HOW THE ERIN PUT TO SEA
However, they did not overtake him. Fochard had secured a fresh
equipage at the next town, and at once resumed his journey. “He must
be at least five hours ahead of us,” said Ethan, as they stood at the
heads of their panting horses after receiving this news.
“Yes,” agreed Longsword. “But Brest is still a long way off, and many
accidents may happen on the road.”
They mounted once more and set off. All day they heard reports from
hostlers and country people of the progress of the secret agent toward
the seaport. But they had not, apparently, gained upon him in the least
when night overtook them. Next morning they secured fresh horses, as
their own were stiff with the hard work of the two preceding days; and
then the chase was resumed. However, Fochard traveled like the light;
the housetops of Brest were in sight and still they had not sighted
him.
“There is small chance of getting any information of his movements
after we get into the town,” said Ethan, disheartened.
“Don’t lose hope,” said Longsword. “It’s the unexpected that happens,
Master Ethan.”
“You are right, sure,” said Captain McHale. “Many’s the time things
looked black enough wid me; and then like a flash they’ve changed when
I least expected it.”
And so it proved in this case. They had scarcely entered Brest when a
voice cried out from a shop door,
“Ah, monsieur rides hard to-day.”
The Irish sailor turned toward the shop, and his face took on a broad
grin as he caught sight of the fat French chandler who had spoken.
“Monsieur Dubois, good-day,” he cried. “Yes, we ride hard because our
business is urgent.”
The chandler elevated his plump hands.
“Oh, this war!” he exclaimed, “it makes all hurry. Did not a carriage
almost run down my eldest son an hour ago, because its passenger was in
a very great hurry to see La Tour.”
McHale pulled in his horse, sharply, as did Ethan.
“La Tour--a carriage!” he ejaculated. “Did you notice the man,
particularly?”
“Indeed I did, monsieur, and made him give me two louis for the fright
he gave me.”
“A stout man,” suggested Ethan, “from Paris, by his look, with many
seals on his watch-guard?”
“The same, monsieur,” answered the stout chandler, wonderingly.
“Come on,” said McHale, eagerly. “To La Tour’s; it’s not far from here.”
Ethan and Longsword, who had also paused, put spurs to their horses
after the sailor.
“Who is La Tour?” asked the young American.
“He is a shipping-agent,” answered McHale. “And the owner of some small
vessels, too. If a man wanted a ship to embark on any questionable or
desperate enterprise it is to this same La Tour he’d go, faith.”
The office of Jean La Tour was near the water front, and was a dusty,
cobwebbed, low-ceilinged place, indeed. La Tour was seated at a
broad, flat, green-covered table, carefully docketing some items of
his traffic in a book, when the three pulled up, threw themselves
from their horses and came stamping in upon him. Upon hearing their
business, he shrugged his shoulders and spread his hands wide.
“I am afraid that it is too late,” said he. “The gentleman engaged
the Montespan some days ago, by agent; he paid me the balance of the
charter money a short time ago--less than an hour, perhaps--and is now
on his way out of the harbor for all I know.”
Longsword, when Ethan translated the shipping-agent’s words, uttered a
cry of anger.
“The fox is gone,” said he; “and he’s gone for good unless we can
follow him to sea.”
“And that is the very thing that we will do,” cried Ethan, his face
flushed with determination. He turned to La Tour and said, “We want a
vessel, the swiftest at your command, and we want it at once. Name your
price.”
Once more the agent shrugged his shoulders and spread out his hands.
“Impossible,” he said. “I have not a vessel in port at this time that
would be of any sort of service to you.” Then he added with a cheerful
air of resignation,
“It is most unfortunate, for I can see that you are very anxious to
overtake this gentleman. But I hardly think you can do so, for there is
no other ship owner in Brest who would risk his vessels putting to sea
at this time. The English are as thick as herrings in the channel.”
“No ship!” said Ethan, blankly.
“No, not one,” answered La Tour.
“You are mistaken there,” spoke Captain McHale; “there is a small bit
of a lugger wid eight four pounders in her and as much speed as can be
found anywhere.” He turned to Ethan and continued, eagerly, “If ye want
the Erin, Mister Carlyle, she’s at your service, and welcome.”
Ethan wrung the speaker’s hand.
“Thank you,” said he. “This is very good of you, indeed.”
“Don’t speak of it,” answered McHale. “But to horse and let’s be off to
where the lugger is tied up.”
As they climbed into their saddles Longsword asked,
“How soon can you be ready to put to sea?”
“The minute I put me foot upon the deck, my lads will be ready to cast
off. The secret of the lugger’s success is in her always being ready.”
A sharp quick gallop of a quarter of an hour brought them to the wharf
where the Erin was moored. She was a trim looking three-master and the
length of the yards showed that her spread of canvas would be immense
for her tonnage. Ethan hurriedly made arrangements for the return of
the horses to their owner, and then followed the two Irishmen on board
the Erin.
The lugger’s crew were stout, hardy looking young men, with the air of
having braved danger many times and not fearing to look it in the face.
True to Captain McHale’s word, they had cast off the lines, towed the
vessel into the stream and had the sails drawing within a very short
time after he came aboard.
“You are right,” said Ethan as he noted the little vessel’s progress
with satisfaction. “The Erin has speed.”
“She sails like a hawk, sir, before the wind,” said her captain proudly.
There were still some hours of daylight and every vessel they passed
was carefully studied by McHale.
