
He led them quietly along the passage and up the staircase. At the
landing he halted.
"The guards are in that room at the end of the corridor," he whispered.
"I'm going in to try and get their muskets. If I'm discovered, you
three make a rush and get hold of the muskets. Never mind about me.
You understand."
"Ay, ay, sir."
He crept stealthily into the room. The men's cartridge-belts lay in a
heap on the table. Taking care to make no noise, Jack lifted two or
three, one at a time, and handed them to his men. Then he approached the
pile of arms. With the gentlest of movements he released two of the
muskets, one with each hand, on opposite sides of the pile. Would the
balance be disturbed? No, all was safe. He passed the weapons out of
the room, and turned to remove a third and a fourth. But who had make
that click? It was one of the men outside. Jack looked anxiously at
the sleeping forms. Had any of them been awakened?
One of the Frenchmen turned, sat up, rubbed his eyes--and saw the
English prisoner!
"_Au voleur! au prisonnier! aux armes! Eveillez-vous, mes camarades!_"
He was so sleepy that he scarcely knew what he was saying; but his shout
roused his companions. As they turned, too heavy with sleep to have all
their wits about them, Jack's three men sprang in, and in a twinkling
seized the remaining muskets and rushed back into the passage. The
first Frenchman was now on his feet. Jack with a straight right-hander
sent him spinning over; then he dashed to the door, slipped the key out
of one side of the lock and into the other, and just as two of the other
men were lurching toward him, skipped outside, slammed the door, and
turned the key.
[Illustration: Jack, with a straight right-hander, sent him spinning
over]
"Now, men, after me!" he cried.
He raced along the corridor, conscious of a tremendous uproar in the
guard-room--cries, oaths, violent thumps and kicks on the door. Up the
stairs! There were the sentries at the top, startled out of their wits.
What was happening? Hubbub below, hubbub in the prisoners' room! The
prisoners were actually battering at the door! And with heavy
implements: where had they got them? Crash! There was a panel half
driven out. The amazed soldiers raised their muskets; they could at
least fire into the room. But at this moment they caught sight of Jack
and the sailors springing up the back staircase. Another crash on the
door! _O ciel_! They waited for no more, but with a yell turned their
backs and leaped down the main staircase, taking three stairs at a time.
"Ahoy there, Babbage; stand clear!" shouted Jack.
"Ay, ay, sir!" cried the bo'sun from within.
Putting to the lock the musket he carried, Jack fired. The lock was
burst; with a touch the door gave way; and a second later the prisoners
began to pour out.
"Steady, men!" cried Jack. "No crowding, or we'll get jammed and be
clapped under hatches again. Armed men in front."
They followed Jack down the same staircase by which he had come. As
they passed the locked door of the guard-room they heard the imprisoned
men making a furious assault upon it. But it was a piece of good oak;
they had no firearms to blow away the lock; and Jack knew that they
might hammer it for an hour without making much impression.
Down they go! Here they are at the kitchen. And there is Turley, a
saucepan in one hand, a huge dish-cover in the other, holding at bay the
fat cook and his two assistants, who are vainly attempting, with
ferocious cries, to get within his guard. When they see Jack enter the
room, and behind him a swarm of seamen, they wheel round and scurry like
hares into the farther apartment, the fat cook going last, squealing.
"No danger there!" said Jack. "There's no time to lose, men. Now for
the back door."
He ran to it, drew back the bolts, and throwing it wide dashed out into
the open. There was a blinding flash close by; the shot missed; and
with Turley and others hard on his heels Jack dashed straight in the
direction from which the shot had come. But the sentry who had fired
was already scampering away. A companion had joined him; together they
made for the wicket of the front gate; dashed through, and tried to
close it. But Turley was just in time to slip his saucepan in and hold
the gate open. The sentries waited no longer. They raced as fast as
their legs would carry them toward the town.
To overtake them was impossible. In a few minutes the two companies of
infantry would be on the track of the escaped prisoners. Was there time
to reach the harbor before they came up? Had the shots already roused
the officers of the vessels at anchor and caused them to despatch men
ashore? Jack could not wait even to wonder. On he went, calling to his
men to close up, straight along the road leading to the town. But to
pass through the streets to the harbor would be fatal. Within half a
mile of the town he halted.
