somewhere else, if made at all, and in the opposite direction. He wants
the cutter to cruise off Totley Point to-night after dark. His idea is
that if we stand away in the afternoon as if for Luscombe, we shall lead
the smugglers off the scent; then if we return after nightfall we shall
take 'em unawares. He'll have a strong force in hiding at Totley Point;
that's where he thinks the run will actually be made, right under his
nose. It would be like the villains. Only a year ago, just after he
came into this district, he got a similar letter, and the cargo was run
miles away."
"Well, sir, if he's been caught that way once, the smugglers will hardly
expect him to fall into the trap a second time."
"I'm not so sure about that. I don't fancy our friend Goodman has much
of a headpiece. If he is the simpleton I imagine he is, he will think
that the smugglers will take your view and expect him to be this time at
Binsey Cove. Therefore, he'll go to Totley. The question is, where will
the run be made?"
"Perhaps the light we saw last night may have something to do with it.
Don't you think, sir, it would be a good plan if I took a boat's crew
and watched the shore off Luscombe, leaving you with the rest of the men
in the _Fury_ to assist Mr. Goodman in case of need?"
"Not a bad idea, Hardy. We'll drop a boat some distance out at sea at
dusk; you can pull in with muffled oars if you come across anything
suspicious."
"The first thing, sir, will be to find out about the light we saw."
"Right. Find Babbage and get the crew together. We'll be off at once."
When the _Fury_ reached the position from which the light had been
observed it was at once seen that, unless Jack had been wrong in his
bearings, the signal had not been made from the village.
"It was more in the direction of Congleton's Hollow, sir," said Jack.
"We can't see the Hollow itself, but there's the Folly to the left; you
can just see it over the trees: a tower where an old hermit lived alone
with his broken heart. That would make an excellent signal station."
"You know it, eh?"
"Yes, sir. But it didn't look as if it was ever used now. The only
doorway is barricaded, and my young cousin told me it had been like that
ever since he could remember. He said the top was supposed to be
dangerous, and the place was boarded up after an accident that happened
ever so many years ago. There was no other way in; the youngster--an
inquisitive little chap--has tried more than once, and always failed."
"Humph! Is it worth trying again?"
"I'd be mighty glad to see, sir. But I couldn't do it in daylight. I
might be seen from the village. Yet I could hardly do much good at
night unless some one happened to be there at the time."
"Well, we can't risk discovery. We don't want to scare the signalers
away."
"Wouldn't it be best to land some distance down the coast one night, and
get to the Folly about daybreak? I'd have the place to myself then."
"Right. We'll bide our time. Meanwhile, there's this anonymous letter
to remember. I gave out at Wynport that we're going to run over to
Weymouth; perhaps that will put our smuggling friends at Luscombe off
the scent."
The _Fury_ kept away all day, returning to a point opposite Luscombe
after nightfall. Lieutenant Blake told off Babbage and Turley and eight
more of the men to accompany Jack, and, a boat being lowered and
provided with muffled oars, the little party set off, while the _Fury_
set a course for Totley Point, where Mr. Goodman had a posse of
preventive men on the watch.
It was more than an hour and a half's steady rowing to the shore, and
Jack was not at all sure where he would strike the beach. Thinking over
the likely places along the shore, he felt certain that the run would
probably be attempted at a spot not far east of the path up which he had
followed De Fronsac. He wished the smugglers to get there before him,
for if the vessel they expected had not yet arrived, they would be
keeping a good watch seaward, and his boat would run a great risk of
being discovered. But he had found out that Turley was born at Wynport
and knew the coast pretty well, having spent several years as a
fisherman in the neighborhood, so that he was likely to recognize any
landmarks as soon as they came in view.
It was a still night, and very dark. The oars made scarcely any noise
as the men pulled steadily in toward the shore. At last Turley declared
that he could just see the copse that crowned a chine leading down to
the beach, near the path that Jack had followed.
"You're sure, Turley?" asked Jack in a whisper.
"Sartin sure, sir."
"He've got cat's eyes, sir," murmured Babbage.
"We need them to-night," said Jack, peering anxiously into the darkness.
"Easy all, men."
He listened for sounds along the shore or from the sea. The breeze was
very slight; it had become less as the boat neared the shore; and if it
continued to die away there would soon be scarcely enough wind to carry
a vessel in.
"We're about half a mile off, I think, Turley?"
"Just so, sir," replied Turley.
Jack was about to give the order to pull in a little closer when the man
just in front of him, who was facing seaward like the other rowers,
raised one hand from his oar, and pointing to the right said in a
whisper:
"Sail on the larboard quarter, sir."
Glancing backward in the direction indicated, Jack could just
distinguish in the distance a black shape gliding slowly up. He felt
his heart jumping; the vessel had come so suddenly, so stealthily out of
the blackness. Could his boat be seen from its deck? It was so low on
the water that he hoped it might pass undetected. The men were
crouching over their oars; there was dead silence in the boat, the crew
scarcely daring to breathe. The dark shape came steadily on; it passed,
and faded again into the darkness. Allowing time for it to get nearly in
shore, Jack ordered the men to give way, and the boat again quickly
moved landward. He knew he was risking discovery, but hoped that the
attention of the watchers on shore would be directed on the larger
vessel, and altogether overlook the smaller.
The coast hereabouts was rocky, and the approach to the shore had to be
made with care. Jack heard low voices ahead; he guessed that the people
on shore were giving directions to those on the vessel.
"Channel's narrow, sir," whispered Turley, "but there's a good depth of
water at all states of the tide; 'tis nigh high tide now, and that there
craft'll be able to run almost on to the beach and save a good deal of
fetching and carrying."
"How far are we out now?"
"About a couple of cables' length, to my thinking, sir."
"Easy all, men. Cutlasses ready!"
Jack had already decided that it would be useless to attempt to land at
any point on either side and creep on the smugglers, for there would
certainly be watchers along the cliff. The attack, if made at all, must
be made direct from the sea. He feared that, when the men gave way for a
final dash in, the boat might strike a rock; but he could still see
dimly the chase ahead, and the tide being high, as Turley had said, he
resolved to take his chance of running aground. The boat had followed
quickly in the wake of the larger vessel; with a little luck a straight
dash might be quite successful, for where the smugglers' craft drew
feet, his own scarcely drew inches, and he was so much excited at the
prospect of his first encounter with the smugglers, that he was prepared
to run no little risk.
Suddenly there was the sound of a sail being run down, of tackle
creaking, of low voices. The smugglers worked quickly, he knew; the
vessel would scarcely have anchored or otherwise made fast before they
began to carry their cargo ashore. The moment was come. He caught his
breath for an instant; then, gripping the tiller ropes firmly, he said:
"Now, men, lay out--send her along!"
The sounds of the muffled oars were smothered in the noise from the
lugger and the men tramping on shore. So intent were the smugglers on
their work that they were unaware of what was upon them. The boat
dashed straight for the lugger, which had swung round so that her bow
was first met. There was a shock; then a loud shout; and as Jack's men
swarmed over on to the lugger's deck, they came face to face with a
small knot of men at the foremast, who had evidently hurriedly collected
to dispute the passage with the boarders.
Now shout answered shout. Barrels were dropped by the carriers and fell
with sharp thuds on the deck or with loud splashes into the water.
Cutlass clashed on cutlass. At the first alarm the men on shore came
dashing back to rejoin their comrades, springing across the long double
plank that formed the gangway, to a bold ledge of rock serving as a kind
of natural quay.
"Surrender, in the king's name!" shouted Jack, rushing forward.
He was answered by a vigorous French oath. Next moment the foremost of
the smugglers, singling out the young officer coming at the head of his
men, aimed a shrewd blow at him with a cutlass. It was so dark that
Jack could barely see the movement, but he just managed to swerve out of
the way; then, shortening his arm he lunged, and felt with no little
satisfaction that the weapon had got home.
At this moment he was almost carried off his feet by the vehemence of
his own men, who in a compact body were sweeping all before them. In the
rush and tumble Jack felt a heavy blow on his head and staggered, saving
his fall by clutching at a halyard and leaning half-stunned against the
mast.
To the din of shouting and blows was now added the shrill screech of the
bo'sun's whistle. Having cleared the deck aft of the mainmast, Babbage
and his men were making a dash for the gangway, upon which the smugglers
were crowding back toward the lugger. But Babbage's zeal had outrun his
discretion. Before he knew it his party was beset on all sides. French
and English cries were mingled in one furious babel. No firearms were
used; the sound of shots would carry far in the still night air, and
might bring support to the king's men from a distance. But cutlasses and
hangers were plied with vigor; the crew of the lugger, reinforced by the
men from shore, outnumbered Jack's party by four to one, and these had
much ado to defend themselves in their turn from the sturdy assaults of
their opponents.
With an effort Jack pulled himself together and pressed forward to lend
a hand. His men were being remorselessly driven back. Doggedly they
fought, yielding only inch by inch; but it was clear that they were
outmatched, and at length, by sheer weight of numbers, they were forced
over the bulwarks into the sea. Turley, who had all his wits about him,
contrived to cut the painter holding the boat to the lugger's side; and,
hardly aware how he came there, Jack found himself hanging to the side
of the boat, unable to do more than cling on for dear life. Two or three
men managed to scramble into the boat; they rowed it ashore. When it
beached, Jack and the men ran up across the shingle toward the cliffs.
In a few minutes they were joined by others of their party, all dripping
wet, and furious with rage at their defeat.
"'Tis all through old Turnip-tops," growled Turley. "The idea of his
losing his head that way!"
"Anybody seen him?" asked Jack, whose teeth were chattering; he had not
yet recovered from the blow on his head.
"Never a man, sir. But there's the lugger making sail. We've lost the
cargo and got nothing for our pains but broken heads and such like."
Jack saw the dim shape of the lugger disappearing seaward. In five
minutes every trace of the smugglers had vanished, except a broken keg
or two on the shingle, from which gusts of the odor of spirits reached
the men gathered in a knot above. By and by Babbage turned up,
declaring that if it hadn't been for Turley the attack would have been a
great success. Before long the party was complete, none having been
killed, though several had had a narrow escape from drowning. They had
been saved by the planks of the gangway, which the smugglers, in their
haste to escape, had allowed to fall into the water.
Jack wondered why the smugglers had fled when it would have been an easy
matter for them to overwhelm the king's men.
"Why, they were afeard, sir," said Babbage. "The noise was enough to
bring all Dorset upon 'em, and how did they know but that the
riding-officer was nigh, ready to come down on 'em? And so he ought to
ha' bin."
"Well, they've let us off easily," said Jack. "We'd better get our boat
afloat and hunt for the _Fury_."
"Ay, sir, and won't Mr. Blake be in a fury when he hears the tale! All
we've got is cuts, bruises, and a ducking!"
*CHAPTER VIII*
*CONGLETON'S FOLLY*
It was several hours before the boat fell in with the _Fury_. Jack and
the men were heartily glad when they saw the cutter's mast-head light.
They scrambled on board, and while the men had to stand a good deal of
rough chaff from their messmates, Jack's account of his failure was
received by Lieutenant Blake with a quizzical smile.
"Ah, my boy, we have to take the rough with the smooth," was all that
officer said. "I suppose you don't feel in very good trim for that
little expedition you proposed?"
"Indeed, sir, I'm ready for anything. I must change my things and have
the best supper the cook can give me; then you can put me on shore when
you please. I've got a bone to pick with those rascals."
Consequently, about half an hour before dawn, Jack was landed at a spot
about two miles east of Congleton's Folly. Lieutenant Blake arranged
that the boat should be in waiting for him three or four hours later
some two miles farther east, at a little cove which was fairly well
sheltered from observation.
"Keep your weather eye open," were the lieutenant's parting words.
Jack climbed the cliff and arrived at the Hollow just as dawn was
breaking. It was a misty morning; the shrubs and grass were thickly
besprinkled with frost; and he was glad he had taken the precaution to
wear a greatcoat of frieze, which kept him warm in spite of the nipping
air.
He came to the Folly, and took a more careful look at it than he had
done when he visited the spot with Arthur. It was a brick tower, about
sixty feet high, built somewhat like a lighthouse, but four-sided, not
rounded. The base was about twenty feet square; the tower tapered to
within a few feet of the top, where it broadened out so that it looked
not unlike a mushroom on a particularly long stalk.
On the side facing the sea was the doorway giving access, as Arthur had
told him, to a spiral staircase leading to the single chamber above.
