On the afternoon of the second day after she left Labrador, the
Ninety-Nine came rippling near Isle of Fires, not sixty miles from her
destination, catching a fair wind on her quarter off the land. Tarboe
was in fine spirits, Joan was as full of songs as a canary, and
Bissonnette was as busy watching her as in keeping the nose of the
Ninety-Nine pointing for Cap de Gloire. Tarboe was giving the sail full
to the wind, and thinking how he would just be able to reach Angel Point
and get his treasure housed before mass in the morning.
Mass! How many times had he laughed as he sat in church and heard the
cure have his gentle fling at smuggling! To think that the hiding-place
for his liquor was the unused, almost unknown, cellar of that very
church, built a hundred years before as a refuge from the Indians, which
he had reached by digging a tunnel from the shore to its secret passage!
That was why the customs officers never found anything at Angel Point,
and that was why Tarboe much loved going to mass. He sometimes thought
he could catch the flavour of the brands as he leaned his forehead
on the seat before him. But this time he would go to mass with a fine
handful of those gold pieces in his pocket, just to keep him in a
commendable mood. He laughed out loud at the thought of doing so within
a stone’s throw of a fortune and nose-shot of fifty kegs of brandy.
As he did so, Bissonnette gave a little cry. They were coming on to
Cap de Gloire at the moment, and Tarboe and Joan, looking, saw a boat
standing off towards the mainland, as if waiting for them. Tarboe gave
a roar, and called to Joan to take the tiller. He snatched a glass and
levelled it.
“A Government tug!” he said, “and tete de Diable! there’s your tall
Lafarge among ‘em, Joan! I’d know him by his height miles off.”
Joan lost colour a trifle and then got courage. “Pshaw,” she said, “what
does he want?”
“Want? Want? He wants the Ninety-Nine and her cargo; but by the sun of
my soul, he’ll get her across the devil’s gridiron! See here, my girl,
this ain’t any sport with you aboard. Bissonnette and I could make a
stand for it alone, but what’s to become of you? I don’t want you mixed
up in the mess.”
The girl was eyeing the Government boat. “But I’m in it, and I can’t be
out of it, and I don’t want to be out now that I am in. Let me see the
glass.” She took it in one hand. “Yes, it must be M’sieu’ Lafarge,” she
said, frowning. “He might have stayed out of this.”
“When he’s got orders, he has to go,” answered her father; “but he must
look out, for a gun is a gun, and I don’t pick and choose. Besides, I’ve
no contraband this cruise, and I’ll let no one stick me up.”
“There are six or seven of them,” said Joan debatingly.
“Bring her up to the wind,” shouted Tarboe to Bissonnette. The mainsail
closed up several points, the Ninety-Nine slackened her pace and edged
in closer to the land. “Now, my girl,” said Tarboe, “this is how it
stands. If we fight, there’s someone sure to be hurt, and if I’m hurt,
where’ll you be?”
Bissonnette interposed. “We’ve got nothing contraband. The gold is
ours.”
“Trust that crew--but no!” cried Tarboe, with an oath. “The Government
would hold the rhino for possible owners, and then give it to a convent
or something. They shan’t put foot here. They’ve said war, and they’ll
get it. They’re signalling us to stop, and they’re bearing down. There
goes a shot!”
The girl had been watching the Government boat coolly. Now that it began
to bear on, she answered her father’s question.
“Captain,” she said, like a trusted mate, “we’ll bluff them.” Her
eyes flashed with the intelligence of war. “Here, quick, I’ll take the
tiller. They haven’t seen Bissonnette yet; he sits low. Call all hands
on deck--shout! Then, see: Loce will go down the middle hatch, get a
gun, come up with it on his shoulder, and move on to the fo’castle. Then
he’ll drop down the fo’castle hatch, get along to the middle hatch, and
come up again with the gun, now with his cap, now without it, now with
his coat, now without it. He’ll do that till we’ve got twenty or thirty
men on deck! They’ll think we’ve been laying for them, and they’ll not
come on--you see!”
Tarboe ripped out an oath. “It’s a great game,” he said, and a moment
afterwards, in response to his roars, Bissonnette came up the hatch with
his gun showing bravely; then again and again, now with his cap, now
without, now with his coat, now with none, anon with a tarpaulin over
his shoulders grotesquely. Meanwhile Tarboe trained his one solitary
little cannon on the enemy, roaring his men into place.
From the tug it seemed that a large and well-armed crew were ranging
behind the bulwarks of the Ninety-Nine. Mr. Martin, the inspector, saw
with alarm Bissonnette’s constantly appearing rifle.
“They’ve arranged a plant for us, Mr. Lafarge. What do you think we’d
better do?” he asked.
“Fight!” answered Lafarge laconically. He wished to put himself on
record, for he was the only one on board who saw through the ruse.
