The necessities of our narrative do not demand that we should
locate the exact quarter where the smugglers operated; and,
besides, as there were numerous gangs covering a space of
fifty miles along the coast, it would be almost impossible to
indicate intelligibly the field of their operations, were we
so inclined.
Spencer Vance, as stated, had adopted his own measures for
locating the men; in his earlier life he had been a sailor,
and had worked his way up until at the age of nineteen he held
the position of second mate on a large schooner; and when he
was assigned to the special duty of "piping" the smugglers,
his sea experience came in good play, and was of great aid to
kiln in his perilous duty.
The officer started out on his work by taking passage to the
Island of Cuba, and one day in the port of Havana a ragged
sailor dropped into a groggery kept by a Frenchman and made
himself acquainted with a number of sailors, who were having a
good time ashore.
The ragged Jack told his own tale, won upon the good-will of
the jolly fellows who were in for a good time, and in the end
was shipped for New York on a fast-sailing schooner.
The detective had an eye on the schooner, and well knew, when
as a sea-tramp he shipped on the vessel, he had struck a
smuggler.
It was a clear starry night when the vessel sighted the Long
Island shore after having slipped inward past Fire Island.
The detective lay low and watched for some hours.
He had known that something unusual was in progress on board
the schooner. The captain was below, and one of the mates had
charge of the deck; a light shone in the distance, like a red
star dancing over the waves, and the men on the schooner moved
about in a stealthy manner to and fro across the deck.
It was a strange thing to do; why should they tread thus
lightly the deck of a ship ten miles off shore, as though
their footsteps might be heard? Alas! it was a case of
involuntary stealth, a sign of the nervous, trepidation which
attends conscious guilt.
It did not seem that there could be any danger near; the
heavens were clear, the bosom of the deep unruffled even by an
evening breeze. Nature called not for the coward tread, and
the gleaming eye, the pale face, and the anxious glance hither
and thither. No, no; but the smugglers feared another peril.
Revenue cutters were known to be cruising along the coast;
more than ordinary vigilance was being exercised by a robbed
Government.
The men upon the schooner knew that the revenue officers were
up to many of their tricks and were posted as to many of their
signals; false lights might gleam across the waters like an
ignis fatuus luring on a famished traveler in the desert, and
within the hour after their calling had been betrayed, every
man might be in irons, and the cargo and the vessel would be
confiscated.
A fortune was at stake, and the shadow of a prison loomed out
over across the waters and threatened to close in behind them.
Spencer Vance, the disguised detective, the supposed sea-tramp,
moved about with the smugglers, acting as they acted, stepping
on tiptoe, and looking pale and anxious, and it did not require
that he should assume the pale excited look, for it was a
momentous crisis. He had hit the vessel the first clip, and he
had struck the trail which had baffled men who claimed a larger
experience in that particular branch of the detective service.
He had "piped" down to a critical moment, but he carried his
life in his hands. He was not watched, but one false move
might draw attention toward him, and but a mere suspicion at
that particular moment would cost him his life; these men would
not have stopped to bandy, words or make inquiries.
As stated, there came the gleam of a light flashing across the
calm waters, and the men who were not on ship duty strained
their eyes. Soon there followed a succession of lights,
signal lights telling their story, and then the schooner men
let out answering lights, and the sails were lowered and the
schooner merely drifted upon the bosom of the deep.
Spencer Vance was speechless with excitement as the little
game proceeded.
At this period in our story we will not describe the modus
operandi, as later on we propose to fully depict the
smugglers' methods under more exciting circumstances, when
Spencer Vance was better prepared to checkmate the game. We
have here only indicated in an introductory form the
detective's keen plan for running down and locating the haunts
of the pirates.
Three days following the maneuvers of the schooner off the
coast, the detective appeared at a fishing village, and at
once he set to locating his shore men.
It was not the poor sailors, who were mere instruments in the
robbery scheme, whom the detective was seeking to "pipe" down.
His game was to follow certain clews until he trailed up to
the capitalists, the really guilty parties, the rich men who
flaunted in New York in elegance and luxury on their ill-gotten
gains.
The detective had got an good terms with one of the gangs. He
had been off several times with them an a cruise, and considered
that he was fast working down to a dead open-and-shut, and the
really guilty parties, when he received the strange wanting at
the hands of the weird, but beautiful girl who called herself
Renie Pearce.
That same night the detective had engaged to go off in the
yacht; it was understood that a smuggler was expected off the
coast that night, and he was looking to strike on a big "lay."
We must explain to our readers that the arrival of expected
vessels is an uncertain event, and the shore watchers were
sometimes compelled to go off night after night, even for
weeks, before the vessel, sending out the long-looked-for
signals, hove in sight off the horizon; and it was on these
vigil nights the detective had sailed out with the men. He
had thought his game well played, his disguise perfect, his
victory sure, when, as stated, at the last moment, a strange,
beautiful girl came along and whispered in his ear the
terrible warning that danger awaited him if he went off in the
boat that night.
Spencer Vance, however, was undaunted; the warning was not
sufficient to deter him going off and braving death in the way
of duty, and he would have gone had not an incident occurred
that caused him to await another opportunity.
As recorded, after his encounter with Sol Burton, he returned
to where his boat lay, determined to go off to the yacht, when
a second time an apparition glided to his side and whispered a
few startling words in his ear.