This overhanging part was supported by stout oaken beams resting on the
brickwork of the central tower. On the inland side, in the floor of
this room, there was a trap-door opening inward; it was through this
that the late Congleton had been accustomed to hoist his provisions.
The summit of the room was crowned by a parapet, crenelated like the
walls of a fort.
The door, as Jack had already seen, was strongly barricaded. On the
inner face of the tower, less exposed than the others to the sea winds,
ivy had grown more than half-way up, and from this a number of sparrows
flew rustling out when Jack appeared.
He walked round and round examining the tower from every point of view.
What a strange man Congleton must have been to choose this lonely spot
in which to pass so many years of a solitary existence! Jack closely
inspected the doorway. The wood was worm-eaten, the heads of the iron
nails thick with rust, and the barricading had been so thoroughly done
that it would take a long time to free the entrance. It was quite clear
that no one had gone either in or out for many years. Yet, if the tower
had indeed been used for signaling, as he suspected, there must be a way
in. Where was it?
He might have thought he was mistaken but for the marks of many feet
around the base of the turret. The grass had recently been trampled
down, especially on the inland side. Could there be another entrance,
concealed by the ivy? He pulled the strong tendrils aside, and more
birds came twittering out; but there was no sign of a second door.
Somewhat perplexed, Jack raised his eyes and scanned the brickwork
above, which the ivy had not yet reached. There was the wooden
trap-door, let in the floor of the turret chamber, and a foot or two of
rusty chain hanging down.
"That must have been part of old Congleton's machinery for hoisting his
stores," thought Jack. "I wonder if the trap-door is fastened."
It was quite clear that it opened inward, for there was no sign of a
bolt outside. When the room was last used a bolt inside might have been
slipped. If not, the trap-door could be opened from below. But how
could it be reached? Only by a ladder, apparently. Was there a ladder
hidden somewhere among the trees? He saw no other means of gaining the
summit, for while the ivy was strong enough to bear his weight for a
good many feet up, the brickwork above was smooth, in spite of the
weathering it had undergone, and offered no grip for hands or feet.
"I must look for that ladder," he thought. But after spending at least
half an hour in searching the surrounding thicket he almost gave up the
problem in despair. There was no sign of a ladder, and he had searched
so carefully that one of the requisite length could not have escaped his
eyes, however well hidden. What could he do? He did not like the idea
of being beaten; especially as he had already failed once in his contest
with the smugglers. Just then there seemed nothing for it but to go
back to the boat, and perhaps bring a number of handy men from the
cutter to break open the doorway. But before doing that he would have
one more look.
He returned to the tower. The mist was clearing somewhat. Once more he
scanned each face of the tower in turn. And now he noticed, on the
inland side, what had escaped him before. On the brickwork between the
ivy and the chamber there were a number of small apertures dotted about,
forming a kind of pattern--a spiral. The holes could not have come by
accident, for they appeared to be at equal distances apart. He counted
ten on the bare portion of the brickwork, and, looking intently,
believed he caught sight of one more where the screen of ivy thinned
off.
His curiosity was now thoroughly awakened. What was the meaning of these
holes? Were there more, concealed beneath the ivy? He pulled the
strands of the plant aside, and with eye and hand examined the wall.
There were no more holes, but what was this? He grasped an iron staple
firmly imbedded in the brickwork; and three feet above, surely that was
another!
"Oho, my hearties!" he thought; "have I got you at last?"
Setting his foot on the lower staple he hoisted himself up, pulled aside
the ivy above his head, and found, as by this time he expected, still
another staple. Without more ado he began to climb, nimbly, eagerly,
until he had to stop, for he had come almost to the top of the ivy, and
there were no more staples! What was to be done now?
True, there were no more staples, but three feet above the last was the
lowest of the holes that had attracted his attention. He was able to
examine it. A circular hole, seemingly drilled with some care; he put
his finger in, but could not touch the end of it. And it appeared to be
bored at a downward angle with the face of the wall. He felt that he
must find out how long it was, though for the moment he did not see what
good the information would be to him. Descending quickly, he found a
long twig, and climbing up again, he inserted it into the hole. About a
foot of the twig went into the wall.
"The hole is made to receive a movable step, or I'm a Dutchman," he said
to himself. "It's long enough, and it's bored downward to prevent the
step from slipping out. A mighty clever notion! The holes must have
cost a deal of work, for the fellow who bored them must have been pretty
awkwardly placed. I wonder if they were made by old Congleton, or after
his time. Now what I want to know is, where are those steps?"
Once more he descended. The steps, wherever they were, were probably
made of iron, and there must be about a dozen of them. Where were they?
Were they carried backwards and forwards between the tower and the house
of the person who used them? That seemed hardly likely. It was much
more probable that they were hidden somewhere near at hand.
Jack hunted about the neighboring thickets. He might easily have
overlooked small objects when searching for the ladder. But after what
seemed a long time he still found no trace of them. Determined not to
give up his quest, he was wondering how best he could make steps for
himself when he caught sight of the summer-house, about two hundred
yards away, where he had found the wounded lace-peddler.
"That's the place to rummage!" he thought.
He hastened to the summer-house. There were two rooms. Part of the
roof had fallen in over one of them, and, encouraged by the marks of
muddy boots about the doorway, Jack decided to search there first. The
room was bare; he turned over the debris on the floor; nothing rewarded
his efforts. But there was the chimney, a wide square recess in the
wall; he would try that.
He almost shouted for joy when, far back in the opening, he came upon
the object of his quest--a pile of rusty iron implements that seemed
exactly suited for the purpose. They were stout rods about a foot long,
with a loop at the end that might serve either as a hand-grip or a step.
And the loop was at just such an angle with the rod as would correspond
with the apertures in the walls.
There were a dozen in all. Gathering them, no light weight, into his
arms, he returned to the tower, and with two of the rods climbed up by
the staples and tried one in the first hole. It fitted exactly. He
fixed the second, then descended for the others. Being a sailor he knew
how to avoid unnecessary expenditure of time; he slung the rest of the
fittings over his shoulder with his handkerchief, and carried them up
with him once for all.
By their aid he mounted to the top of the tower, and found himself just
below the trap-door. But it was not quite within reach. There was the
hanging chain, however, coming through a hole in the floor; would that
stand a tug? He made the attempt, intending to hoist himself up with
one hand, and push with the other against the trap-door. But he found
that when he exerted a little force the chain moved; it seemed hardly
safe to trust to it. He was about to let it go when he noticed that the
trap-door seemed to have risen slightly. Again he pulled at the chain,
using more force. It gave to his tug, and as it descended he saw the
trap-door open slowly upward. The chain at length stuck; the door was
wide open, and a rough rope-ladder was hanging some ten feet below the
hole.
Jack found that if he eased the pressure on the chain the trap-door
tended to fall back. It was a simple matter to prevent this, for, just
at his hand, there was a staple to which the chain could be hooked; it
was evidently intended for that purpose. To swing himself on to the
ladder was the simplest of feats, and in half a minute he had climbed
through the open trap and stood in the turret.
"A fine old musty smell, that's what first struck me," he said
afterward. "The dust of ages; cobwebs galore. Only one window, looking
seaward, and that shut fast. 'Twas stifling to a fellow used to the
fresh air. There was a ramshackle old bedstead in one corner; a
four-poster, with a canopy and crimson hangings; at least, they had been
crimson; the dust was so thick on 'em that I couldn't see what the color
was till I'd rubbed a bit of it off. That was where the old eccentric
breathed his last, I suppose; and no one thought it worth carting away.
In the middle of the room was a deal table and a chair with a broken
back; not another stick of furniture.
"But in the corner near the window I saw something that told a tale--a
pile of kegs, almost reaching to the low roof. 'Empty or full?' thought
I. I lifted one; it was full. I knew they weren't old Congleton's
property, or they'd have disappeared with the rest of his furniture. How
did I know he had any? Why, because I noticed nails on the wall, where
pictures had hung, and a clean patch on one of the walls--cleaner than
the rest, that is--where a bureau or something of the sort had stood.
Besides, no man who'd have a mahogany bedstead and hangings that once
were splendid would have been likely to be satisfied with a deal table
and a common rickety chair. They were the kind of things you'd expect
in a plowman's or a fisherman's kitchen.
"At any rate, I saw that somebody had used the room since Congleton
departed this life, for there were some crumbs on the table, and a
chipped tumbler that smelt uncommonly like the kegs. Ghosts don't eat
bread and cheese and drink spirits! And there was a coil of rope under
the table, and by the window a cheap sort of curtain that just fitted.
I held it up to see; right in the middle of it was a round hole. And
when I came to look at the bed I saw that the mattress had a big dent in
it, and no dust on it. Somebody had had a nap there since old Congleton
died.
"Of course I saw all this in a very few seconds. Then I went on the
prowl. I pulled out the bedstead; by George! didn't it creak! I
thought the old thing would fall to pieces. Behind it was a cupboard,
and in the cupboard a large bull's-eye lantern, and a long cylinder of
cardboard about eighteen inches long. 'What's that for?' I thought. It
didn't strike me at the moment, but I took the things out and put them
on the table. The lamp leaked a little; I found I'd got some spots of
oil on my breeches.
"When I put them on the table I noticed something I'd missed before. In
the middle was a sort of pattern in red chalk--a circle with a tail to
it; and at the edge of the table two parallel strokes. They'd been done
some time, for the marks in the middle were almost hidden by oil stains.
Those stains puzzled me for a bit. I could have understood wine stains
better. But at last I tumbled to it. That was the place where the lamp
was put for the signaling. I set it down on the circular mark; it just
fitted. But I could not make out at first what the two straight strokes
at the edge were for. Then I caught sight of the roll of cardboard and
another idea struck me. I lifted it and stuck it on the bull's-eye; it
fitted like a glove; and when I turned the lantern so that the handle
was over the tail of the circle I found that the cylinder just reached
to the two marks.
"But that only puzzled me more than ever, for the lantern and cylinder
were now pointing straight at old Congleton's bed. Would you believe
it?--I didn't at first think of turning the table round! Of course it
wasn't a fixture, and when I did think of it I saw through the whole
scheme. Turned round, the lantern pointed through the window. The
cylinder was a clever notion. It would prevent the light from the
bull's-eye spreading, so that while it would be seen a good distance out
at sea, it wouldn't attract notice in the neighborhood, except that a
faint glow might be seen from below. But the Folly wasn't in sight from
the village, and there'd be precious few of the ordinary country folk
who'd care to be near the spot after dark. They'd be in mortal fear of
seeing old Congleton's ghost.
"I was still a little puzzled. What need was there to mark the place of
the lantern so exactly. Anywhere near the window the light would be
seen clearly enough out at sea. But now that I had moved the table I
noticed four red marks on the floor. 'Here's another discovery,' I
thought; 'there's a mark for each leg of the table.' I slewed it around
again, so that the legs stood on the marks. Then it flashed on me; if
the table was always in the same place, and the lantern always exactly
on the marks, the light would always hit the same point out at sea. 'A
very pretty scheme!' says I to myself. 'Good master smugglers have all
their wits about 'em.'
"It was clear as daylight now that the Folly was a signal-station, and
sometimes, as the kegs showed, a storehouse as well. Of course they
used old Congleton's machinery for hoisting the kegs. That coil of
rope, now! I pulled it over, and there, just underneath, was a
pulley--an iron bar fitted with a small grooved wheel, and resting at
each end on a wooden block; little grooves had been chiseled out to keep
the bar steady. And when I came to look at 'em I saw, as I might have
expected, that they'd been oiled not long before.
"By this time I'd found out all I wished to know. The only thing left
to be discovered was, who used the Folly? I made up my mind to get
Lieutenant Blake to let me bring some men to the place one night when we
saw the light, and catch the men in the act. But before I went away I
thought I'd go down the staircase and see if there was anything there.
I couldn't find a door, yet the staircase must lead direct into the
room; there was no other. I had another look at the cupboard, and found
after some trouble that half the back of it was movable--it was a
sliding panel. I pulled it aside; it moved quite easily; and I stepped
through--carefully, I can tell you, for it was pitch dark.
"I got on to the staircase, and went down gingerly, a step at a time.
It was wooden, and the stairs were pretty rotten; they creaked as I
moved, and I clung on to a rope that made a sort of hand-rail, afraid of
pitching head first to the bottom. It smelled very close, and I took
some time to go down, for the stairs were narrow, and as it was a
winding staircase they scarcely gave foothold except at the wall end.