“I know the Montespan very well,” said he. “There is a rake to her tall
masts that I could recognize anywhere above the horizon.”
But night came on and still there was no sign of the desired vessel.
The lugger squared away for Plymouth, and morning found her cutting the
choppy seas of the channel, well upon her way. While the captain and
his two passengers were at breakfast the lookout shouted:
“Sail ho!”
Instantly Captain McHale was upon deck, glass in hand.
“Where away?” he asked.
“Right ahead, sir.”
The skipper of the privateer took a long, thirsty look, and then cried,
delightedly,
“It’s the Montespan, by the gods of war!”
Ethan and Longsword each took a look at the chase through the glass.
Then the former said,
“How many hours is Plymouth off, with this breeze?”
“We should reach there by night if we were going there,” answered the
skipper.
“Do you think it is possible for the lugger to overtake the vessel
ahead in that time?”
“The Erin, sir, can outsail the Montespan in any slant of the wind.
We’ll overhaul her within five hours, if nothing happens, and you can
talk to Monsieur Fochard about any matter of business you might have
wid him, below in my cabin.”
The steadiness with which the lugger hung upon the track of the
Montespan attracted the attention of those on board that vessel before
long. A topsail was run up, and a jib set, which increased her speed
greatly. Captain McHale smiled, and his blue eyes twinkled.
“See to that, now, how bashful they are. Sure, sorra the bit do they
want to become acquainted wid us.”
The great, square canvases of the lugger were trimmed and hauled taut;
she heeled a little more, and the white spume that boiled in her wake
showed an increase in her speed also. Mile after mile was covered;
the Montespan constantly lifted higher and higher, until at length
they could plainly see, with the naked eye, the people upon her decks.
However, the lugger was not making the speed that her skipper expected
of her, and he seemed vexed when the chase spread more canvas and began
to slowly slip away.
The lug sails were drenched with water to make them draw better; this
improved matters, but not much, and the sun was low in the west, the
gray coast of England lay ahead, and still the Montespan was beyond the
reach of the Erin.
Longsword, as he realized that night was about to close in and rob them
of their prey, looked hungrily over the lugger’s tarpaulin-covered guns.
“A shot from one of those,” he said, “might bring her to.”
“She is a French craft,” said Captain McHale, “and I dare not try it.”
“Could ye not explain away the small matter of a broken spar?”
suggested the crafty Longsword. “As you see, she flies no flag; ye
might be mistaken about her being a French vessel, after all. She may
be English, and as a French privateer it is your duty to your owners to
examine her near at hand.”
The skipper ran his fingers through his yellow hair and grinned.
“Troth, then,” remarked he, “there is a good deal in what ye say,
Mister O’Moore; and now that ye put it afore me I have a great mind to
see what effect a ball would have on her. The Erin would catch her in
the long run; but night is coming, and the English coast is too near at
hand.”
He gave orders to his mate, who at once stripped one of the forward
guns. The powder and shot had just been brought upon deck when Ethan
suddenly cried to McHale:
“See, there! What vessel is that?”
Upon the lee, a large ship was bearing down upon the Montespan and
the pursuing lugger. All eyes upon the Erin had been centred upon the
chase and had given no attention to anything else; consequently, the
appearance of the ship was something like magic to the lugger’s crew.
“She flies the British flag,” cried Longsword. “There’s ructions
coming too, for she is stripping her decks for a fight.”
A sudden rending roar came from the British ship’s bow, a red tongue of
flame darted from a port and a haze of smoke curled upward. In answer
the Montespan ran up the English flag; but Captain McHale cried bravely:
“No sailing under false colors for the Erin. We sink or swim with our
own colors at the peak.”
The French flag went up to the lugger’s mainmast a moment later, and
with a swing of the wheel McHale headed her toward the coast.
“We’ll get shallow water further in,” said he, “and some ugly looking
rocks. A vessel of her draft will not venture in after us.”
But the frigate seemed to give her attention to the Montespan; the
ensign did not appear to deceive her, for another shot rang out, and
the French vessel’s fore topmast was carried away. Then another and
another shot followed in quick succession; and the Montespan signaled
her surrender, with her rudder shot away and a hole knocked in her hull
just above the water line.
“Good firing,” said Ethan, admiringly. Then he continued with a change
of tone, “And again the dispatch is lost to me.”
He was standing by the after rail and watching the beautiful handling
of the frigate’s guns; as he spoke he saw a boat pull away from her to
the Montespan; and then she turned her attention to the lugger.
“Are we out of range?” asked the young American of the skipper.
“We’ll know in a moment,” answered McHale, grimly.
And so they did; as the frigate swept around she let go her forward
battery at the Erin and the shot shrilled above her in the dusk. But
McHale held the little vessel upon her way; night was all but upon
them, and he hoped that shoal water and darkness would assist him to
elude the enemy. The gunnery of the latter was not now so good; she
fired many times and did little or no damage; night had spread her
bat-like wings above the waters when a last shot splintered the mizzen
mast, and it fell in a tangle of rigging over the stern.
“Take care,” roared Longsword to Ethan, who stood directly in its way.
But the warning came too late; with a wild cry the lad was swept over
the side into the sea; the lugger went rushing by, having changed
her course to down coast; the lanterns of the frigate could be seen
gleaming for a time further out to sea. But at last these, too,
disappeared and Ethan Carlyle was left to utter darkness, struggling
with the waves.