BLUFFING THE BRITISH NAVY.
Cabot was not long allowed to enjoy his sense of possession before
experiencing some of the anxieties of proprietorship; for, even as he
stood overlooking his newly acquired factory, a clipper-built schooner,
showing the fine lines and tall topmasts of an American, rounded the
outer headland and entered the harbour. For a few minutes our young
engineer, who was learning to appreciate the good points of a vessel,
watched her admiringly as she glided across the basin and drew near the
factory wharf. Then he was joined by White, who had been detained at
the house, and they went down together to greet the new-comer.
She proved to be the fishing schooner "Ruth" of Gloucester, and her
skipper, who introduced himself as Cap'n Ezekiel Bland, explained that
he had come to the coast after bait.
"I 'lowed to get it in St. George," he said, "but there was a pesky
French frigate that wouldn't allow the natives to sell us so much as a
herring, though they had a-plenty and were keen to make a trade for the
stuff I've got aboard."
"What kind of stuff?" asked Cabot, curiously.
"Flour and pork mostly. You see, I'm bound on a long trip, and being
obliged to lay in a big supply of grub anyway, thought I might as well
stow a few extra barrels to trade for bait; but now it looks like I
couldn't get rid of 'em unless I give 'em away."
"There's plenty of bait in the bay," remarked White.
"Yes, so I've heard, and a plenty of frigates, too. The Frenchy must
have suspicioned where I was bound, for he has followed us up sharp,
and as we came by South Head I seen him jest a bilin' along 'bout ten
mile astarn, and now he'll poke into every hole of the bay till he
finds us. Anyhow, there won't be no chance to trade long as he's
round, for you folks don't dare say your soul's your own when there's a
Frenchy on the coast."
"Nor hardly at any other time," remarked White, moodily.
"There's another one, too--Britisher, I reckon--went up the bay towards
Humber Arm ahead of us. I only wish the two tarnal critters would get
into a scrap and blow each other out of the water. Then there'd be
some chance for honest folks to make a living. Now I'm up a stump and
don't know what to do, unless some of you people can let me have a few
barrels of bait right off, so's I can clear out again to-night."
"There isn't any to be had here," replied White, "for this is a lobster
factory, and the whole business of the place, just at present, is
catching and canning lobsters. You'll find some round at York Harbour,
though."
"No use going there now, nor anywhere else, long as that pesky
Frenchman's on the lookout. Can't think what made him leave St. Pierre
in such a hurry. Thought he was good to stay there a week longer at
any rate. But say, who owns this factory?"
"This gentleman is the proprietor," replied White, indicating his
companion as he spoke.
"Hm!" ejaculated the Yankee skipper, regarding Cabot with an air of
interest. "Never should have took you to be the owner of a
Newfoundland lobster factory. Sized you up to be a Yankee same as
myself, and reckoned you was here on a visit. Seeing as you are the
boss, though, how'd you like to trade your pack for my cargo--lobsters
for groceries? Both of us might make a good thing out of it. Eh?
I'll take all the risks, and neither of us needn't pay no duty."
"Can't do it," replied Cabot promptly, "because, in the first place,
I'm not in the smuggling business, and in the second our whole pack is
engaged by parties in St. Johns."
"As for the smuggling part," responded Captain Bland, "I wouldn't let
that worry me a little bit. Everybody smuggles on this coast, which is
neither British, French, nor Newfoundland. So a man wouldn't rightly
know who to pay duties to, even if he wanted to pay 'em ever so bad,
which most of us don't. If you have engaged your goods to St. Johns,
though, of course a bargain is a bargain. Same time I could afford to
pay you twice as much as any St. Johns merchant. But it don't matter
much one way or another, seeing as the idea of trading was only an idea
as you may say that just popped into my head. Well, so long. It's
coming on dark, and I must be getting aboard. See you to-morrow,
mebbe."
As the Yankee skipper took his departure, Cabot and White turned into
the factory, where all night long fires blazed and roared beneath the
seething kettles.
Until nearly noon of the following day the work of canning lobsters was
continued without interruption, and pushed with all possible energy.
Then a boy, who had been posted outside the harbour as a lookout, came
hurrying in to report that he had seen a naval launch steaming in that
direction.
The emergency for which Cabot had been planning ever since he consented
to become the responsible head of the concern was close at hand, and he
at once began to take measures to meet it.
"Draw your fires," he shouted. "Empty the kettles and cool them off.
Pass all cans, empty or full, up into the loft, and then every one of
you clear out. Remember that you are not to know a thing about the
factory, if anybody asks questions, and you don't even want to give any
one a chance to ask questions if you can help it. Run up to the
house," he added, turning to the boy who had brought tidings of the
enemy's approach, "and tell Mrs. Baldwin, with my compliments, that the
carriage is ready for her drive."