"You, Mudge, and you, Folkard, cut off a quarter of a mile to port and
fire your muskets. Then run as hard as you can in our wake. Quick,
men!"
He hoped that the firing in that direction would mislead the enemy and
give the fugitives the few minutes' grace they needed for the next move
of his plan. When the two men had gone off to the left, he led the
party rapidly to the right, hoping to strike the harbor at its eastern
extremity.
As the fugitives, keeping perfect silence, stumbled in the darkness over
fields and across ditches toward the harbor, they heard loud shouts to
their left, followed by the roll of a drum. Clearly the alarm had been
raised, the soldiers were turning out. All now depended on whether the
direction of the escape was discovered within the next few minutes. If
not, Jack thought that he might reach the harbor with his band in time
to seize some boats before they were intercepted. He listened eagerly
for shots behind; they seemed long in coming, and the outskirts of the
village loomed up in the darkness ahead before the expected reports at
last struck his ear. Fervently he hoped that the sound would draw the
soldiers off in that direction.
He wished he could go faster, but many of the men were weak from the
effects of imprisonment and meager fare, and he had to accommodate his
pace to the slowest.
Making a fairly wide circuit, Jack steered for the extremity of the
harbor, where only a few fishermen's cottages intervened between him and
the waterside. Some fishers who had turned out of their dwellings on
hearing the alarm scurried down the rutty road with loud shouts. The
noise was bound to bring the soldiers to the spot within a few minutes.
Jack's heart was pumping at a great rate, but he did not lose his
coolness or his nerve. He must do something to check the soldiers, that
was plain. Sending twenty men to search the shore for boats, he posted
the nine armed with muskets under cover of the cottages with orders to
delay the soldiers at all costs. The rest of his men, some armed with
the spoil of the kitchen, others with bricks and stones snatched up on
the way, he placed behind the nine to support them.
A minute or two--horribly long they seemed to Jack--of anxious waiting;
then the two men who had fired the shots in the rear came panting up,
and from the direction of the harbor a messenger brought the good news
that six large boats had been found. Almost at the same moment the
clump-clump of heavy boots and sabots on the road was distinctly heard,
ever growing louder. If the runners proved to be soldiers it would be
impossible to escape without a fight. Jack would rather have been
allowed to embark in peace, but if there must be a fight--
"Well," he whispered to Babbage, "we'll show them what English Jack Tars
are made of."
He at once sent the unarmed men down to the water under guidance of the
messenger, bidding them get into the boats; then with the rest he
prepared to fight a rear-guard action.
The Frenchmen came on helter-skelter. Not one of them imagined that
they had any enemy more formidable than unarmed weaklings to deal with.
Jack waited until they were within twenty yards; even in the dim
starlight they could be seen distinctly enough. Then in a voice that
rang clearly he gave the word "Fire!" The eleven rifles flashed; there
were cries from the advancing Frenchmen; some of them, at any rate, must
have been hit at this point-blank range. The head of the column was in
confusion; men turned this way and that; they were apparently without
leadership.
While they halted and wavered another word of command was heard above
their cries and the sound of shuffling feet: "Charge!" The sailors
responded with a cheer; some thirty strong, they dashed forward as one
man; and in a few seconds the enemy were in full flight, struck by one
of those sudden panics to which even the best troops are liable in night
operations.
Jack also had his moment of alarm. Knowing the thoughtless impetuosity
of the British sailor, he feared lest, with the enemy on the run, his
men should forget everything else in the excitement of pursuit. But he
had them soon in hand again.
"Now to the boats!" he said, "and as quickly as you can."
He had no difficulty in finding them. One of the sloops had already
opened fire upon them; and the sound of oars in that direction showed
that a boat, perhaps more than one, had been lowered, no doubt to pull
in to the assistance of the soldiers. It was too dark for the fire of
the sloop to be effective; Jack heard one or two shots strike the harbor
wall.
Here were the boats, a few yards from the beach.
"Tumble in, men," said Jack.
In a few seconds all were aboard. Already Jack in the foremost boat was
steering for a black shape almost exactly ahead, which he believed to be
the _Fury_. Scarcely was his craft well under way before he heard oars
in that direction; the cutter also, it appeared, was sending a boat.
