WHAT HAPPENED BY NIGHT IN THE HARBOR OF NANTES
On the evening of December 2d, the Ranger’s cut-water sundered the
ripples of Nantes harbor for the first time, and finding a safe and
convenient anchorage, Captain Jones ordered the bow anchors let go and
the ship stripped.
It was a middy who had informed the commander of what was going forward
in the forecastle upon the night of Ethan Carlyle’s encounter with
Blake. After much persuasion Ethan was induced to tell the cause of the
struggle. The captain listened with wrinkled brows.
“It was Simpson who told the man that,” said he at length. “He dislikes
me and takes no pains to conceal it. Before long he’ll have the crew
demoralized. When an officer sets the example of insubordination the
ship’s company rapidly follow in his wake.”
That night in the French harbor, the officer paced his quarter-deck
with Ethan by his side. All was quiet; the gleam of ships’ lamps shot
thinly across the dark waters; the low murmurous sound of the seamen
came from the forward part of the vessel. The three lieutenants and
some of the crew had gone ashore. Next day the commander, Ethan and
Longsword were to start for Paris with the secret instructions for
Benjamin Franklin.
Ethan saw that a cloud was upon the spirit of the great seaman, so he
did not speak; at last the officer himself broke the silence.
“I have not yet thanked you,” said he. “But I do so now.”
“Thanked me,” exclaimed Ethan, in surprise.
“For defending my good name, I mean. I have had many enemies, my lad,
and few friends; it is comforting to think that I have gained a new
one.”
“I should think,” said Ethan, after a pause, “that one like you would
have no lack of friends. There is not an American worthy of the title
but what pronounces the name of John Paul Jones with admiration. You
are known in every hamlet and town throughout the colonies; your deeds
upon the sea in the cause of liberty are upon every lip.”
The moody captain smiled and patted his young companion upon the
shoulder kindly.
“It’s kind of you to say this; and I appreciate it all the more because
I know that you mean it. But fame does not always bring content, my
boy, nor friends. Two years ago I should have been proud of the command
of a ship like this, now I aspire to command fleets; and then, again, I
sometimes catch myself wondering if the people who seem glad to grasp
the hand of John Paul Jones, victor in some sea fights, would have been
equally glad to have greeted plain John Paul, emigrant.”
Ethan shook his head.
“I suppose not,” he answered.
They continued talking in this strain for some time. Longsword came on
deck after a time and also began to pace slowly up and down, in the
waist. At length the subject shifted to the secret instructions of
Congress.
“There does not seem to be any one in the ship,” said Ethan, “who is
at all familiar with the Lascar but Blake.”
“And he is not the master mind, that’s sure,” smiled the captain. “Siki
is of greater intelligence by far.”
“The man who sent him to steal the secret dispatch is not in the
vessel,” decided Ethan, who had thought much upon this point during the
run across.
“My own conclusion exactly,” said the commander. “As like as not the
directing mind of the plot will turn up there,” and he waved his hand
toward the city. “But,” with a short laugh, “he will hear nothing of
his agent, nor will he secure the coveted document. Before dawn Siki
will be in irons; and the papers are safe in the strong box in my
cabin.”
“I noted the sentry at the cabin door all the way out,” said Ethan
approvingly. “And I suppose you examined the chest frequently?”
“Twice a day, to see that it was not tampered with. And the sentries
were, in every instance, men whom I could trust.”
Here one of the middies advanced and drew the commander’s attention to
something forward. Ethan joined Longsword in the waist.
“We start to-morrow, then?” said the trooper.
“Yes; after daybreak. Lieutenant Wallingford has procured us horses, so
there will be no delay.”
“It seems to me, Master Ethan,” grumbled Longsword, ill-humoredly,
“that the captain is making a great mistake.”
“In what respect?”
“In not keeping guard over the cabin door. When we were in mid-ocean
and no man could escape he were very strict in that way; but now when
there is a chance for some bla’guard to steal the secret and swim
ashore, it’s leave the cabin unguarded he do be after doing.”
“Unguarded!”
“I passed there not five minutes ago. There were no one in sight and
the place was in darkness. I lit the lamp in the companionway and
looked about, for sure I had me suspicions. But there was no one in
sight, good or bad.”
“That is very strange,” said Ethan. “I was just now speaking to the
captain about that very point and understood that the sentry was still
a fixture at the cabin door.”
He paused a moment, hesitating; then he said quietly:
“I will return in a moment.”
With quick steps he advanced to the companionway and descended.
“Dark!” he muttered, as his eyes tried vainly to pierce the blackness.
“And Shamus said he had lit the lamp. This looks strange. Why it
would almost seem that some one had”--he caught his breath at the
thought--“blown it out.”
Creeping along in the darkness toward the commander’s cabin, his
groping hands found the door.
It was open!
He paused, standing upright, unable to think what next to do. Then his
ears caught a slight, unmistakable rustling.
“Who’s there?” he called sharply.
There was no response. The rustling ceased. For a moment he listened
intently, then advanced boldly into the cabin.
“There is some one here,” he said, clearly. “You might as well
acknowledge yourself now as later.”
Scarcely had the words left his mouth than he was thrown violently
aside, and a form rushed past him through the doorway and up the
companion ladder.
Ethan shouted a warning to the deck as he scrambled up. Quick footsteps
sounded from above, then a sharp cry, and a heavy report.
When he gained the deck, he saw Captain Jones, pale of face and with a
trickle of blood coming from his forehead, leaning against a gun. The
Irish dragoon stood by the taprail, blowing the smoke from the long
barrel of a pistol and peering downward into the waters of the harbor.
“He’s overboard, sir,” spoke Shamus, quietly.
A quick-witted middy had given the word to lower a boat; and when a few
moments later this pulled away in search of the daring swimmer, Ethan
and Longsword followed the commander below.
The companionway lamp was lighted once more, and a search showed the
sentry senseless beneath a piece of sail cloth. The lock of the cabin
door was broken, but the strong box was securely fastened.
“I’ll open it and make sure,” said Captain Jones.
When the lid was thrown back, the first object that struck their eyes
was a sealed packet; and they drew long sighs of relief.
“You interrupted him before he could complete his work,” said the
commander after he had heard the statements of the two. “Doubtless he
had overpowered the sentry and had not yet forced the door when O’Moore
came along and re-lit the lamp. Then when left alone once more he broke
in, extinguished the light and was searching for the papers with the
aid of this,” holding up the stump of a tallow candle, “when he was
interrupted the second time. He was a daring villain, and another five
minutes would have sufficed him.”
Returning to the deck, after re-locking the chest and placing two men
under charge of a midshipman to guard the cabin, they found that the
boat had returned.
“He’s either got well off or been drowned, sir,” reported the middy in
command. “We could see nothing of him.”
“Pipe all hands on deck,” directed John Paul Jones.
The boatswain’s call rang through the ship and soon the crew were
assembled. When Blake’s name was called in the roll a man answered:
“Gone ashore, sir, on leave.”
The finish of the roll call showed only one man unaccounted for. That
was the Lascar, Siki. When the men had been dismissed, the captain
turned to Ethan and said gravely:
“It is just as I expected. It was the Lascar, and the chances are that
he is safely ashore at this moment.”
“And making ready to treat us to another surprise, I have no doubt.”
“We shall hear from him again, rest assured. It seems to me that the
ride from Nantes to Paris may prove a very eventful one.”