“But I’ve counted at least twenty men, all armed, and we’ve only five.”
“As you please, sir,” said Lafarge bluntly, angry at being tricked, but
inwardly glad to be free of the business, for he pictured to himself
that girl at the tiller--he had seen her as she went aft--in a police
court at Quebec. Yet his instinct for war and his sense of duty impelled
him to say: “Still, sir, fight!”
“No, no, Mr. Lafarge,” excitedly rejoined his chief. “I cannot risk it.
We must go back for more men and bring along a Gatling. Slow down!” he
called. Lafarge turned on his heel with an oath, and stood watching the
Ninety-Nine.
“She’ll laugh at me till I die!” he said to himself presently, as the
tug turned up stream and pointed for Quebec. “Well, I’m jiggered!” he
added, as a cannon shot came ringing over the water after them. He was
certain also that he heard loud laughter. No doubt he was right; for
as the tug hurried on, Tarboe ran to Joan, hugged her like a bear, and
roared till he ached. Then she paid out the sheet, they clapped on all
sail, and travelled in the track of the enemy.
Tarboe’s spirit was roused. He was not disposed to let his enemy off on
even such terms, so he now turned to Joan and said: “What say you to a
chase of the gentleman?”
Joan was in a mood for such a dare-devil adventure. For three people,
one of whom was a girl, to give chase to a well-manned, well-armed
Government boat was too good a relish to be missed. Then, too, it had
just occurred to her that a parley would be amusing, particularly if she
and Lafarge were the truce-bearers. So she said: “That is very good.”
“Suppose they should turn and fight?” suggested Bissonnette.
“That’s true--here’s m’am’selle,” agreed Tarboe. “But, see,” said Joan.
“If we chase them and call upon them to surrender--and after all, we can
prove that we had nothing contraband--what a splendid game it’ll be!”
Mischief flicked in her eyes.
“Good!” said Tarboe. “To-morrow I shall be a rich man, and then they’ll
not dare to come again.”
So saying, he gave the sail to the wind, and away the Ninety-Nine went
after the one ewe lamb of the Government.
Mr. Martin saw her coming, and gave word for all steam. It would be
a pretty game, for the wind was in Tarboe’s favour, and the general
advantage was not greatly with the tug. Mr. Martin was now anxious
indeed to get out of the way of the smuggler. Lafarge made one
restraining effort, then settled into an ironical mood. Yet a half-dozen
times he was inclined to blurt out to Martin what he believed was the
truth. A man, a boy, and a girl to bluff them that way! In his bones he
felt that it was the girl who was behind this thing. Of one matter he
was sure--they had no contraband stuff on board, or Tarboe would not
have brought his daughter along. He could not understand the attitude,
for Tarboe would scarcely have risked the thing out of mere bravado. Why
not call a truce? Perhaps he could solve the problem. They were keeping
a tolerably safe distance apart, and there was no great danger of the
Ninety-Nine overhauling them even if it so willed; but Mr. Martin did
not know that.
What he said to his chief had its effect, and soon there was a
white flag flying on the tug. It was at once answered with a white
handkerchief of Joan’s. Then the tug slowed up, the Ninety-Nine came on
gaily, and at a good distance came up to the wind, and stood off.
“What do you want?” asked Tarboe through his speaking-tube.
“A parley,” called Mr. Martin.
“Good; send an officer,” answered Tarboe.
A moment after, Lafarge was in a boat rowing over to meet another
boat rowed by Joan alone, who, dressed in a suit of Bissonnette’s, had
prevailed on her father to let her go.
The two boats nearing each other, Joan stood up, saluting, and Lafarge
did the same.
“Good-day, m’sieu’,” said Joan, with assumed brusqueness, mischief
lurking about her mouth. “What do you want?”
“Good-day, monsieur; I did not expect to confer with you.”
“M’sieu’,” said Joan, with well-acted dignity, “if you prefer to confer
with the captain or Mr. Bissonnette, whom I believe you know in the
matter of a pail, and--”
“No, no; pardon me, monsieur,” said Lafarge more eagerly than was good
for the play, “I am glad to confer with you, you will understand--you
will understand--” He paused.
“What will I understand?”
“You will understand that I understand!” Lafarge waved meaningly towards
the Ninety-Nine, but it had no effect at all. Joan would not give the
game over into his hands.
“That sounds like a charade or a puzzle game. We are gentlemen on a
serious errand, aren’t we?”
“Yes,” answered Lafarge, “perfect gentlemen on a perfectly serious
errand!”
“Very well, m’sieu’. Have you come to surrender?” The splendid impudence
of the thing stunned Lafarge, but he said: “I suppose one or the other
ought to surrender; and naturally,” he added with slow point, “it should
be the weaker.”