"So much the better!" thought Jack. "There'll be fewer men on deck to
repel boarders."
In less than a minute he saw the cutter's boat ahead; it was turning, as
if to regain the vessel--he wondered why.
"Give way, men!" he cried, and from the boat behind came Babbage's voice
urging his crew: "Pull, shipmates; pull, my hearties; Mr. Hardy ain't
a-goin' to do it all by his lone self!" And Jack heard Turley,
somewhere in his own boat, mutter: "Bust yourself, old Artichokes, but
we'll be there first!"
It was a race between them. The other boats were some distance astern,
for two, being without oars, were being towed by the remaining two. In
the two foremost boats the men were straining every nerve. They knew
that their lives depended on success, and scarcely needed the
encouraging words of Jack and the old bo'sun. They gained on the
Frenchman; the three boats dashed almost together under the cutter's
counter; then there was a tussle. Rising in the boats the crews shouted
and cheered and belabored their opponents, Jack's men plying
rolling-pins, gridirons, soup-ladles, frying-pans, shovels,
candlesticks, with a hearty vigor that made them more formidable weapons
than the Frenchmen's cutlasses. In half a minute the Frenchmen,
outnumbered and outfought, were hurled neck and crop out of their boats,
and the English sailors were swarming up the side of the cutter. In the
short fight the cutter's crew had been unable to help their comrades; it
was such a rough and tumble that they would as likely have hit a friend
as a foe. But they gathered for a desperate resistance when the
Englishmen poured on to the deck. Jack and his party boarded aft;
Babbage's men forward; but neither made easy progress, for the Frenchmen
fought like tigers, rallying twice after momentary set-backs, and taking
advantage of their superior numbers to press forward in the attempts to
drive the boarders into the sea. The melee was at its fiercest when the
arrival of the other boats turned the scale. Cheering British tars
beset the gallant Frenchmen on all sides; man after man of the defenders
fell, and in two minutes from the time when the last boat's crew
boarded, the cutter was once more in English hands.
"Secure the Frenchmen!" shouted Jack, when the enemy surrendered and
cried for quarter. He himself rushed aft and cut the cable; and while
Turley and some others were collecting the Frenchmen's weapons and
escorting their prisoners below, a score of willing hands had run up the
mainsail, jib and foresail. Grazing the side of the fishing smack to
leeward as she gathered way, the _Fury_ moved out to sea. As she
emerged from the shelter of the brig a round shot from one of the sloops
struck her full amidships, and the other sloop was seen making sail in
pursuit.
"Any damage done?" sang out Jack.
"Not a farden's worth, sir," replied Turley. "Well above water-line."
"Here's another! Look out!" shouted Babbage.
But the second shot whizzed harmlessly by; then the sloops and other
vessels faded from sight; and the buoyant little cutter began to
courtesy to the waves of the Channel, showing white-crested in the
gloom.
*CHAPTER XII*
*THE CAPTURE OF THE *_*GLORIEUSE*_
For some time Jack was too busy in navigating the vessel, too anxiously
looking out for pursuers, to take stock of the situation on board the
_Fury_. But as soon as he felt that he was fairly safe, he went round
the cutter to inquire. One of his men and five Frenchmen had been
killed in the boarding operations. These were at once committed to the
deep, for with a crew of nearly seventy, and twenty prisoners, there was
already too little room on board. Many had been wounded on both sides;
and Jack found that his men had the more serious, though not the most
numerous, wounds; for while they had been pinked and slashed with
cutlasses, the Frenchmen had received only bad bruises from the unusual
weapons wielded by their opponents. Several of the men who had served in
the sick bay on English warships had already done their best--it was but
little in those days of ignorance and unskilful surgery--to attend to
the wounded.
