DEFYING A FRIGATE.
"I wonder what's up now?" said White Baldwin, in a troubled tone, as he
watched the approaching man-of-war's boat.
"Mischief of some kind," growled David Gidge, as he spat fiercely into
the water. "I hain't never knowed a Frencher to be good fur nawthin'
else but mischief."
"Perhaps it's a health officer," suggested Cabot.
"It's worse than that," replied White.
"A customs officer, then?"
"He comes from the shore."
"Then perhaps it's an invitation for us to go and dine with the French
captain?"
"I've no doubt it's an invitation of some kind, and probably one that
is meant to be accepted."
At this juncture the French boat dashed alongside, and, without leaving
his place, the lieutenant in command said in fair English:
"Is not zat ze boat of Monsieur Baldwin of Pretty Harbour on ze côte
Française?"
"It is," replied the young skipper, curtly.
"You haf, of course, ze papaire of health, and ze papaire of clearance
for St. Pierre?"
"No; I have no papers except a certificate of registry."
"Ah! Is it possible? In zat case ze commandant of ze frigate 'Isla'
will be please to see you on board at your earlies' convenience."
"I thought so," said White, in a low tone. Then aloud, he replied:
"All right, lieutenant. I'll sail over there, and hunt up a good place
to anchor, just beyond your ship, and as soon as I've made all snug
I'll come aboard. Up with your mud hook, Dave."
As Mr. Gidge began to work the windlass, Cabot sprang to help him, and,
within a minute, the recently dropped anchor was again broken out.
Then, at a sharp order, David hoisted and trimmed the jib, leaving
Cabot to cat the anchor. The fore and main sails had not been lowered.
Thus within two minutes' time the schooner was again under way, and
standing across the harbour towards the big warship.
The rapidity of these movements apparently somewhat bewildered the
French officer, who, while narrowly watching them, did not utter a word
of remonstrance. Now, as the "Sea Bee" moved away, his boat was
started in the same direction.
Without paying any further attention to it, White Baldwin luffed his
little craft across the frigate's bow, and the moment he was hidden
beyond her, bore broad away, passing close along the opposite side of
the warship, from which hundreds of eyes watched his movements with
languid curiosity.
The boat, in the meantime, had headed for the stern of the frigate,
with a view to gaining her starboard gangway, somewhere near which its
officer supposed White to be already anchoring. What was his
amazement, therefore, as he drew within the shadow of his ship, to see
the schooner shoot clear of its further side, and go flying down the
wind, lee rail under. For a moment he looked to see her round to and
come to anchor. Then, springing to his feet, he yelled for her to do
so; upon which White Baldwin took off his cap, and made a mocking bow.
At this the enraged officer whipped out a revolver, and began to fire
wildly in the direction of the vanishing schooner, which, for answer,
displayed a British Union Jack at her main peak. Three minutes later
the saucy craft had rounded a projecting headland and disappeared,
leaving the outwitted officer to get aboard his ship at his leisure,
and make such report as seemed to him best.
[Illustration: At this the enraged officer whipped out a revolver.]
After the exciting incident was ended, and the little "Sea Bee" had
gained the safety of open water, Cabot grasped the young skipper's hand
and shook it heartily.
"It was fine!" he cried, "though I don't see how you dared do it.
Weren't you afraid they would fire at us?"
"Not a bit," laughed White. "They didn't realise what we were up to
until we were well past them, and then they hadn't time to get ready
before we were out of range. I don't believe they would dare fire on
the British flag, anyway; especially as we hadn't done a thing to them.
I almost wish they had, though; for I would be willing to lose this
schooner and a good deal besides for the sake of bringing on a war that
should drive the French from Newfoundland."
"But what did they want of you, and what would have happened if you had
not given them the slip?"
"I expect they wanted to hold me here until they heard how our case had
gone, so that I couldn't get back to the factory before they had a
chance to run up there and seize it. Like as not they would have kept
us on one excuse or another--lack of papers or something of that
sort--for a week or two, and by the time they let us go some one else
would have owned the Pretty Harbour lobster factory."
"Would they really have dared do such a thing?" asked Cabot, to whom
the idea of foreign interference in the local affairs of Newfoundland
was entirely new.
"Certainly they would. The French dare do anything they choose on this
coast, and no one interferes."
"Well," said Cabot, "it seems a very curious situation, and one that a
stranger finds hard to understand. However, so long as the French
possess such a power for mischief, I congratulate you more than ever on
having escaped them. At the same time I am disappointed at not being
able to land at St. Pierre, and should like to know where you are going
to take me next."
"I declare! In my hurry to get out of that trap, I forgot all about
you wanting to land," exclaimed White, "and now there isn't a place
from which you can get to St. Johns short of Port aux Basques, which is
about one hundred and fifty miles west of here."