At last I got to the bottom, and then I saw a glint or two of light
coming through chinks in the doorway.
"I had only just got there when I fancied I heard a rustling outside.
'Mercy me!' I thought; 'this isn't signaling time; but I hope no one is
coming for the kegs.' I scrambled up the staircase a good deal quicker
than I picked my way down, and crawled through the hole in the cupboard.
Then I nearly jumped out of my skin, for I saw a man sitting on the
rickety chair. It was Monsieur de Fronsac."
*CHAPTER IX*
*CLOSE QUARTERS*
"Ah, Monsieur Jack!" said De Fronsac, with his agreeable smile; "I see
you!" Jack laughed. It was only the Frenchman after all! His fear that
it might be a smuggler was groundless.
"Yes; I'm too black for a ghost; 'tis a confoundedly dirty place,
Monsieur. But how do you come here?"
"It is ver' simple, ver' simple indeed. I came out in de early morning,
to promenade myself, and to compose a new sonnet on de Monstair. Behold!
Vat do I see? De trap-door of dis tower is open; and, vat is
dis?--assuredly I see steps mounting up to de very sommit. I am
romantic, as you know, Monsieur; I love de bizarre. Can I venture
myself? Dat old Congleton--vat a strange, an eccentric! I vould like
to see de place vere he lived so solitaire. I climb; I have a little
fear; but I make de ascension; I arrive. Ho! Dis, den, is de place.
Vat a magnificent spot for to compose poesy! How beautiful de spectacle
over de blue, blue sea! Magnificent! Glorious! Old Congleton had a
genius, hein? But you, Monsieur Jack, how came you here?"
"The same way as you, Monsieur."
"Ah! remarkable! You do not compose poesy in de early morning! You, I
t'ink--and your good cousin t'inks--you sail on de blue, blue sea. De
steps, too; surely dey are new. Never have I observed dem before. It
is remarkable! Old Congleton--did he ascend de tower in dat manner? Or
perhaps de steps are your vork; you invent dem, Monsieur Jack?"
"No," said Jack shortly. He had never liked De Fronsac's smile.
"Den of whom? Who invent dem? Dey demand much care and skill; yes, and
industry. And for vat good to spend so much time? It vould be easier to
valk up de stairs--if de door is open, of course dat is understood. But
truly it is more romantic--it has more of de fun, as you English say, to
mount on de outside, on little steps, from hand to foot, vun may say.
Yes, and if in my youth I had not lived much among de sailors of my
little village, assuredly I should not have had de courage to make an
attempt so perilous. Ve sailors, indeed, have de firm leg, de fixed
eye."
De Fronsac's eye was certainly fixed--on Jack, who had an uncomfortable
feeling that the Frenchman was not only trying to find out from his
manner what he had discovered, but was talking to gain time. He was
resolving to cut the interview short, when De Fronsac, turning round
suddenly, appeared to catch sight for the first time of the kegs.
"Ah! Voila! Ve have it! Dose barrels Monsieur Jack--you see dem? Dey
are put dere vizout doubt by dese smogglairs. Ah! de rascals!
Certainly ve must tell your good cousin, Monsieur Bastable. He vill
know de means to take. He vill come, and take an inventaire. Certainly
dat is vat ve must do. You come viz me; ve both tell him; ve go at
vunce."
"Very well," said Jack. "We'll go down. Will you go first?"
"I t'ink better you."
"But I opened the trap-door. You won't know how to shut it. You go
first and I'll see that it is properly closed."
"Ver' vell. It is a good idea."
De Fronsac accordingly stepped on to the rope-ladder, and descended with
a rapidity that seemed to show he had indeed had no little experience
amongst seamen. Jack followed, closed the trap-door, and, as he went
down, threw the iron steps one by one to the ground, where the Frenchman
stood awaiting him.
"Now vat shall ve do viz dem?" asked De Fronsac, when Jack stood beside
him. "It vas you dat discovered dem, Monsieur Jack. It is to you to
decide vat ve do. It is right. You vill get great honor viz Monsieur
Bastable, and de Lor' Lieutenant, I t'ink you call de great man of de
county."
Jack did not wish to return the steps to their original hiding-place.
It would be better, he thought, to hide them among the bushes.
Accordingly with De Fronsac's assistance he carried them into the
thicket, and concealed them under a heap of dead leaves.
"Now ve go to de Grange?" said the Frenchman.
"Yes. We shall be rather early; Mr. Bastable will not be up yet."
He intended to keep De Fronsac in sight until he had an opportunity of
sending a messenger to the boat for a number of men to remove the kegs.
He did not feel sure that the Frenchman's visit to the tower was so
accidental as he declared; and a bird in the hand was worth two in the
bush.
They made their way through the undergrowth. With the frost the trees
had now lost nearly all their leaves, which thickly covered the grass.
Jack led the way, the Frenchman following a yard or two behind,
maintaining a running fire of small talk, to which Jack replied with an
occasional monosyllable. On the edge of the Hollow they entered a dense
copse; there was a sudden rustle, and half a dozen rough-clad men with
blackened faces sprang from behind the trees. Jack's hand flew to his
breast-pocket where he kept his pistol, but before he could draw it, De
Fronsac caught his arm, crying:
"Save me, Monsieur Jack, save me!"
In spite of his apparent alarm, his grasp was so firm that Jack was
quite unable to draw his weapon.
"Let me go!" he cried angrily, trying to shake himself free. But De
Fronsac clung to him still more desperately, repeating his cry "Save
me!" In another moment the men were upon him. Then at last the
Frenchman let go his hold, and Jack found himself in the grip of two
stalwart fishers. He struggled violently, but in vain, and in a few
seconds more he was lying on the ground securely gagged and bound.
Then his eyes were bandaged, he was blindfolded, lifted, and carried
rapidly for some distance. When he was set down and the bandage removed
from his eyes, he saw that he was in an underground chamber, dimly lit
through a barred grating in the roof. He tried to speak, but his words
were choked by the gag.
"Now you listen to me," said one of the men, whose voice he thought he
recognized. "'Taint no good shouting or struggling. We've got ye firm,
Mr. Hardy, king's officer though ye be. So long as you give us no
trouble you'll take no harm. I'm gwine to ease that there gag; but if
you shout, I'll clap it on again and keep it there. That's plain. Not
that it be any good shouting, for there's never a soul hereabout but the
men who'll guard ye."
Jack was not so foolish as to spend his strength and his breath
uselessly. He saw that he was helpless, and mentally vowed to be even
with De Fronsac at the first opportunity. Suspicious before, he now
felt certain that the Frenchman had deliberately trapped him, though he
was amazed to find that the poetical tutor was a smuggler.
He remained throughout the day in the under-ground room, guarded all the
time by one man, who sat by the grating and refused to be drawn into any
talk. He was given some bread and cheese, and spirits and water to
drink; and he spent the long hours in wondering what was to become of
him, and in relishing beforehand the punishment he meant to administer
to De Fronsac some day. To think of escape was vain; the men had
evidently brought him down by a ladder, which they had drawn up when
they left, closing and bolting the trap-door.
Who were they? Jack wondered. What was their real connection with De
Fronsac? What would they do with him? What would Babbage and the men
at the boat do when he did not return? What steps would Lieutenant
Blake take when he found, as he must soon do, that his midshipman was
missing? There was no doubt that the smugglers would promptly remove
the kegs and the signaling apparatus from the Folly, and they would have
plenty of time to get clear away before the boat's crew became
suspicious.
Late in the afternoon, as Jack guessed by the dimness of the light
through the grating, he heard voices above. A heavy object was dropped
on the floor; the trap-door was lifted, a ladder let down, and three men
descended into the room.
"You be coming along of us," said the man who had before addressed him.
"Look here, whoever you are--" Jack began; but he said no more, for the
gag was roughly thrust into his mouth, he was once more blindfolded, and
taken up the ladder. Then he was lifted from the floor and lowered into
what he judged to be a large empty water-butt.
"Double up your knees, Mr. Hardy," said the man. "You be going a little
journey."
There was no help for it. Jack feeling, as he afterward said, like a
trussed turkey, sat crouching in the butt. The top was hammered on.
Then the butt was lifted, carried a few steps, and hoisted on to a cart,
which rumbled away. Jack was more angry than alarmed; the men evidently
intended him no harm, or they would have knocked him on the head before
this; but a water-butt, even though holes have been bored in its sides
to let in air, is not the most comfortable of vehicles, and Jack was
beginning to feel cramped and bruised and half-stifled when the cart
stopped. The butt was lowered, not too gently; Jack was pretty well
shaken up. But his former experience was pleasant compared with his
sensations when the butt was rolled round and round on its lower edge,
as he had seen draymen rolling barrels of beer. His head fairly swam by
the time the teetotum movement ceased.
Then he heard voices again, and the creaking of tackle.
"I'm at the shore," he thought. "Surely they're not going to set me
afloat!" The idea of going adrift in a water-butt made him feel
seasick, till he remembered that it was impossible; the butt would fill
with water, and if they wished to drown him they would not have taken so
much trouble.
"Why, 'Zekiel," he heard a man say, "was your tub leaking?"
"A trifle, but we've bunged it up; 'tis all shipshape and seaworthy
now."
"'Tis mortal heavy, blamed if 'tisn't."
"Course it is; 'tis well-nigh full."
Two or three low chuckles followed this sentence. Then the butt was
rolled up what seemed to be a gradual incline, and dropped a foot or two
with a bump that set Jack's bones clashing.
"I'm on a boat," he thought, "this is a voyage of adventure. Wish to
goodness I could knock the top off this cage of mine and get a little
air."
As if in answer to his wish, a few minutes later, when he felt by the
motion that the boat was putting out to sea, the lid was knocked off,
the gag removed, and he drew a long breath of relief.
"I say, you men," he said, in a husky voice that sounded like that of a
stranger, "undo my eyes and hands, and let me out."
There was no answer. He remained in his cramped and uncomfortable
quarters for some hours, his repeated requests to be taken out passing
unheeded. He began to feel very low-spirited. His body ached all over;
his hands were still bound; and the butt was so narrow that he could
hardly shift his position by an inch. His chief feeling was no longer
rage against De Fronsac, but an intense longing to stretch himself. And
then, strange as it appeared to him, he began to feel sleepy.
He was wakened from a half-doze by a loud hail, answered by a fainter
one from a distance. A few seconds later he was released from the butt,
and lowered, still bound, over the side of the vessel into a smaller
boat. The boat did not go far; after a few strokes of the oars Jack
felt a slight bump; he was unceremoniously hoisted again; and when at
last his eyes and hands were unbound, and he had recovered the use of
his sight, he found himself on board a lugger, whose crew had the
swarthy faces and red caps of French fishermen. Greetings were
exchanged between the men of the two vessels; then the French lugger
made sail and stood out into mid-channel.
Jack was too much relieved at having recovered his freedom to mind where
he was going. For a time he had not even the curiosity to ask; it was
quite enough to breathe freely, and use his eyes and stretch his limbs.
But night was drawing on, and when a meager supper was brought to him he
asked in French for what port the vessel was making.
"No port, Monsieur," replied the man with a grin.
"Well, what place, then?"
"Where the captain commands, Monsieur."
"And where does the captain command? Speak out, man."
"Only the captain knows, Monsieur."
Jack gave it up. The man's answers were perfectly polite, but it was
evident he had received orders to tell nothing. Jack was taken below
and made fairly comfortable. When morning dawned and he was allowed to
go on deck there was no land in sight. But about midday a coast-line
came into view, and in the evening, after beating about for hours, a
strong land wind keeping the lugger off shore, the skipper managed to
run into a little cove beneath high cliffs. It was a wild part of the
Norman coast; there were no dwellings where the lugger ran ashore; and
Jack had to tramp for several miles among the Frenchmen, over a rough
road, before they arrived at a little fishing hamlet. Here he had to
share a pallet bed in the auberge with one of the fishermen, two others
occupying a similar bed at the other side of the room.
Jack and his bedfellow both found it difficult to sleep, and the
Frenchman proved more loquacious than any of the others. He could speak
no English save a few words, and his French was so broad a dialect that
Jack, who knew little French at the best, was often at a loss to
understand him. But he understood enough to learn that he had been kept
in an underground chamber near the Hollow until the time came when a
boat might put off, ostensibly for night fishing, really to convey the
prisoner to the French lugger, the whereabouts of which would be known
to the Luscombe smugglers. He had been carried on board the boat from
the cart openly at Luscombe quay.