So thoroughly had everything been explained and understood beforehand,
and so promptly were these orders obeyed, that, half an hour later,
when a jaunty man-of-war's launch, flying a British Jack, entered the
little harbour, every preparation had been made for her reception. The
factory, closed and silent, presented no outward sign that it had been
in operation for months. Those who had recently worked so
industriously within its weather-stained walls now lounged about their
own house doors, or on the village street, as though they had nothing
to do, and limitless leisure in which to do it. White Baldwin, with
his mother and sister, had driven away in a cart, leaving their
tenantless house with closed doors and tightly shuttered windows.
Cabot Grant, with hands thrust into his trousers pockets, leaned
against a wharf post and surveyed the oncoming launch with languid
curiosity. The Yankee schooner swung gracefully at her moorings, and
from her a boat was pulling towards shore; while on the deck of the
"Sea Bee," also anchored in the stream, David Gidge placidly smoked a
pipe.
The launch slowed down as it neared him, and an officer inquired in the
crisp tones of authority:
"What place is this?"
Deliberately taking the pipe from his mouth, and looking about him as
though to refresh his memory, Mr. Gidge answered:
"I've heard it called by a number of names."
"Was one of them Pretty Harbour?"
"Now that you mention it, I believe it were."
"What kind of a building is that?" continued the officer, sharply,
pointing to the factory as he spoke.
David gazed at the building with interest, as though now seeing it for
the first time.
"Looks to me like a barn," he said at length. "Same time it might be a
church, though I don't reckon it is."
"Isn't it a lobster factory?"
"They might make lobsters in it, but I don't think they does. Mebbe
that young man on the wharf could tell ye. He looks knowing."
Disgusted at this exhibition of stupidity, and muttering something
about a chuckle-headed idiot, the officer motioned for his launch to
move ahead, and, in another minute, it lay alongside the wharf.
"Is this the Pretty Harbour lobster factory?" demanded the officer as
he stepped ashore.
"I believe it was formerly used as a lobster cannery," replied Cabot,
guardedly, "but no business of the kind is being carried on here at
present."
"It is owned by the family of the late William Baldwin, is it not?"
"No, sir."
"Who then does own the property?"
"I do."
"You!" exclaimed the officer. "And pray, sir, who are you?"
"I am an American citizen named Grant, and have recently acquired this
property by purchase."
"Indeed. Then of course you possess papers showing the transfer of
ownership."
"Certainly."
"I should like to look at them."
"They have been sent for record to the county seat, where any one who
chooses may examine them."
"Where shall I find a person by the name of Whiteway Baldwin?"
"I can't tell you, as he has left the place."
"Is any member of his family here?"
"No. All of them went with him."
"Have you the keys of this factory?"
"I have."
"Then I must trouble you to open it, as I wish to look inside."
As the two entered the building, and the officer caught sight of the
machinery used in canning lobsters, he said:
"I am very sorry, Mr. Grant, but I have orders to destroy everything
found in this factory that has been, or may be, used in the canning of
lobsters."
"Those orders apply to the property of Mrs. William Baldwin, do they
not?"
"They do."
"Then, sir, since she no longer owns this building, and I do, together
with all that it contains, I warn you that if you destroy one penny's
worth of my property I shall at once bring suit for damages against
both you and your commanding officer. I can command plenty of money
and a powerful influence at home, both of which shall be brought to
bear on the case. If it goes against you my claim will be pressed by
the American Government at the Court of St. James. Moreover, articles
concerning the outrage will be published in all the leading American
papers. Public sentiment will be aroused, and you doubtless know as
well as any one whether England, with all the troubles now on her
hands, can afford to incur the ill will of the American people for the
sake of a pitiful lobster factory. You can see for yourself that no
illegal business--nor in fact business of any kind--is being carried on
here at present, and, under the circumstances, I would advise you to
take time for serious reflection before you begin to destroy the
property of an American citizen."
Bewildered by this unexpected aspect of the situation, and remembering
how a suit brought by the proprietors of that same factory had gone
against a former British commander who had interfered with its
operations, the officer hemmed and hawed and made several remarks
uncomplimentary to Americans, but finally decided to lay the case
before his captain. As he reëntered his launch he said:
"Of course you understand, sir, that no work of any kind is to be done
in this building between this and the time of my return, nor may
anything whatever be removed from it."
"I understand perfectly," replied Cabot. Yet within half an hour the
employees of the factory had returned to their tasks, fires had been
re-lighted, kettles were boiling merrily, and the place again hummed
with busy activity.
"Young feller, it was the biggest bluff I ever see, and it worked!"
exclaimed Captain Ezekiel Bland a few minutes earlier, as he stood on
the wharf with Cabot watching the departing launch.