"How may I reach St. Johns from there?"
"By the railway across the island, of which Port aux Basques is the
terminus. A steamer from Sidney, on Cape Breton, connects with a train
there every other day."
"Very good; Port aux Basques it is," agreed Cabot, "and I shan't be
sorry after all for a chance to cross the island by train and see what
its interior looks like."
So our young engineer continued his involuntary voyage, and devoted his
time to acquiring all sorts of information about the great northern
island, as well as to the study of navigation. In this latter line of
research he even succeeded in producing a favorable impression upon
David Gidge, who finally admitted that it wasn't always safe to judge a
man from his appearance, and that this young feller had more in him
than showed at first sight.
While thus creating a favorable impression for himself, Cabot grew much
interested in the young skipper of the schooner. He was surprised to
find one in his position so gentlemanly a chap, as well as so generally
well informed, and wondered where he had picked it all up.
"Are there good schools at Pretty Harbour?" he asked, with a view to
solving this problem.
"There is one, but it is only fairly good," answered White.
"Did you go to it?"
"Oh, no," laughed the other. "I went to school as well as to college
in St. Johns. You see, father was a merchant there until he bought a
great tract of land on the west coast. Then he gave up his business in
the city and came over here to establish a lobster factory, which at
that time promised to pay better than anything else on the island. He
left us all in St. Johns, and it was only after his death that we came
over here to live and try to save something from the wreck of his
property. Now I don't know what is to become of us; for, unless one is
allowed to can lobsters, there isn't much chance of making a living on
the French shore. If it wasn't for the others, I should take this
schooner and try a trading trip to Labrador, but mother has become so
much of an invalid that I hate to leave her with only my sister."
"What is your sister's name?"
"Cola."
"That's an odd name, and one I never heard before, but I think I like
it."
"So do I," agreed White; "though I expect I should like any name
belonging to her, for she is a dear girl. One reason I am so fond of
this schooner is because it is named for her."
"How is that?"
"Why, it is the 'Sea Bee,' and these are her initials."
It was early on the second morning after leaving St. Pierre that the
"Sea Bee" drifted slowly into the harbour of Port aux Basques, where
the yacht-like steamer "Bruce" lay beside its single wharf. She had
just completed her six-hour run across Cabot Strait, from North Sidney,
eighty-five miles away, and close at hand stood the narrow-gauge train
that was to carry her passengers and mails to St. Johns. It would
occupy twenty-eight hours in making the run of 550 miles from coast to
coast, and our lad looked forward to the trip with pleasant
anticipations.
But he was again doomed to disappointment; for while the schooner was
still at some distance from the wharf, the train was seen to be in
motion. In vain did Cabot shout and wave his cap. No attention was
paid to his signals, and a minute later the train had disappeared.
There would not be another for two days, and the young engineer gazed
about him with dismay. Port aux Basques appeared to be only a railway
terminus, offering no accommodation for travellers, and presenting,
with its desolate surroundings, a scene of cheerless inhospitality.
"That's what I call tough luck!" exclaimed White Baldwin,
sympathetically.
"Isn't it?" responded Cabot; "and what I am to do with myself in this
dreary place after you are gone, I can't imagine."
"Seems to me you'd better stay right where you are, and run up the
coast with us to St. George's Bay, where there is another station at
which you can take the next train."
"I should like to," replied Cabot, "if you would allow me to pay for my
passage; but I don't want to impose upon your hospitality any longer."
"Nonsense!" exclaimed White. "You are already doing your full share of
the work aboard here, and even if you weren't of any help, I should be
only too happy to have you stay with us until the end of the run, for
the pleasure of your company."
"That settles it," laughed Cabot. "I will go with you as far as St.
George's, and be glad of the chance. But, while we are here, I think I
ought to send in the news about the 'Lavinia.'"
As White agreed that this should be done at once, Cabot was set ashore,
and made his way to the railway telegraph office, where he asked the
operator to whom in St. Johns he should send the news of a wreck.
"What wreck?" asked the operator.
"Steamer 'Lavinia.'"
"There's no need to send that to anybody, for it's old news, and went
through here last night as a press despatch. 'Lavinia' went too close
to an iceberg, that capsized, and struck her with long, under-water
projection. Lifted steamer from water, broke her back, boiler
exploded, and that was the end of 'Lavinia.' Mate's boat reached St.
Johns, and 'Comattus' has gone to look for other possible survivors."
As Cabot had nothing to add to this story, he merely sent a short
despatch to Mr. Hepburn, announcing his own safety, and then returned
to the schooner with his news.
"Good!" exclaimed White, when he heard it. "I hope the 'Comattus' will
find those she has gone to look for; and I'm mighty glad she has got
something to do that will keep her away from here for a few days
longer. Now, Dave, up with the jib."