"Whose boat was it?"
"It was to a man--Monsieur might know him--who calls himself Goujon."
"No, I don't know anybody of that name. Who is he?"
"He is Goujon; that is all."
"Is he a fisherman? What is he like?"
"I have never seen him, Monsieur. For myself, I have never put foot to
land in England. But the captain knows him; ah, yes! the captain knows
Goujon."
And Jack at last went to sleep, wondering who Goujon could be.
*CHAPTER X*
*A PRISONER OF FRANCE*
Next morning Jack was awakened early and told that he must march.
"Very happy," he said, "but where to?"
He had recovered his spirits. No misfortunes, no bufferings, can long
depress a healthy boy of sixteen. Consequently when he learned that he
was to tramp to Boulogne, more than fifty miles away, he received the
information with a smile. His chief thought was: "Perhaps I shall see
that Monstair, Boney himself!" The prospect of a fifty-mile walk in
keen, bright weather did not daunt him.
He was accompanied by the skipper of the lugger and several of the men.
Now that they were on French soil they had lost their reluctance to
talk, and before many miles had been covered Jack was chatting as freely
as his command of the language permitted, and laughing at the
misunderstandings that occurred on both sides. He learned one fact that
made him feel sorry. A few days before, Admiral Keith had exploded some
vessels among a hundred and fifty of the French praams at their
anchorage outside the pier at Boulogne. But this attempt to destroy the
flotilla had not succeeded, the vessels having been separated by
distances too wide for the explosion to have the destructive effect
intended. The French smugglers were much elated at Admiral Keith's
failure, and amused Jack by their confident assertion that before long
Bonaparte, or the Emperor Napoleon, as he was beginning to be called,
would make himself King of England.
Boulogne was reached at the end of the second day's march. Jack was
taken to a commissary of the forces. He did not learn till some time
afterward what story the skipper told. It was to the effect that his
lugger, while making for Boulogne from St. Malo, had been becalmed off
Barfleur, within sight of an English frigate which lay about two miles
astern. A boat had been sent from the frigate to capture the lugger.
Attempting to board, the English crew had been driven back with severe
loss, and this young officer, who had been foremost of the boarding
party, had been left in the Frenchmen's hands.
Whether the commissary believed the story Jack never knew. Certainly it
was acted upon. He was handed over to the keeper of the town prison, and
lodged in the cells below the old belfry tower. Next day, however, he
was removed and conveyed under a guard a few miles westward toward
Etaples. As he left the belfry with other prisoners amid an escort of
gendarmes, he saw riding up the hill towards Wimereux a group of
horsemen, led by a stout little soldier in brilliant uniform. The
gendarmes saluted; the little man gave a curt and careless
acknowledgment, and cantered on. It was Bonaparte himself, riding to
review the army he was collecting for the invasion of England. Jack
recognized him by his likeness to the caricatures he had seen at home.
"'Tis something to have seen the wonderful Boney!" he thought.
Not far from Etaples he was placed with a number of other prisoners, all
English seamen, in an old chateau about a mile from the sea. It had
evidently been at one time a pleasant country-house, but from its partly
dilapidated condition Jack inferred that it had suffered during the
revolutionary riots thirteen or fourteen years before. It was now used
as an overflow prison, the regular prisons of the town being filled.
The English prisoners in France always outnumbered the French prisoners
in England, owing to the greater enterprise of English seamen, which
often led them to attempt impossible feats and threw them into the power
of the enemy.
The prisoners were kept on the top floor of the chateau, several rooms
having been knocked into one. The windows were barred; there were two
stories beneath; outside, the walled park all round the house was
regularly patrolled by sentries; and there was a guard constantly at the
gate. The wall bordering the grounds was about nine feet high and
spiked at the top. These facts were at once noted by Jack, for the
instant he was shut up he began to think of escape; but the outlook was
not promising.
If he wished to escape at the first, his longing was intensified after a
few days of prison regime. There were about seventy prisoners
altogether, and twenty jailers. The treatment was not far short of
brutal. The prisoners had to sleep on coarse pallets of straw, the
stalks cut so short that they were like beds of spikes. The food
consisted of nothing but brown bread and more or less dirty water. One
and a half sous a day were allowed by the government to each prisoner
for the purchase of extra food--a miserably insufficient sum; yet, poor
as it was, it more often found its way into the pockets of the jailers
than into those of the prisoners. The rooms were never properly
cleaned, and the jailers thought nothing of bullying and assaulting
brutally any man who had the audacity to grumble.
Jack had the good luck to be spared some of the worst hardships. He was
allowed the use of a small room off the larger one--a kind of
antechamber, the partition of which was only half demolished where the
separate rooms had been knocked into one for the reception of the
prisoners. A door opened directly on the staircase; it was kept closed,
and it had a grating through which the sentry on duty could watch what
was going on.
The warders, drafted from two companies of infantry in the neighboring
town, were relieved daily. This was a precaution taken, no doubt, to
prevent them from getting tired of their job and relaxing in their
watchfulness. At all hours of the night the steady tramp of the
sentries round the house could be heard by wakeful prisoners above. And
many were wakeful, for their poor fare was ill calculated to encourage
sleep, and as the days passed they shivered with the cold. It did not
occur to the officer in command, a rough-tongued captain who had
apparently risen from the ranks, to provide a fire; and when one of the
prisoners ventured to ask for one, he got a snubbing.
Jack was the only officer among the captives. He learned afterward that
officers were often liberated on parole, but this was entirely in the
discretion of the district commandant, and Jack was unlucky in coming
into the hands of a bully. He tried to keep cheerful, but it was hard in
such depressing surroundings. The only pleasant part of the day was the
short interval allowed for exercise in the park. A space was roped off
within which the prisoners might run or walk; it was a considerable
distance from the wall, and sentries with loaded muskets stood on guard.
There was thus no chance of making a dash for liberty; but the
opportunity of stretching their legs in the open for twenty minutes was
a boon to men accustomed to the freedom of life on the sea.
Thus four months passed. Every day was like another. A little news
came to the prisoners at times through the jailers--how further attempts
to destroy the flotilla of praams at Boulogne had been defeated; how the
English had attacked in vain Fort Rouge at Calais Harbor; how Napoleon
had been at last crowned emperor by the pope in the church of Notre
Dame. But the news which Jack eagerly awaited, of a great victory won
by Admiral Nelson at sea, never came.
One day in February, when snow was falling, a new batch of prisoners was
brought in, to the disgust of the others, for the room was already
overcrowded. But Jack was pleased and vexed at once to see that the new
arrivals were no other than Babbage, Turley, and a dozen more from the
_Fury_.
"Well! I never did see!" ejaculated the bo'sun, when Jack hailed him.
"Bless my eyes, sir, but I thought as you was gone to glory--leastways
to Davy Jones, and so did we all. How did you go for to come to this
here dirty old hulk of a French prison, sir?"
Jack told the whole story.
"What happened to you and the boat?" he asked.
"Why, sir, we waited for you three hours or more, as we was bid, and
when you didn't come back, I said as how we ought to go up along and
find you."
"No, you didn't!" interrupted Turley; "that was me. You said our orders
was to wait for Mr. Hardy three hours, and the three hours being up,
'twas our dooty to go back and tell Mr. Blake. There, then, old
Sparrow-grass!"
Evidently Turley supposed that on French ground the claims of discipline
might be ignored. But he was mistaken.
"What do you mean by Sparrow-grass?" demanded Jack as sternly as he
could.
"Well, sir, I know that his rightful name is Ben Babbage, but among
ourselves, sir, when we thinks of it, we calls him Turnip--"
"That'll do, Turley. You'll call Mr. Babbage by his right name, here
and anywhere else; remember that. Go on, Babbage."
"Well, sir, as I was saying, I said as how we ought to go up along and
find you. So go we did; but though we spent a couple of hours
a-prowling round that there tower, and about the village, and went up to
the Grange and all, never a word did we hear of you. So we had to give
it up, and we went back and reported you missing to Mr. Blake. He put
in at Luscombe himself, and raised a deal of dust, sir, but 'twas no
good. So he reported you to the admiral at Portsmouth as missing, and
we got another officer in your place, a slack-twisted young--beg pardon,
sir, I was a-going to do what Turley done, sir, call names; but I
won't--leastways, not in your hearing, sir."
"And how did you become prisoners, too?"
"Why, sir, a Mounseer's sloop set on us t'other day when we was running
before a stiff gale. The poor little _Fury's_ topmast was carried away
and the mainmast sprung. The sloop hugged us till the wind dropped;
then she came up alongside and boarded. She had three times our number,
and they must have bred different Frenchmen in the days when one
Englishman was equal to three; we did our best, as you may believe; she
lost half her men, but the other half was still double what was left of
us, so we had to haul down our colors, in a manner of speaking. Mr.
Blake and the new midshipman have been marched off, I did hear, to a
place called Verdun; here's the rest of us, what was left, and if you'll
look out of the window, you'll see the poor little _Fury_ lying off the
quay there. I s'pose they'll patch her up and call her by a new name,
and that's enough to make any Englishman's blood boil, it is."
Jack was angry as Babbage at the success of the sloop in capturing the
cutter. But he felt somewhat cheered at the sight of the faces of his
messmates; and their presence, strangely enough, set him again thinking
of escape. Babbage was a seasoned and knowing old salt, and Jack
resolved to have a long and private talk with him at the first
opportunity.
But though in the course of a week they had many such talks--in the park
while exercising, in the little antechamber at dead of night--they
almost despaired of hitting upon any likely plan of regaining their
liberty. There was no chance of silencing the sentries at the head of
the staircase; any attempt to break open the door would at once be heard
outside, and the whole force of warders, all soldiers, would be on the
alert. The bars across the windows might indeed be loosened or forcibly
wrenched out, and the bedclothes--if the material of which they were
made was not too poor--might be torn up and knotted to form a rope; but
a small light was kept burning in the room all night, and any work at
the windows would certainly be seen by the sentries at the door and by
the men patrolling outside.
"Ah now! if only brother Sol was here!" sighed Babbage one evening, when
Jack and he had been talking over every plan that suggested itself,
possible and impossible.
"What could he do?" asked Jack.
"'Twas a saying of his, sir, 'Nary a way in but a way out,' though I
said to him, 'What about a mouse-trap?' Ah, brother Sol 'ud see the way
out of this here trap if any man could."
"Well, I wish this brother Sol of yours would get himself captured and
come here. Where is he?"
"I don't know, sir; I haven't seed him for four and twenty year. But
well I mind the last thing he said to me when he went away. 'Ben,' says
he, 'God bless you!' I never forgot them feeling words, sir."
"I suppose not. As he isn't here we must do without him. We _must_ get
out somehow, Babbage. I, for one, am not going to rot in France for
half a dozen years. Is there anything we haven't thought of?"
Babbage pursed his lips and pondered.
"We've thought of everything from window to ground," he said presently.
"The only thing we haven't thought of is the roof, and we want to go
down, not up--leastways, not yet."
"I don't know. What about the chimney?"
"No good, sir. Haven't I seed the sergeant of the guard poke his nose
up every day to see if the bars are safe? They're just fixed so that no
nat'ral man's head could pass between. Must ha' bin done a purpose."
"Does the sergeant examine them carefully?"
"No, sir; he just stoops down, and cocks his head around, and gives a
squint up, and many's the time I'd ha' liked to take advantage of the
sitivation to kick him, only I thought I'd better not. 'Kicks is poor
tricks,' too, as brother Sol used to say."
"Well, I'll come into your room to-night, and have a look at them.
Luckily the chimney is on the same side as the door; the sentry won't
see me. We might be able to loosen those bars and clear the chimney."
"And what then, sir?"
"I'd climb the roof and take a look round. Can't say more at present."
"Very good, sir."
In the small hours Jack crept quietly into the larger room and got into
the chimney unobserved. The bars were just above his head, and he very
soon decided that with a sufficiently hard implement he could loosen the
mortar about their ends. That was the doubtful matter. The knives
supplied to a few of the prisoners who were given meat for their dinner
were removed by the jailers after the meal, and all weapons had of
course been taken from the men before they were brought into the room.
But next morning Jack managed to force a long rusty nail out of one of
the planks of the floor of his room; it seemed to him stout and strong
enough for his purpose.
