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.