“Very well. Our captain is willing to consider conditions. You came down
on us to take us--a quiet craft sailing in free waters. You attack us
without cause. We summon all hands, and you run. We follow, you ask
for truce. It is granted. We are not hard--no. We only want our rights.
Admit them; we’ll make surrender easy, and the matter is over.”
Lafarge gasped. She was forcing his hand. She would not understand his
oblique suggestions. He saw only one way now, and that was to meet her,
boast for boast.
“I haven’t come to surrender,” he said, “but to demand.”
“M’sieu’,” Joan said grandly, “there’s nothing more to say. Carry word
to your captain that we’ll overhaul him by sundown, and sink him before
supper.”
Lafarge burst out laughing.
“Well, by the Lord, but you’re a swashbuckler, Joan--”
“M’sieu’--”
“Oh, nonsense! I tell you, nonsense! Let’s have over with this, my girl.
You’re the cleverest woman on the continent, but there’s a limit to
everything. Here, tell me now, and if you answer me straight I’ll say no
more.”
“M’sieu’, I am here to consider conditions, not to--” “Oh, for God’s
sake, Joan! Tell me now, have you got anything contraband on board?
There’ll be a nasty mess about the thing, for me and all of us, and why
can’t we compromise? I tell you honestly we’d have come on, if I hadn’t
seen you aboard.”
Joan turned her head back with a laugh. “My poor m’sieu’! You have such
bad luck. Contraband? Let me see? Liquors and wines and tobacco are
contraband. Is it not so?” Lafarge nodded.
“Is money--gold--contraband?”
“Money? No; of course not, and you know it. Why won’t you be sensible?
You’re getting me into a bad hole, and--”
“I want to see how you’ll come out. If you come out well--” She paused
quaintly.
“Yes, if I come out well--”
“If you come out very well, and we do not sink you before supper, I may
ask you to come and see me.”
“H’m! Is that all? After spoiling my reputation, I’m to be let come and
see you.”
“Isn’t that enough to start with? What has spoiled your reputation?”
“A man, a boy, and a slip of a girl.” He looked meaningly enough at her
now. She laughed. “See,” he added; “give me a chance. Let me search the
Ninety-Nine for contraband,--that’s all I’ve got to do with,--and then
I can keep quiet about the rest. If there’s no contraband, whatever else
there is, I’ll hold my tongue.”
“I’ve told you what there is.”
He did not understand. “Will you let me search?” Joan’s eyes flashed.
“Once and for all, no, Orvay Lafarge. I am the daughter of a man whom
you and your men would have killed or put in the dock. He’s been a
smuggler, and I know it. Who has he robbed? Not the poor, not the needy;
but a rich Government that robs also. Well, in the hour when he ceases
to be a smuggler for ever, armed men come to take him. Why didn’t they
do so before? Why so pious all at once? No; I am first the daughter of
my father, and afterwards--”
“And afterwards?”
“What to-morrow may bring forth.”
Lafarge became very serious. “I must go back. Mr. Martin is signalling,
and your father is calling. I do not understand, but you’re the one
woman in the world for my money, and I’m ready to stand by that and
leave the customs to-morrow if need be.”
Joan’s eyes blazed, her cheek was afire. “Leave it to-day. Leave it now.
Yes; that’s my one condition. If you want me, and you say you do, come
aboard the Ninety-Nine, and for to-day be one of us-to-morrow what you
will.”
“What I will? What I will, Joan? Do you mean it?”
“Yes. Pshaw! Your duty? Don’t I know how the Ministers and the officers
have done their duty at Quebec? It’s all nonsense. You must make your
choice once for all now.”
Lafarge stood a moment thinking. “Joan, I’ll do it. I’d go hunting in
hell at your bidding. But see. Everything’s changed. I couldn’t fight
against you, but I can fight for you. All must be open now. You’ve said
there’s no contraband. Well, I’ll tell Mr. Martin so, but I’ll tell him
also that you’ve only a crew of two--”
“Of three, now!”
“Of three! I will do my duty in that, then resign and come over to you,
if I can.”
“If you can? You mean that they may fire on you?”
“I can’t tell what they may do. But I must deal fair.”
Joan’s face was grave. “Very well, I will wait for you here.”
“They might hit you.”
“But no. They can’t hit a wall. Go on, my dear.” They saluted, and, as
Lafarge turned away, Joan said, with a little mocking laugh, “Tell him
that he must surrender, or we’ll sink him before supper.”
Lafarge nodded, and drew away quickly towards the tug. His interview
with Mr. Martin was brief, and he had tendered his resignation, though
it was disgracefully informal, and was over the side of the boat again
and rowing quickly away before his chief recovered his breath. Then Mr.
Martin got a large courage. He called on his men to fire when Lafarge
was about two hundred and fifty feet from the tug. The shots rattled
about him. He turned round coolly and called out, “Coward-we’ll sink you
before supper!”