It was necessary to take the rest of the prisoners into his confidence.
He got Babbage to tell them what he had in view, and as they were all
Englishmen, with just as keen a longing for liberty as himself, there
was no fear of their betraying him. As soon as the jailers had
distributed the morning rations he slipped into the chimney. Half a
dozen of the men, gathered as if casually near the fireplace, screened
him from any one who might suddenly enter the room. He began to scrape
away the mortar at one end of each of the bars, working as quickly as he
could. Turley swept up with his hand the flakes of mortar that fell to
the floor. By the evening Jack had worked so well that one bar was
loosened sufficiently to be bent down when the time came. Then he got
some of the men to tear off scraps of their woolen shirts, and with
these he filled up the holes, so that even if the bar was tested by the
sergeant there was a good chance that it would hold well enough to
prevent discovery.
The scraping occupied him for two more days--one bar a day. By the time
he had finished he found that the nail which had served him so well was
worn to within half an inch of the head.
He determined to make an expedition up the chimney on that third
evening, if circumstances proved favorable. After the evening meal of
bread and water he got Ben to use his strength in bending down the bars.
Then he crawled through and began to ascend. It was a tight fit. The
chimney was narrow; but Jack, never stout, had grown thin on the prison
fare, and he wormed his way up by the aid of projecting bricks left for
the chimney-sweep; those were the days of chimney climbing. The flue
was not very dirty; evidently no fires had been lighted below for a long
time.
He reached the top without mishap. There was no chimney-pot. Looking
cautiously out, showing as little of his head as possible, he saw the
sea rippling far below in the distance, shining ruddy in the glow of the
setting sun. A strong easterly breeze was blowing. To the right lay
the harbor and town. To the left were two sloops and three or four
praams; alongside the nearest sloop a coasting brig; then two fishing
smacks. A cable's length from these lay the _Fury_, now apparently
refitted with new main- and topmasts, and eastward of her, a little
farther out, a lugger and another smack. Jack guessed that, besides the
_Fury_, only the sloops and the praams were likely to be armed with
cannon, though the lugger might carry a small gun.
The immediate surroundings of the chateau were out of sight, except to
his left, being screened by the parapet of the flat roof some feet away
from the chimney. Except at one point, where the roof of an outbuilding
rose nearly to the same elevation as the part where he was perched,
there was a sheer drop of fifteen feet from the top of the
chimney-stack.
It was a sloping roof, and Jack made up his mind to crawl down it until
he came to a chimney of the outbuilding, from which a thin spiral of
smoke was rising. But he waited until the dusk had deepened before he
thought it safe to emerge. Then he crept carefully down till he reached
the smoking chimney. The roof there was not quite as high as the other;
the drop was about five feet; and he guessed from the position that
below the chimney were the servants' quarters. Two other chimneys beyond
were smoking; these, he thought, must belong to the rooms occupied by
the guard. The other chimneys, from which no smoke was rising, could
only be reached by dropping some twelve feet and climbing an equal
distance; and to do that would involve the risk of being seen or heard.
Jack placed his hand on the side of the chimney from which a thin smoke
was coming. There was so little heat in the bricks that he guessed the
fire below had been allowed to die down. His guess was confirmed when
he put his hand in the air over the mouth of the chimney: it was
scarcely warm. He resolved to climb down and find out whither the
chimney led. Thin as it was, the smoke in the narrow space was rather
suffocating, and he felt a certain dread lest he should cough and betray
his presence. There seemed no end to the chimney, as step by step he
let himself down, moving with extreme caution to avoid making any sound
that could be heard below. As he approached the bottom he was relieved
to find that the heat did not perceptibly increase. The fire must be
almost dead. He was dislodging soot from the walls; would it be seen by
the persons in the room? Perhaps if they saw it they would think it due
to the strong wind. Perhaps there was nobody in the room. He heard no
voices, no sound of movement, though he saw there was a light. The
chimney was a good deal wider at the point he had reached, and he
wondered if it led to the kitchen.
Waiting a little to make sure that the room was unoccupied, he at length
ventured to slip down to the grate and peep into the room. It was empty
of people. A large table stood in the middle; kitchen utensils hung
from pegs on the walls; the door was ajar, and he now heard voices,
proceeding evidently from an adjoining room.
On the hearth was a long iron poker. "That may prove useful," he
thought; and leaping lightly down he seized it. A large chopper hung to
a nail at the side of the chimney. This also he secured. Then creeping
to the door, he peeped round from the level of the floor. Three men
were seated at a table enjoying their supper. This was apparently the
cook's room. The men were very much at their ease. A large fire of
logs threw a glow upon their faces; a bottle of wine had been emptied;
the smell of fried onions teased Jack's appetite. He listened to the
men's conversation.
"_Monsieur le capitaine_ will bring two guests to supper," said one.
"_Peste!_" growled a second, the fattest of all, by whom, as Jack now
saw, a cook's white cap lay, "he will keep us up late. _Monsieur le
capitaine_ is so particular. A supper fit for Bonaparte is not good
enough for him. The kitchen fire will have to be made up. Go and see
to it, Jules."
The man addressed scraped his plate and drank his wine before lazily
rising to do the cook's bidding. Jack flew back with the speed of a
hare, and before the man had pushed back his chair the adventurer was
several feet up the chimney, grasping his precious spoil, the poker and
the chopper.
*CHAPTER XI*
*A BREAK FOR FREEDOM*
"By Jove!" thought Jack with a chuckle as he scrambled out of the
chimney, "won't there be a rumpus when the cook misses his poker!
Luckily, he'll never think it has gone aloft!"
It was a very sooty object that descended, after pausing to make sure
that all was safe, into the prisoners' room. Jack was immediately
surrounded by a group of the _Fury's_ men, so eager to hear what had
happened that they raised their voices and provoked an angry reprimand
from the sentry at the door.
"Silence, you donkeys!" whispered Jack.
"Avast your jabber!" said Babbage, scowling upon Turley. "Me and Mr.
Hardy have got to lay the course for this little venture."
After this the men behaved more discreetly, and left Jack alone with
Babbage.
"Now, Babbage," said Jack, when he had finished his story, "we're going
to escape, and I'll tell you how."
"Not up the chimbley, sir? I'd squeeze myself as small as I could, but
I'm afeard I should stick fast and spoil the whole boiling."
"No, no; you're too fat for the chimney. You'll be left in charge till
you hear a hubbub below; then you're to break open the door and make a
dash for it at the head of the men."
"Why, I'll obey orders, sir; Ben Babbage always obeys orders; but,
begging your pardon, it beats me how I'm to break the door open with a
poker and a chopper--"
"Babbage, if you make any more difficulties you'll never see your
brother Sol, for here you'll stay. You shall have other tools by and
by. You understand, nothing is to be done until you hear the signal; it
will be loud enough, I promise you. I shall wait until the captain's
guests have gone. That will probably be late; so there'll be plenty of
time for us to make a rope. No, don't speak. I haven't done yet.
We'll tear up the coverlets--they're precious thin, but we haven't any
better--and twist up a rope long enough to reach from the top of the
chimney to the bottom: about fifty feet, I should think. Then I'll take
it with me and four or five of the men, Turley for one--
"Begging your pardon, sir--
"What?"
"Begging your pardon, sir,--not Turley, but me."
"Oh, very well! You're too fat for the chimney at present, as you owned
yourself, but we could get something off you with the chopper."
Babbage grinned sheepishly, and made no further suggestions.
Several hours later, Jack, at the window, heard loud voices and laughter
in the courtyard below. The captain's guests were evidently departing.
Allowing an hour to pass, sufficient, he thought, for the captain and
the servants to have settled into their beauty sleep, he signed to his
four selected men, and led the way up the chimney, Turley carrying the
rope. They clambered across the roof and came to the kitchen chimney.
"Now, Turley," said Jack, "pay out the rope as I go down. By George!
'tis a good deal hotter than when I was here before."
He got down into the chimney, leaving the four men on the roof. It was
indeed very hot; the kitchen fire, made up for cooking the supper, had
evidently not yet died down. Fortunately there was little smoke; even
without it the air was so stifling that Jack was surprised that he
reached the bottom safely. He jumped when his feet touched the grate;
they were protected only by his stockings.
There was no light in the room, but the glow of the dying fire was
strong enough to show him that it was empty. He tiptoed to the three
doors. The back door was locked and bolted; the door of the cook's room
was closed but not locked, and he heard snores from within; the third
door, leading to the rest of the house, he supposed, was ajar, and a dim
light came through the opening.
A little more light was necessary. Not without a tremor, Jack ventured
to put on the embers one or two small chips of wood that were drying at
the side of the grate. They kindled, and lit the room with a dancing
flame, which Jack fervently hoped would not attract the attention of the
sentry outside. He had already seen that the shutters of the window
were closed; he trusted there was no chink to betray him.
The first thing was to get arms of some kind for his men. A poker and a
chopper he had already purloined, much to the mystification of the cook,
no doubt. Ah! there was a rolling-pin hanging by a loop from a nail in
the wall. Down it came; in a trice he tied it to the thin rope. Giving
this a gentle tug, he saw the rolling-pin disappear up the chimney.
Then he looked round quickly for more weapons. Yes; there was a cleaver,
a gridiron, a frying-pan.
"I must have them," he said to himself. By the time he had taken them
down from their nails, the rope was hanging once more within reach. One
by one they followed the rolling-pin. Another hunt on tiptoe round the
room yielded a brass candlestick, a braizing-pan, several dish-covers
which he rejected as being too clumsy to wield, a big soup-ladle, and a
couple of long carving-knives. There were saucepans in plenty, but too
big for his purpose. He had to be content with the ten articles he had
obtained--rude weapons, indeed, but likely to be formidable in the hands
of determined and desperate men. As the utensils of metal passed up the
chimney they clicked more than once on the wall, and Jack's heart beat
faster as he wondered if the sounds would be heard. But no doubt there
were mice and rats behind these old walls; blessed rats and mice!
After waiting a little to make sure that the cook and his assistants had
not been disturbed, he prepared to go farther afield. Creeping to the
door that stood ajar, he pushed it a little. It moved with a creak which
must surely, Jack thought, be heard all over the house. He waited
breathlessly; there was no sound. But he could not risk a continuous
creaking. Taking his courage in both hands he pushed the door quickly,
stopping it with a jerk. It made never a sound. Jack saw by the light
of a small lamp that it opened into a narrow passage, with a door at the
end. He crept along the wall. The farther door was not closed. He
peeped in.
"The _salle a manger_!" he thought. There was the table at which the
captain had entertained his guests.
To the left there was another passage at right angles to the first. A
narrow staircase led, he supposed, to the servants' rooms. A few steps
along the passage brought him to the entrance hall, from which sprang
the main staircase. He looked up. He was at the bottom of a deep well,
extending, it appeared, to the top of the mansion. He shrank back into
the shade of the huge post at the foot of the stairs; for if the
sentries outside the prisoners' room chanced to hear a movement below
and looked over, they would certainly see him.
Then he cast back, and came to the back staircase. The steps were of
stone; he might ascend without the danger of creaking; and he must see
whither these stairs led. He went up the steps in pitch darkness, and
found himself on a landing. Groping along the wall, he knew that he was
in a stone-flagged corridor. Ah! at the end there was a streak of
light. Tiptoeing along, he came to a door partly open. Dared he peep
round it? He paused for a few seconds.
"Hang it!" he said to himself, "I wish my heart wouldn't thump so!" He
listened: how these Frenchmen snored! Were they all asleep? He took a
step forward; then felt a sudden unreasoning fear, and stole back for
several yards. In a few seconds he had collected himself and returned to
the door.
Now he ventured to put his head into the room. A dozen men--he would
have said a score at the first moment--were asleep on rough settles
against the wall. They had their clothes on, as if in bivouac, ready
for action at a moment's notice. A smoky lamp hung from a bracket on
the wall. In the corner of the fireplace, where there was a faint glow,
were stacked the men's muskets. The key of the room was on the inside.
Having taken all this in at a glance, Jack carefully withdrew, returned
along the passage and down the stairs, and arrived once more at the
kitchen. Two sharp tugs at the rope brought Turley to his side; at
short intervals the other three appeared.
"All safe!" whispered Jack. "You've taken the things to Babbage,
Turley?"
"Ay, ay, sir."
"That's well. Now, Turley, that's the cook's room. You'll stay and
watch the door. If any one tries to break out, you'll know what to do.