The French crew had apparently consisted of about forty men; arms for
that number were discovered. Among the prisoners were the captain and
lieutenant, whom Jack at once sought out and invited to share the cabin
with himself. They were very crestfallen at their defeat; but when Jack,
mustering his best French (which was not very good), made his best bow
(which was charming), and said--"_Je vous restore, Messieurs, vos epees,
pour vous--vous--vous_--(Hang it! What's the French for 'show'?)--_pour
vous displayer mon admiration de votre brave--_. (Can't think of the
French for 'fight.')--_votre courage dans la bataille_"--when Jack came
to the end of this halting speech and smiled very unaffectedly, the
Frenchmen returned his smile and his bow, and the captain, as he
received his sword, said fervently:
"_Monsieur, je vous rends grace de votre noble conduite, qui est digne,
assurement, d'un honnete homme._"
Jack bowed and smiled again, wondering what he had done that was
specially "honest." Like many another Jack since then, he was too apt
to jump to conclusions.
He had never navigated the Channel, but he set the course of the cutter
by the compass, intending to run as straight as he could for Wynport.
Toward daybreak the wind shifted to the southeast and then to the
southwest, and to Jack's disappointment dropped to a light breeze
scarcely strong enough to disperse the thin fog that lay over the sea.
There seemed little hope of a quick passage to the English coast. Jack
was speculating on his chances of getting clear of the French shore when
he was startled by the cry:
"Sail on the weather-bow, sir."
Diving into the cabin, he snatched up a spyglass and eagerly scanned the
approaching vessel, which was coming up Channel, bringing a strong
breeze with her. She was showing no colors, but there was something
about her cut that made him feel a little uncomfortable. Turning to
Babbage, who stood by, he handed him the spy-glass, saying:
"French?"
"French she be, sir, leastways furrin, and a spanking brig."
Jack looked a little blue.
It was difficult to estimate distances in the haze, but the stranger
could scarcely be more than a mile away. Every now and again a gust of
wind lifted the fog, and if Jack attempted to put about the movement
would almost certainly be seen. Even if he could outsail the
approaching vessel before the wind, which was at least doubtful, her
bow-chasers would badly cripple him before he could run out of range.
"What chance have we of escaping, if she is French?" he said to Babbage,
who was standing by his side.
"Not a brass farden's worth, sir. She carries thirty guns at the least;
and if there is a man aboard that can shoot, she can hull us easy as
winking without changing her course."
"That's bad, then."
"And worse to foller, sir, as brother Sol used to say."
Jack mentally anathematized brother Sol, who must have been a very Job's
comforter. The outlook was black enough. Visions of a French prison
again rose before him--if indeed prison should be his lot, for the
French, if they captured him, might deal summarily with him in revenge
for the men they had lost.
Babbage sat down on the deck and began to sharpen his cutlass.
"A nice little bit of arm-work coming, sir," he said cheerfully. "In
course we'll fight 'em?"
Jack shook his head.
"That's the last thing I should think of doing--at present."
"Well, sir, she's coming on at a spanking rate, and if we're going to
run, the sooner the better--meaning no offense, sir."
"We must either keep her closer to the wind, and hope to pass without
notice, or put the helm up and run for it. We'd have a bare chance of
outsailing her then."
"Yes, sir, and she'd give us her broadside fust and foller it up with
her stern-chasers. She'd blow us out of the water, as sure as eggs is
eggs, when they bean't pickles."
Jack stood for a few moments, gloomily pondering this desperate case.
All at once his face brightened.
"I say, Babbage, we'll fight her."
"And God save the king, sir," replied the veteran, lifting his hat, and
then vigorously whetting his blade.
The course which had suggested itself to Jack was one that he would
scarcely have imagined in cold blood; but in the present crisis it
seemed to him preferable to either of the two he had before mentioned.
He had seventy men on board, thirty more than the cutter would have
carried in the ordinary way. Most of them were well armed; and, well as
British seamen always fought, they could be trusted in the present
circumstances to outdo themselves, for defeat meant utter destruction.
Could he lull the Frenchmen's suspicions for a few minutes? If he
could!--well, the chance of success was small, but the smallest was
better than none at all.
"Yes, by George! I'll do it!" he said to himself.
And he lost no time. He was astonished at the quickness with which his
mind worked in forming his plan. Orders came to his lips in short,
sharp sentences, and, thanks to the readiness of old Babbage and the
fine discipline of the seamen, they were carried out as promptly as
given.
A score of men went below, and in a few seconds returned to the deck,
looking like Frenchmen. They had stripped the outer garments from the
prisoners. Their weapons were completely conc
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