A minute afterwards there came another shot, and an oar dropped from
his hand. But now Joan was rowing rapidly towards him, and presently was
alongside.
“Quick, jump inhere,” she said. He did so, and she rowed on quickly.
Tarboe did not understand, but now his blood was up, and as another
volley sent bullets dropping around the two he gave the Ninety-Nine to
the wind, and she came bearing down smartly to them. In a few moments
they were safely on board, and Joan explained. Tarboe grasped Lafarge’s
unmaimed hand,--the other Joan was caring for,--and swore that fighting
was the only thing left now.
Mr. Martin had said the same, but when he saw the Ninety-Nine
determined, menacing, and coming on, he became again uncertain, and
presently gave orders to make for the lighthouse on the opposite side of
the river. He could get over first, for the Ninety-Nine would not have
the wind so much in her favour, and there entrench himself; for even yet
Bissonnette amply multiplied was in his mind--Lafarge had not explained
that away. He was in the neighbourhood of some sunken rocks of which he
and his man at the wheel did not know accurately, and in making what he
thought was a clear channel he took a rock with great force, for they
were going full steam ahead. Then came confusion, and in getting out the
one boat it was swamped and a man nearly drowned. Meanwhile the tug was
fast sinking.
While they were throwing off their clothes, the Ninety-Nine came down,
and stood off. On one hand was the enemy, on the other the water, with
the shore half a mile distant.
“Do you surrender?” called out Tarboe.
“Can’t we come aboard without that?” feebly urged Mr. Martin.
“I’ll see you damned first, Mr. Martin. Come quick, or I’ll give you
what for.”
“We surrender,” answered the officer gently.
A few minutes later he and his men were on board, with their rifles
stacked in a corner at Bissonnette’s hand.
Then Tarboe brought the Ninety-Nine close to the wreck, and with his
little cannon put a ball into her. This was the finish. She shook her
nose, shivered, shot down like a duck, and was gone.
Mr. Martin was sad even to tears.
“Now, my beauties,” said Tarboe, “now that I’ve got you safe, I’ll show
you the kind of cargo I’ve got.” A moment afterwards he hoisted a keg on
deck. “Think that’s whisky?” he asked. “Lift it, Mr. Martin.” Mr. Martin
obeyed. “Shake it,” he added.
Mr. Martin did so. “Open it, Mr. Martin.” He held out a hatchet-hammer.
The next moment a mass of gold pieces yellowed to their eyes. Mr. Martin
fell back, breathing hard.
“Is that contraband, Mr. Martin?”
“Treasure-trove,” humbly answered the stricken officer.
“That’s it, and in a month, Mr. Martin, I’ll be asking the chief of your
department to dinner.”
Meanwhile Lafarge saw how near he had been to losing a wife and a
fortune. Arrived off Isle of Day; Tarboe told Mr. Martin and his men
that if they said “treasure-trove” till they left the island their live
would not be worth “a tinker’s damn.” When they had sworn, he took them
to Angel Point, fed then royally, gave them excellent liquor to drink,
and sent them in a fishing-smack with Bissonnette to Quebec where,
arriving, they told strange tales.
Bissonnette bore a letter to a certain banker in Quebec, who already had
done business with Tarboe, and next midnight Tarboe himself, with Gobal,
Lafarge, Bissonnette, and another, came knocking at the banker’s door,
each carrying a keg on his shoulder and armed to the teeth. And, what
was singular two stalwart police-officers walked behind with comfortable
and approving looks.
A month afterwards Lafarge and Joan were married in the parish church
at Isle of Days, and it was said that Mr. Martin, who, for some strange
reason, was allowed to retain his position in the customs, sent a
present. The wedding ended with a sensation, for just as the benediction
was pronounced a loud report was heard beneath the floor of the church.
There was great commotion, but Tarboe whispered in the curb’s ear,
and he blushing, announced that it was the bursting of a barrel. A few
minutes afterwards the people of the parish knew the old hiding-place of
Tarboe’s contraband, and, though the cure rebuked them, they roared with
laughter at the knowledge.
“So droll, so droll, our Tarboe there!” they shouted, for already they
began to look upon him as their Seigneur.
In time the cure forgave him also.
Tarboe seldom left Isle of Days, save when he went to visit his
daughter, in St. Louis Street, Quebec, not far from the Parliament
House, where Orvay Lafarge is a member of the Ministry. The ex-smuggler
was a member of the Assembly for three months, but after defeating his
own party on a question of tariff, he gave a portrait of himself to the
Chamber, and threw his seat into the hands of his son-in-law. At the
Belle Chatelaine, where he often goes, he sometimes asks Bissonnette to
play “The Demoiselle with the Scarlet Hose.”