You other men come with me."
He led them quietly along the passage and up the staircase. At the
landing he halted.
"The guards are in that room at the end of the corridor," he whispered.
"I'm going in to try and get their muskets. If I'm discovered, you
three make a rush and get hold of the muskets. Never mind about me.
You understand."
"Ay, ay, sir."
He crept stealthily into the room. The men's cartridge-belts lay in a
heap on the table. Taking care to make no noise, Jack lifted two or
three, one at a time, and handed them to his men. Then he approached the
pile of arms. With the gentlest of movements he released two of the
muskets, one with each hand, on opposite sides of the pile. Would the
balance be disturbed? No, all was safe. He passed the weapons out of
the room, and turned to remove a third and a fourth. But who had make
that click? It was one of the men outside. Jack looked anxiously at
the sleeping forms. Had any of them been awakened?
One of the Frenchmen turned, sat up, rubbed his eyes--and saw the
English prisoner!
"_Au voleur! au prisonnier! aux armes! Eveillez-vous, mes camarades!_"
He was so sleepy that he scarcely knew what he was saying; but his shout
roused his companions. As they turned, too heavy with sleep to have all
their wits about them, Jack's three men sprang in, and in a twinkling
seized the remaining muskets and rushed back into the passage. The
first Frenchman was now on his feet. Jack with a straight right-hander
sent him spinning over; then he dashed to the door, slipped the key out
of one side of the lock and into the other, and just as two of the other
men were lurching toward him, skipped outside, slammed the door, and
turned the key.
[Illustration: Jack, with a straight right-hander, sent him spinning
over]
"Now, men, after me!" he cried.
He raced along the corridor, conscious of a tremendous uproar in the
guard-room--cries, oaths, violent thumps and kicks on the door. Up the
stairs! There were the sentries at the top, startled out of their wits.
What was happening? Hubbub below, hubbub in the prisoners' room! The
prisoners were actually battering at the door! And with heavy
implements: where had they got them? Crash! There was a panel half
driven out. The amazed soldiers raised their muskets; they could at
least fire into the room. But at this moment they caught sight of Jack
and the sailors springing up the back staircase. Another crash on the
door! _O ciel_! They waited for no more, but with a yell turned their
backs and leaped down the main staircase, taking three stairs at a time.
"Ahoy there, Babbage; stand clear!" shouted Jack.
"Ay, ay, sir!" cried the bo'sun from within.
Putting to the lock the musket he carried, Jack fired. The lock was
burst; with a touch the door gave way; and a second later the prisoners
began to pour out.
"Steady, men!" cried Jack. "No crowding, or we'll get jammed and be
clapped under hatches again. Armed men in front."
They followed Jack down the same staircase by which he had come. As
they passed the locked door of the guard-room they heard the imprisoned
men making a furious assault upon it. But it was a piece of good oak;
they had no firearms to blow away the lock; and Jack knew that they
might hammer it for an hour without making much impression.
Down they go! Here they are at the kitchen. And there is Turley, a
saucepan in one hand, a huge dish-cover in the other, holding at bay the
fat cook and his two assistants, who are vainly attempting, with
ferocious cries, to get within his guard. When they see Jack enter the
room, and behind him a swarm of seamen, they wheel round and scurry like
hares into the farther apartment, the fat cook going last, squealing.
"No danger there!" said Jack. "There's no time to lose, men. Now for
the back door."
He ran to it, drew back the bolts, and throwing it wide dashed out into
the open. There was a blinding flash close by; the shot missed; and
with Turley and others hard on his heels Jack dashed straight in the
direction from which the shot had come. But the sentry who had fired
was already scampering away. A companion had joined him; together they
made for the wicket of the front gate; dashed through, and tried to
close it. But Turley was just in time to slip his saucepan in and hold
the gate open. The sentries waited no longer. They raced as fast as
their legs would carry them toward the town.
To overtake them was impossible. In a few minutes the two companies of
infantry would be on the track of the escaped prisoners. Was there time
to reach the harbor before they came up? Had the shots already roused
the officers of the vessels at anchor and caused them to despatch men
ashore? Jack could not wait even to wonder. On he went, calling to his
men to close up, straight along the road leading to the town. But to
pass through the streets to the harbor would be fatal. Within half a
mile of the town he halted.
"You, Mudge, and you, Folkard, cut off a quarter of a mile to port and
fire your muskets. Then run as hard as you can in our wake. Quick,
men!"
He hoped that the firing in that direction would mislead the enemy and
give the fugitives the few minutes' grace they needed for the next move
of his plan. When the two men had gone off to the left, he led the
party rapidly to the right, hoping to strike the harbor at its eastern
extremity.
As the fugitives, keeping perfect silence, stumbled in the darkness over
fields and across ditches toward the harbor, they heard loud shouts to
their left, followed by the roll of a drum. Clearly the alarm had been
raised, the soldiers were turning out. All now depended on whether the
direction of the escape was discovered within the next few minutes. If
not, Jack thought that he might reach the harbor with his band in time
to seize some boats before they were intercepted. He listened eagerly
for shots behind; they seemed long in coming, and the outskirts of the
village loomed up in the darkness ahead before the expected reports at
last struck his ear. Fervently he hoped that the sound would draw the
soldiers off in that direction.
He wished he could go faster, but many of the men were weak from the
effects of imprisonment and meager fare, and he had to accommodate his
pace to the slowest.
Making a fairly wide circuit, Jack steered for the extremity of the
harbor, where only a few fishermen's cottages intervened between him and
the waterside. Some fishers who had turned out of their dwellings on
hearing the alarm scurried down the rutty road with loud shouts. The
noise was bound to bring the soldiers to the spot within a few minutes.
Jack's heart was pumping at a great rate, but he did not lose his
coolness or his nerve. He must do something to check the soldiers, that
was plain. Sending twenty men to search the shore for boats, he posted
the nine armed with muskets under cover of the cottages with orders to
delay the soldiers at all costs. The rest of his men, some armed with
the spoil of the kitchen, others with bricks and stones snatched up on
the way, he placed behind the nine to support them.
A minute or two--horribly long they seemed to Jack--of anxious waiting;
then the two men who had fired the shots in the rear came panting up,
and from the direction of the harbor a messenger brought the good news
that six large boats had been found. Almost at the same moment the
clump-clump of heavy boots and sabots on the road was distinctly heard,
ever growing louder. If the runners proved to be soldiers it would be
impossible to escape without a fight. Jack would rather have been
allowed to embark in peace, but if there must be a fight--
"Well," he whispered to Babbage, "we'll show them what English Jack Tars
are made of."
He at once sent the unarmed men down to the water under guidance of the
messenger, bidding them get into the boats; then with the rest he
prepared to fight a rear-guard action.
The Frenchmen came on helter-skelter. Not one of them imagined that
they had any enemy more formidable than unarmed weaklings to deal with.
Jack waited until they were within twenty yards; even in the dim
starlight they could be seen distinctly enough. Then in a voice that
rang clearly he gave the word "Fire!" The eleven rifles flashed; there
were cries from the advancing Frenchmen; some of them, at any rate, must
have been hit at this point-blank range. The head of the column was in
confusion; men turned this way and that; they were apparently without
leadership.
While they halted and wavered another word of command was heard above
their cries and the sound of shuffling feet: "Charge!" The sailors
responded with a cheer; some thirty strong, they dashed forward as one
man; and in a few seconds the enemy were in full flight, struck by one
of those sudden panics to which even the best troops are liable in night
operations.
Jack also had his moment of alarm. Knowing the thoughtless impetuosity
of the British sailor, he feared lest, with the enemy on the run, his
men should forget everything else in the excitement of pursuit. But he
had them soon in hand again.
"Now to the boats!" he said, "and as quickly as you can."
He had no difficulty in finding them. One of the sloops had already
opened fire upon them; and the sound of oars in that direction showed
that a boat, perhaps more than one, had been lowered, no doubt to pull
in to the assistance of the soldiers. It was too dark for the fire of
the sloop to be effective; Jack heard one or two shots strike the harbor
wall.
Here were the boats, a few yards from the beach.
"Tumble in, men," said Jack.
In a few seconds all were aboard. Already Jack in the foremost boat was
steering for a black shape almost exactly ahead, which he believed to be
the _Fury_. Scarcely was his craft well under way before he heard oars
in that direction; the cutter also, it appeared, was sending a boat.
"So much the better!" thought Jack. "There'll be fewer men on deck to
repel boarders."
In less than a minute he saw the cutter's boat ahead; it was turning, as
if to regain the vessel--he wondered why.
"Give way, men!" he cried, and from the boat behind came Babbage's voice
urging his crew: "Pull, shipmates; pull, my hearties; Mr. Hardy ain't
a-goin' to do it all by his lone self!" And Jack heard Turley,
somewhere in his own boat, mutter: "Bust yourself, old Artichokes, but
we'll be there first!"
It was a race between them. The other boats were some distance astern,
for two, being without oars, were being towed by the remaining two. In
the two foremost boats the men were straining every nerve. They knew
that their lives depended on success, and scarcely needed the
encouraging words of Jack and the old bo'sun. They gained on the
Frenchman; the three boats dashed almost together under the cutter's
counter; then there was a tussle. Rising in the boats the crews shouted
and cheered and belabored their opponents, Jack's men plying
rolling-pins, gridirons, soup-ladles, frying-pans, shovels,
candlesticks, with a hearty vigor that made them more formidable weapons
than the Frenchmen's cutlasses. In half a minute the Frenchmen,
outnumbered and outfought, were hurled neck and crop out of their boats,
and the English sailors were swarming up the side of the cutter. In the
short fight the cutter's crew had been unable to help their comrades; it
was such a rough and tumble that they would as likely have hit a friend
as a foe. But they gathered for a desperate resistance when the
Englishmen poured on to the deck. Jack and his party boarded aft;
Babbage's men forward; but neither made easy progress, for the Frenchmen
fought like tigers, rallying twice after momentary set-backs, and taking
advantage of their superior numbers to press forward in the attempts to
drive the boarders into the sea. The melee was at its fiercest when the
arrival of the other boats turned the scale. Cheering British tars
beset the gallant Frenchmen on all sides; man after man of the defenders
fell, and in two minutes from the time when the last boat's crew
boarded, the cutter was once more in English hands.
"Secure the Frenchmen!" shouted Jack, when the enemy surrendered and
cried for quarter. He himself rushed aft and cut the cable; and while
Turley and some others were collecting the Frenchmen's weapons and
escorting their prisoners below, a score of willing hands had run up the
mainsail, jib and foresail. Grazing the side of the fishing smack to
leeward as she gathered way, the _Fury_ moved out to sea. As she
emerged from the shelter of the brig a round shot from one of the sloops
struck her full amidships, and the other sloop was seen making sail in
pursuit.
"Any damage done?" sang out Jack.
"Not a farden's worth, sir," replied Turley. "Well above water-line."
"Here's another! Look out!" shouted Babbage.
But the second shot whizzed harmlessly by; then the sloops and other
vessels faded from sight; and the buoyant little cutter began to
courtesy to the waves of the Channel, showing white-crested in the
gloom.
*CHAPTER XII*
*THE CAPTURE OF THE *_*GLORIEUSE*_
For some time Jack was too busy in navigating the vessel, too anxiously
looking out for pursuers, to take stock of the situation on board the
_Fury_. But as soon as he felt that he was fairly safe, he went round
the cutter to inquire. One of his men and five Frenchmen had been
killed in the boarding operations. These were at once committed to the
deep, for with a crew of nearly seventy, and twenty prisoners, there was
already too little room on board. Many had been wounded on both sides;
and Jack found that his men had the more serious, though not the most
numerous, wounds; for while they had been pinked and slashed with
cutlasses, the Frenchmen had received only bad bruises from the unusual
weapons wielded by their opponents. Several of the men who had served in
the sick bay on English warships had already done their best--it was but
little in those days of ignorance and unskilful surgery--to attend to
the wounded.
The French crew had apparently consisted of about forty men; arms for
that number were discovered. Among the prisoners were the captain and
lieutenant, whom Jack at once sought out and invited to share the cabin
with himself. They were very crestfallen at their defeat; but when Jack,
mustering his best French (which was not very good), made his best bow
(which was charming), and said--"_Je vous restore, Messieurs, vos epees,
pour vous--vous--vous_--(Hang it! What's the French for 'show'?)--_pour
vous displayer mon admiration de votre brave--_. (Can't think of the
French for 'fight.')--_votre courage dans la bataille_"--when Jack came
to the end of this halting speech and smiled very unaffectedly, the
Frenchmen returned his smile and his bow, and the captain, as he
received his sword, said fervently:
"_Monsieur, je vous rends grace de votre noble conduite, qui est digne,
assurement, d'un honnete homme._"
Jack bowed and smiled again, wondering what he had done that was
specially "honest." Like many another Jack since then, he was too apt
to jump to conclusions.
He had never navigated the Channel, but he set the course of the cutter
by the compass, intending to run as straight as he could for Wynport.
Toward daybreak the wind shifted to the southeast and then to the
southwest, and to Jack's disappointment dropped to a light breeze
scarcely strong enough to disperse the thin fog that lay over the sea.
There seemed little hope of a quick passage to the English coast. Jack
was speculating on his chances of getting clear of the French shore when
he was startled by the cry:
"Sail on the weather-bow, sir."
Diving into the cabin, he snatched up a spyglass and eagerly scanned the
approaching vessel, which was coming up Channel, bringing a strong
breeze with her. She was showing no colors, but there was something
about her cut that made him feel a little uncomfortable. Turning to
Babbage, who stood by, he handed him the spy-glass, saying:
"French?"
"French she be, sir, leastways furrin, and a spanking brig."
Jack looked a little blue.
It was difficult to estimate distances in the haze, but the stranger
could scarcely be more than a mile away. Every now and again a gust of
wind lifted the fog, and if Jack attempted to put about the movement
would almost certainly be seen. Even if he could outsail the
approaching vessel before the wind, which was at least doubtful, her
bow-chasers would badly cripple him before he could run out of range.
"What chance have we of escaping, if she is French?" he said to Babbage,
who was standing by his side.
"Not a brass farden's worth, sir. She carries thirty guns at the least;
and if there is a man aboard that can shoot, she can hull us easy as
winking without changing her course."
"That's bad, then."
"And worse to foller, sir, as brother Sol used to say."
Jack mentally anathematized brother Sol, who must have been a very Job's
comforter. The outlook was black enough. Visions of a French prison
again rose before him--if indeed prison should be his lot, for the
French, if they captured him, might deal summarily with him in revenge
for the men they had lost.
Babbage sat down on the deck and began to sharpen his cutlass.
"A nice little bit of arm-work coming, sir," he said cheerfully. "In
course we'll fight 'em?"
Jack shook his head.
"That's the last thing I should think of doing--at present."
"Well, sir, she's coming on at a spanking rate, and if we're going to
run, the sooner the better--meaning no offense, sir."
"We must either keep her closer to the wind, and hope to pass without
notice, or put the helm up and run for it. We'd have a bare chance of
outsailing her then."
"Yes, sir, and she'd give us her broadside fust and foller it up with
her stern-chasers. She'd blow us out of the water, as sure as eggs is
eggs, when they bean't pickles."
Jack stood for a few moments, gloomily pondering this desperate case.
All at once his face brightened.
"I say, Babbage, we'll fight her."
"And God save the king, sir," replied the veteran, lifting his hat, and
then vigorously whetting his blade.
The course which had suggested itself to Jack was one that he would
scarcely have imagined in cold blood; but in the present crisis it
seemed to him preferable to either of the two he had before mentioned.
He had seventy men on board, thirty more than the cutter would have
carried in the ordinary way. Most of them were well armed; and, well as
British seamen always fought, they could be trusted in the present
circumstances to outdo themselves, for defeat meant utter destruction.
Could he lull the Frenchmen's suspicions for a few minutes? If he
could!--well, the chance of success was small, but the smallest was
better than none at all.
"Yes, by George! I'll do it!" he said to himself.
And he lost no time. He was astonished at the quickness with which his
mind worked in forming his plan. Orders came to his lips in short,
sharp sentences, and, thanks to the readiness of old Babbage and the
fine discipline of the seamen, they were carried out as promptly as
given.
A score of men went below, and in a few seconds returned to the deck,
looking like Frenchmen. They had stripped the outer garments from the
prisoners. Their weapons were completely concealed. Five men with
loaded muskets stood guard over the real Frenchmen, four held themselves
ready to board, with boat anchors as grapnels. The rest of the men,
equipped with all the available armament, concealed themselves below,
out of sight from the approaching vessel, but ready for action at a
moment's notice.
These preparations were still being made when the French flag was run up
on the brig. In response Jack hoisted the French colors found on board,
and, bringing the cutter a point or two closer into the wind, made as if
to hail the larger vessel. When only half a cable's length separated
them he shouted:
"Ho! Hola!"
There was an answering shout from the brig. So far, at any rate, no
suspicion had been aroused. Jack felt himself thrill with excitement
and suspense; everything depended on the result of the next move.
Turley was at the helm, his lips set, his eyes never leaving the
midshipman's face. Two or three seconds after the hail Jack gave the
word; Turley put the helm hard up, and the cutter, paying off from the
wind, ran alongside the brig to the manifest amazement of the Frenchmen,
the captain swearing with anger at what he supposed was rashness or
utter stupidity on the part of the cutter's commander.
Barely two yards now separated the vessels, the side of the brig seeming
to tower over the cutter. At a sign from Jack the men with the grapnels
leaped up, and cast them in at the open ports of the brig. The ropes
attached to them were instantly secured to stanchions on the cutter's
deck, and with a slight movement of the tiller Turley brought the two
hulls together.
Even before they touched, twenty men from the _Fury's_ deck were
clambering up the main chains of the brig, and forty more were swarming
from below in support. By this time the French captain had realized
that the commander of the cutter was neither stupid nor rash, but a
dare-devil of an Englishman. Those were Englishmen's cries that he
heard, mingling with the uproar made by his own men. Everything was in
confusion. Only the marines were armed. What French captain would have
dreamed of meeting a little English cutter so near his own coast? What
audacity, what unjustifiable impertinence, for so small a vessel to
engage a thirty-two gun brig, with a complement of probably two hundred
men! It was ridiculous, thought the captain, even as he gathered his
men for the fight.
He was taken by surprise, but what then? Snatching up any weapons that
came handy, the Frenchmen came pouring out of the hatchways and from all
quarters of the deck, and, forming a little knot, endeavored to stem the
rush of the boarders. They fought, as Frenchmen always fight, gallantly
and with fierce courage; but a boarding party of English seamen is not
easily checked.
Jack at the head of a dozen men had already driven a group of the enemy
from the fore deck into the foc's'le when, glancing aft, he saw that
Babbage and a small band were in desperate straits. Sword in one hand,
pistol in the other, the French captain was pressing them hard at the
head of twenty well-armed marines and three of his officers. The
remainder of Jack's party had scattered in pursuit of the enemy on the
lower deck; and a hand-to-hand fight was raging near the armory, from
which the watch below were hastily equipping themselves. It was
impossible for Jack to collect his men; yet if Babbage and his gallant
band were overcome all would be over.
"You four, watch the foc's'le!" he shouted. "Come on, you others!
Babbage ahoy!"
With a shout he dashed aft, a dozen men bellowing as they sprang after
him. Flash went a pistol; the clashing of cutlasses mingled with the
various cries of the men; and Jack, cleaving his way through the press
toward the old bo'sun's side, found himself face to face with the French
captain. He had but just time to parry a shrewd thrust of the
Frenchman's sword when a blow from a French sailor's pike, which must
have killed him outright had it not been partly diverted by Babbage,
fell obliquely upon his head with such force that he stumbled,
staggered, and dropped senseless to the deck. His last conscious moment
was filled with the din of fighting and the roar of his men.
"Mr. Babbage!"
"Wot?"
"I axe your pardon, true."
"Wot for?"
"For calling of you Artichokes, Sparrow-grass, Turnip-tops, and Cabbage.
Wi' young Mr. Hardy a-lying here with all his senses knocked out of him,
I couldn't abear to think as how I hurt your feelings, Mr. Babbage. I
axe your pardon."
"Granted, Turley, granted, and more to foller," said Babbage, holding
out a horny hand, which Turley grasped in one equally hard. Each man
looked at the other, so long that they did not perceive that Jack's eyes
were open, and that he was smiling.
"Oh, you solemn old donkeys!" he exclaimed. "You know you've been
friends at heart all along."
They looked sheepish, like boys detected in something unboyish.
"Ah, sir," said Babbage, "brother Sol used to say 'tis not actions wot
matter, 'tis feelings."
"Brother Sol was wrong, then. I shouldn't be feeling so dizzy but for
the action of some Frenchman who got a cut at me. What's happened,
Babbage?"
"The ship's ourn, sir, and we're making for Portsmouth."
"Hurray! Tell me about it!"
"Well, sir, arter you was down we got our monkeys up. 'Twas all over in
half a minute. Turley and Mudge and a dozen more went at 'em 'longside
o' me; we drove 'em back; Mudge tumbled the captain over, and the rest
hauled down their colors and cried for quarter. Then me and some more
jumped down the gangway and cleared the lower deck, where some mounseers
was scrambling round the arm-chest. Bless you! it didn't last long.
They did their best, to be sure, but we did better; and the end of it
was they all flung down their pikes and cutlasses and gave in. Then we
brought you down here into the captain's cabin; I put the ship about,
and cast off the _Fury_ with ten men in her; she's following in our wake
now, sir."
"Capital! And what of the prisoners?"
"Tied up, sir. There's a hundred and forty, sir, all told, and being
such a terrible lot more than us I couldn't leave 'em loose. They're
sitting on the lower deck, side by side, twenty of them slung on to one
rope, and for every twenty there's a man with a musket. They don't
understand plain English, sir, but they understand a loaded musket, and
every man of 'em knows that if he tries any tricks 'tis good-by."
"Well, I'm only sorry I was bowled over. You've done splendidly. How
long have I been here?"
"Somewheres about half an hour, sir. We couldn't do much for you, not
having no surgeon aboard; but we tied up your head as well as we could."
"Oh, I'm all right. Just a little dizzy. Help me on deck; the fresh
air will do me good."
He had lost a good deal of blood, and could scarcely have reached the
deck unassisted. The Englishmen gave a cheer when they saw their young
officer--a somewhat muffled cheer, for their mouths were full of the
food prepared for the Frenchmen's breakfast. It was so long since they
had had a square meal that they were making the most of their
opportunity, and the prisoners sat glum and hungry, watching the
disappearance of the soup intended for themselves.
"Find the cook and cast him loose," said Jack. "He can get something
ready for them. Let 'em eat, forty at a time. Where's the captain?"
"Getting over his temper for'ard, sir."
Jack found the captain, and learned from him that the vessel, named the
_Glorieuse_, had been cruising off Ushant, and three days before had
captured an English merchantman, which she had sent to Brest with a
prize crew. The _Glorieuse_ was bound for Boulogne, and the _Fury_ had
been taken for a French despatch-boat bringing orders.
By midday the _Glorieuse_ came within sight of Selsey Bill, and beating
up against a westerly breeze made a slow passage to Spithead. It was
almost dark before she ran into Portsmouth Harbor. Her signals had
already informed the port officers that she was a prize, and she had
hardly hove-to when a boat came alongside to make inquiries.
"I'll have to go and see the admiral and report," said Jack to Babbage.
"Probably I shall not be back to-night. We'll see about the prisoners
in the morning."
*CHAPTER XIII*
*OFF LUSCOMBE*
During the latter part of the voyage Jack had devoted a good deal of
thought to his future course of action. To report to the admiral would
be his first duty; when that was done he wished to wipe off a personal
score. He had been shipped off to France by the smugglers of Luscombe;
they had unquestionably been assisted by Monsieur de Fronsac; and,
remembering the name Goujon mentioned by the Frenchman, he felt pretty
sure that the boat in which he had been conveyed from the shore belonged
to the sufferer from the flutters, Mr. Nathaniel Gudgeon. It was not in
human nature that he should let slip his chance of having his tit for
tat.
And apart from his personal feelings, there were other reasons for this
determination. To put down smuggling was part of his duty as a king's
officer; it was no less his duty to suspect a Frenchman whom he found in
league with them. There was something mysterious in their connection
with De Fronsac, and something very unpleasant in the idea of De
Fronsac's sailing under false colors in the house of Squire Bastable.
It seemed to Jack that he would only be fulfilling a public duty, as
well as getting even with private enemies, if he probed the mystery and
laid the offenders by the heels.
But to do this it was very necessary that his return to England should
be kept secret. The Luscombe smugglers would, no doubt, have friends
spying for them in neighboring ports, and if he were seen they would be
on their guard, and De Fronsac would have time to get away. He was
glad, therefore, that it was dark when the _Glorieuse_ came to her
anchorage. It increased his chances of escaping notice in preparing to
take the smugglers by surprise.
Smartening himself up as well as he could, and removing as far as
possible the traces of his wound, he went ashore and made his way to
Admiral Horniman's lodgings in the Hard. He was admitted at once on
explaining his errand, and found himself in the presence of a big man
with rugged, weather-beaten face, fierce white eyebrows, and a wooden
arm. The admiral was alone, examining a chart with the aid of a tumbler
of toddy and a long pipe.
"Mr. Midshipman Hardy, sir," said the servant.
"Come in and shut that door," roared the admiral in a quarter-deck
bellow. "Dash my buttons! Do you want me to catch my death of cold!
Now what's this?"
"Come to report a prize, sir."
The admiral looked Jack up and down.
"You have come to report a prize, have you, sir? And what's your
superior officer about when he sends a youngster like you?"
"He's in a French prison, sir. I--"
"The deuce he is! How do you come to be in charge of a prize, eh?
What's your vessel?"
"The _Glorieuse_, sir!"
"Don't trifle, sir! I didn't ask you for French crack-jaw. Your own
vessel, sir?"
"The _Fury_, sir," Jack responded.
"What! Are there two Furies? The only _Fury_ I know was the cutter
that that fool Blake allowed to be captured. Didn't they tell me she
was carried into Boulogne?"
"Yes, sir, but we retook her."
"By George! I'm glad of it; a smart cutter, the fastest on the station.
And you took a craft called the _Glorieuse_ too, did you? What's your
vessel, and who's your captain, and why isn't he here?"
"If you please, sir--"
"Answer my question, sir--a plain question and a plain answer."
"My vessel's the _Fury_, sir," replied Jack, "and it was the _Fury_
captured the _Glorieuse_, a thirty-gun brig."
"What! that cockle-shell take a thirty-gun brig?"
"Yes, sir, we took her by surprise, and--"
"And who retook the _Fury_?"
"Some threescore English seamen, sir; I was in command, and--"
"You in command! Bless my soul, what are you talking about? What's
your name, sir?"
"Jack Hardy, sir."
"Why, why, didn't Lieutenant Blake report you as missing? Haven't I got
his report--somewhere, hang me if I know where. Where's Lieutenant
Blake? Why didn't he come and report all this himself?"
"I'm sorry to say he's a prisoner in France, sir. He was taken inland,
and--"
"Am I standing on my head or on my feet?" cried the peppery admiral.
"What's all this beating about the bush? Explain yourself, sir!"
"Why don't you give me a chance?" thought Jack; but Admiral Horniman's
impetuous manner was well known on the Portsmouth station; no finer
sailor ever served his Majesty; and those who knew him knew what a
sterling character underlay his rough exterior. He raised his glass now
and emptied it at a draft; and Jack took advantage of the action to
begin his story, using as few words as possible, and hurrying on when he
saw the admiral preparing to interrupt. Somewhat to his surprise, he
reached the end without misadventure.
"Bless my soul! And you mean to tell me, Mr. Hardy, that you captured
the _Glorieuse_ yourself?"
"No, sir; I was bowled over; but the men fought splendidly, and Ben
Babbage--"
"Turnip-tops! I know him! Brother Sol on the brain! but a good seaman.
Well, Mr. Hardy, you'll write all that down--plain, mind you, so that I
can read it, no finicking spidery scrawl for me, egad! Now run off and
get a sawbones to look at that wound of yours, and take a few days'
leave ashore. The sooner you're fit for duty the better. We'll take
charge of your prize."
"Thank you, sir. But about the leave--if you don't mind, I'd rather not
take it at present."
"What in thunder do you want to be at then?"
"You know what happened at Luscombe, sir--at Congleton's Folly?"
"Yes--no; hang me! I remember Blake reported something. He broke into
a tower, or something of that sort, and found nothing--wasn't that
it?--everything gone, lock, stock, and barrel."
"Yes, sir. I want to find out what is going on in Luscombe now. I
can't do it if the smugglers learn that I've come back. Of course
they're bound to know that the _Fury_ has been retaken and the
_Glorieuse_ brought in a prize; but if my name's kept out of it they
won't be on their guard; and if you would allow me a few days' absence,
I'd--"
"So you shall, by the Lord Harry!" cried the admiral, without waiting to
hear what. "And I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll keep the _Glorieuse_
and the _Fury_ in quarantine. Not a man from either of 'em shall come
ashore till you've reported to me. They'd blab if they did. And
there's blabbing enough. Egad! Several of our merchantmen have been
scooped up lately, and I'll keel-haul the villain who betrays 'em to the
French if I catch him. But what about your wound, eh? Won't that be
troublesome?"
"'Tis just a flesh wound, sir," replied Jack; "I shall be all right in a
couple of days. There's just one thing; may I have the _Fury_ if I find
I can use her?"
"Certainly, certainly, when you like; in fact, Blake being absent,
you'll be in command till my lords make another appointment."
Jack took his leave, very well pleased with the result of the interview.
He returned to the _Glorieuse_, waited until a lieutenant was sent by
the admiral to take charge of her, and then, with twenty-five men,
including Babbage and Turley, and stores hastily provided from the brig,
he sailed out of the harbor in the _Fury_. The admiral, he suspected,
would be somewhat amazed when he learned of the sudden departure; but,
having permission, Jack had resolved on his way back to set off at once
on his quest. The sooner the _Fury_ was out of sight the better; and by
sailing in the darkness she would be most likely to escape observation.
The wind was not very favorable. A fresh breeze was blowing from the
southwest, and it was a somewhat tedious beat down Channel to the point,
abreast of Luscombe, where he had seen the signal light from Congleton's
Folly. Had the signalers sufficiently regained confidence, he wondered,
to resume their midnight work?
"What do you think of it, Babbage?" he asked of the bo'sun, who was at
the tiller.
"Well, sir, I think of a saying of brother Sol's: 'When the cat's away,
the mice do play.' There be several cats in the case, sir. One, the
_Fury_--a good name for cat or cutter; two, Mr. Blake; three, you
yourself, sir; four, me and Turley, for, having made up our little
difference, we two make one; I've got the claws, he've got the
caterwaul. All these cats being away, those there mice will have a rare
randy. Why, that there tower was as empty as a blown egg-shell when we
drove in the door, and climbed to the top; and the smugglers will be
a-hugging theirselves that all's clear, and thinking they can go on with
their work without any danger of a visit from the preventives. Lor'
bless you, I were a mouse myself once."
"I agree with you. 'Tis six months since I disappeared, and they'll
have had all that time to recover from any fright we may have given
them. I wish the wind would change. I want to get opposite the tower
before morning."
"But you can't expect them to do the signaling every night, sir. No
smugglers ever I knew or heard of could be so spry as that would mean.
Belike we shan't see the light for a matter of days--nights, that is--or
weeks. Like as not they'll have their regular times and seasons, same
as the herrings."
"That's just why I'm so anxious to get there to-night. 'Tis Wednesday;
'twas on a Wednesday I first saw the light; for all we know Wednesday is
their regular day."
"There may be summat in that."
"And as we don't want to be discovered I'll have the tackle blocks
oiled, and tell the men to keep quiet."
"Specially Turley, sir; but there, I take that back, sir, or he'll be
a-calling of me Spring Onions again."
That night was so dark that Jack had some doubts whether he could hit
the exact spot from which the light was visible. But he ventured to
creep in toward the shore sufficiently near to descry the landmarks, and
having at length assured himself on that point, he ran out again, and
cruised about, keeping a keen lookout for the light.
Two hours passed. It was near midnight, and he had almost given up hope
of success when, to the southwest, he saw a gleam. At the moment the
_Fury_ was running up the Channel before the wind. The light evidently
came from a vessel. But it had disappeared--no; there it was again;
three times the same light was shown and extinguished.
"A signal, Babbage," said Jack. "Hope we shan't be seen."
"Better hold on our course, sir, then beat out. We've to get that there
craft atween us and the shore."
Jack acted on the bo'sun's suggestion. In a few minutes the same signal
was seen, this time full on the weather beam.
"They haven't answered her yet, sir," said Babbage, "and she won't sail
in much closer, 'cos if she do, she won't see the light from the Folly,
if so be 'tis that she's looking for."
"No. But I'm afraid she'll see us. She certainly will if we venture
too close. Yet if we make too wide a sweep round her she may do
whatever mischief she's about before we can make up on her. How far is
she out, Babbage?"
"About five mile, I should say, sir."
"Well, I'm going to risk it. We'll run out beyond her, and hit the
straight line between her and the Folly; we'll see then if any signaling
is going on."
As soon as he thought he had made sufficient offing, Jack brought the
_Fury_ closer to the wind and crept toward the line he had mentioned. He
no longer expected to see any signal from the vessel; the lantern would
be turned away from him. But he looked anxiously toward the shore.
Minute after minute passed, and yet he saw nothing. He began to fear
that either he had lost his bearings and crossed the line while
signaling had been going on between the tower and the vessel, or that
there was no one at the Folly, after all, and both he and the commander
of the other ship were to be disappointed.
Suddenly a light flashed out from shore, and remained gleaming brightly
and steadily. So strong was it that Jack felt not a little anxiety lest
it should show up the _Fury_ to the vessel now between her and the land.
But a moment's reflection reassured him. At this distance the light
could have no illuminating power; and if he could not see the strange
craft, it was not very likely that she could see him.
He was wondering what his next move had better be when the light
disappeared. But only for a moment. Then it shone out again. Again it
disappeared, and then for several seconds it alternately came and went,
with regular intervals of very brief duration between the flashes. At
last there was a longer interval; then the regular flashes began again.
"Heave to, Babbage!" cried Jack.
Springing down to the cabin, he returned in a few moments with a slip of
paper, a pencil, and a shaded lantern. By the light of the last, Jack
made a note. It would not have conveyed much or anything to an
onlooker. It began-- 17 -- 3 -- 18 -- 2 ---- 1 -- 17 -- 17 -- 3 -- 20
-- 2 ---- 16 ---- 11 ---- 15 -- 1 -- 20 -- 3 -- 17 -- 2 ... and this
succession of numbers and dashes grew until it completely filled the
paper. After he had written for nearly half an hour the light
disappeared altogether; he waited ten minutes on the chance of the
flashes being resumed; then folded the paper, put it in his pocket, and
ordered the men to crowd on all sail.
In a few seconds the _Fury_ was running before the wind in the direction
Jack thought the strange vessel might have taken. There was just a
chance that he might overhaul and capture her, for he guessed that she
was little if anything larger than the cutter, and in all likelihood the
same lugger which had escaped Lieutenant Blake months before. But
though he cruised about for a couple of hours he failed to find her.
"We'll give it up," he said at length to Babbage. "Now I want a little
time to work out a puzzle. We mustn't be seen from Luscombe or the
neighborhood, so we'll beat down Channel and make for Falmouth. That's
far enough away to be out of reach of the Luscombe men or their spies;
and I'll eat my boots if I haven't a pretty piece of news to report to
Admiral Horniman to-morrow."
*CHAPTER XIV*
*A DISCOVERY*
About nine o'clock the next morning the _Fury_ ran into Falmouth Harbor.
Sending a boat's crew ashore to get fresh provisions, Jack closeted
himself in the cabin, and, leaning his head on his hands, pored over the
paper on which he had made the strange jottings the night before.
The numbers represented the flashes which had followed at intervals of a
second; the short dashes represented intervals of five seconds, the long
dashes intervals of twenty seconds. What was the explanation? It was
clear that the signalers had a code; the flashes in some way spelt out
words, and Jack guessed from the long time the message had taken that
the words were spelt in full. How was he to set about finding out what
they were? He had never in his life read a cipher, and for some minutes
he was at a loss how to begin.
At last it struck him that the highest number he had written was 20.
There were twenty-six letters in the alphabet, and some of the letters,
such as Q, X, Z, were very seldom used. It was not unlikely that in a
comparatively short message they would not be used at all. Each letter
might be represented by a number. He wrote down the twenty-six letters
of the alphabet, placing a number under each, from 1 to 26. Then he
substituted the letters for the numbers on the paper, thus: